Calendar Girl (17 page)

When I looked up at him, grinning and happy, he said, ‘Thank you, Merritt. You really are special to me. I’ll miss you.’

I paused. My throat tightening a bit, my heart breaking a little. But I nodded and kissed his flat belly. He knew. He sensed. He was being a gentleman. I could have some grace too.

When he buried his face between my legs, pinning my thighs wide and licking at me to wring just a few more orgasms from me before we went our separate ways, I let him. I let him and I cherished it and I came with a kind of dirty abandon only found in surrender.

When he left he said, ‘Good bye, Merritt.’ Not I’ll see you soon, or we’ll see each other again. He said good bye and I said, ‘Good bye, Matthew.’ And I kissed him.

Chapter Twenty-seven

I
WOKE TO A POUNDING
on my bedroom door. What day was it? Saturday. Thank God. The panic left me and I sat up, pushing my hair off my face. It was crunchy and for a moment I was confused. Until I remembered Matthew and my blow job and then I smiled. I pulled it up into a ponytail but didn’t pull it all the way through. So then I had a crunchy, mussed ‘paintbrush’ as Jeffrey calls it. I yanked a sweatshirt and leggings on and staggered to the door.

‘What is this about a ton of men? What is this about a man a month? What is this? When are you going to get your head on straight and go ahead and get back together with Drake?’ My mother stood in my front door with a box of donuts and a frown.

‘Mother ... what? Um, what?’ I had just woken up and had no idea what she was talking about. No coffee yet but the sugar and fat laden pastries sure did smell good despite her insistent barrage of questions. I yanked her in before any neighbours saw and ordered, ‘Come into the kitchen. For God’s sake, at least let me have coffee if we’re going to re-enact the Spanish Inquisition.’

She snorted but followed me, her subtle but flashy sandals whispering on the hardwood. She wore a festive summer dress that made her look ready for a garden party instead of a water board session with her very confused, very sleep deprived daughter. ‘Now, let me ask this, are you bouncing from kid to kid butting in? First it was Jack and now I heard you’re trying to get them to commit to each other. Now you’re back here demanding that I reconcile with my cheating husband who not only was
cheating on me
but was caught rubbing peckers with another man in my very own house. So he was cheating with
the opposite sex
of all things. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, it was just something I would have preferred to be let in on, oh say,
before
the nuptials?’

‘He was confused,’ she said, defending of all people my ex husband. Did everyone rate him but me? ‘He thinks he might like – you know – both now. Both boys and girls.’

‘Well, that’s great for Drake, Ma, but I don’t think that I even care anymore, let alone want to reconcile so that we can find out if he is indeed bi the next time he wants to wander. Bottom line is he cheated on me. With who is irrelevant. Whom?’ I asked, measuring out coffee into the machine.

‘Whom,’ my mother said. Then frowned. ‘I think.’

I waved a hand at her. ‘Whatever. Grammar aside, I don’t love him anymore. Why are you picking on me? Got bored with Jack?’

‘Jack and Jeffrey are wonderful together,’ she said and smiled. ‘I think they should commit to each other and adopt a baby!’ Then she clapped.

‘Ahhh, the much anticipated baby. Is that what this is all about?’

‘Well, no. But Merritt, I am not getting younger. Is it so wrong that I would like just
one
of my children to give me a grandchild?’

‘Of course not, but you cannot run around like some dictator trying to force them to mate in captivity either.’

‘I would never–’ my mother said, bristling.

‘But you are!’

I opened the doughnut box and browsed. Hmm. I was thinking the good old fashioned cinnamon cake doughnut was looking mighty fetching. My mother brushed back my long angled bangs and frowned. ‘Your hair is ... stiff.’

I blinked. ‘New hair product.’

‘I don’t like it,’ she said, wiping her hand on a napkin.

‘Yeah, I probably won’t be using that brand again,’ I said and had to suppress a laugh.

‘Well, I don’t want you to breed in captivity. But I do want you to be happy. So I ...’ Now she was fidgeting, looking suddenly nervous.

Uh-oh. ‘Ma, what did you do?’

‘Nothing big. It’s no big deal at all, really.’

‘Great. Then tell me what it is.’

‘I invited someone over for brunch. With you.’

‘Who?’

‘Drumph,’ she said, suddenly craving a doughnut so bad she needed to shove one in her mouth mid-word.

‘Who?’ I barked.

My mother wiped her mouth, sighed, and said, ‘Drake.’

Shit.

This was actually a good thing, I told myself. After recalling Drake’s drunken visit not too long ago, I realised I might have to clarify for
everyone
,barring me and Jack and Jeffery, that there was no possibility for reconciliation. I did not want to be married to him, straight, bi or otherwise. I did not want to have babies with him. I wished him well but that was all. I did not hate him but I didn’t love him anymore.

And it was time I dealt with the hurt and betrayal that still seemed to haunt me when I wasn’t looking.

‘Now off you go. You really need to not be here. And, Mom, while we’re on the subject, you need to find a man. Someone to fill your time and float your boat and make your heart go pitter patter ...’

‘Merritt!’

‘Mom, trust me. You need it. It will make you pay less attention to me and Jack and our love lives and more to your own.’

‘Merritt,’ she said, but softer.

‘Ma, Dad’s been gone for a very long time.’

‘Too long.’

‘I know it.’

‘Merritt,’ she said and shook her head.

‘You know I’m right. Now go. I have to let down an ex in the best possible way.’

‘Are you sure there’s no–’

‘Nope. No chance. No making up, no little Merritts or Drakes. You’ll have to hope for that with the next one.’

She sighed. ‘Fine. But I’m taking a doughnut.’

It was rare that my mother made me laugh long and loud. This time she did. She kissed me goodbye and I hopped in the shower fast and pulled on some faded jeans and a wife beater when I got out. I pulled my wet hair up into a ponytail and shoved my feet in some flip flops. No reason to dress up for this.

‘Merritt,’ Drake said. He moved into kiss me and I backpedalled, patting his arm instead.

‘Come on in, Drake. Mom was just here.’

He smiled, feeling, I guess as if he had a conspirator in my mother. Once upon a time that might have been true. Though she’d never admit it, I had seen slow and steady – and yes, painful – changes in my mother since Jack had come out. But the point is that she was changing. The point was not the ease with which she changed.

‘She’s too good to me. When she said she’d come and talk to you about–’

‘Well, see that’s the thing,’ I said with my softest possible tone. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. There is nothing left in me, Drake, that could reconcile with you.’

He frowned and sat down heavily on the kitchen chair I indicated. ‘But, Merritt ...’

‘But Merritt, nothing,’ I snapped. ‘If you’re honest with yourself, Drake, you don’t want to reconcile either.’

He blinked at me and put his head in his hands. ‘No, I don’t,’ he sighed like he was exhausted.

‘But you’re afraid of having to start over completely. It was all fine when you were running around, having fun and fucking everything with a pulse, right?’

He blinked at me again, his cheeks turning a brick red. Shook his head. ‘Right. Pretty much.’

The words resonated with me. Me and my past six months of abandon. ‘Then why are you even here? Why are you filling my mother’s head full of grandchildren and making up?’

‘I feel guilty,’ he blurted.

‘Don’t.’

‘I feel lost.’

‘I know,’ I said and put a hot cup of coffee in front of him.

‘And I met this guy and I really ...’ He shook his head and sipped his java.

‘You really like him and that completely and thoroughly freaks you out. You can’t even get a handle on what it is about him that draws you in, but it is there. And it is strong. And it scares you so bad sometimes you think you could pee your pants?’ I whispered.

Drake, my handsome, funny, crazy ex husband looked at me for a long moment and said, ‘Either you are spying on me, or you are a witch.’

I swallowed hard, hearing my own words as if on a time delay. My stomach didn’t want the coffee any more. Or the doughnut I’d eaten for that matter. ‘Neither,’ I said. I moved to make another cup of coffee though I had no intention of drinking it until the electrical current flowing in my belly ceased.

‘So what do I do?’ he asked.

‘Regroup. Face your feelings. Move forward.’

‘Regroup?’

‘Don’t let anyone rush you. Not even this guy. If he’s worth it, he’ll wait. You’ve had your fun. Now be quiet with yourself and figure it out.’

‘That’s hard for me,’ he said. ‘Being quiet with myself. I don’t always like what I see. What I hear.’

‘I think it’s hard for all of us,’ I said. ‘There’s always some stuff we manage to even hide from ourselves and when you spend time being silent alone with yourself ... well, you end up finding all that shit again.’

Drake smiled, rose, kissed me. It was a chaste kiss but one full of love and affection. ‘Thank you, Merritt. You are a wise and talented guru.’

‘I’m a mess,’ I laughed.

‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ he said. It was really the first time Drake had apologised straight up for hurting me. I felt my throat narrow with emotion.

I could only nod. My voice was gone.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t find the cajones to just be honest with you. But I truly was confused. And I truly did and do love you, Merritt. And I just didn’t know what to do. So I fucked it up.’

I stood on tiptoe and kissed his rough cheek. ‘I know but it’s over now. I want you to be happy, Drake. Go be happy.’

He grinned, hugged me, left. I shut the door, hoping him all the happiness he could gather to him.

The phone rang.

‘There is my Merritt,’ he said.

Something in me loosened and I felt like crying.
My
Merritt. There was no logical reason for Penn to say that and yet he had. There was no reason for it to resonate with me and yet it did. It made no more sense than coming home to find Drake with Ted had made, the day my whole world came undone. But there it was. Just as confusing but wonderful where the other had been crushing.

‘Hi,’ I breathed. It was past dinner time where he was and for me it was barely lunch. I looked down at myself to see how I looked, as if he could see me. As if he would care. ‘I was just thinking about you,’ I said and I meant it.

I heard him smile and it made me smile. ‘Good things, I hope,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

‘I’m coming home the day after tomorrow,’ he said.

Excitement surged in my belly, filling my chest, making the tips of my fingers tingle with a swirl of emotion that was so intense it bordered on terror. ‘Are you? Are you ... happy?’

‘I’m ecstatic, though I can’t see you until July you said. But I can respect your timeline.’

My timeline. My grand adventure that I had basically failed at. But I knew that I was done with that journey. I wasn’t going to hold myself to the final six months if my heart wasn’t in it. My heart was strangely tied to this man. And it scared me.

‘Thank you,’ I said. I ran my fingers through my still damp hair, remembering the feel of Matthew coming in the golden brown strands. I didn’t feel guilt, just a small pulse of sadness at saying goodbye to Matthew. ‘I’ve had a rough year.’

‘I know. I will do whatever it is you wish. But don’t begrudge me my anticipation, OK?’

‘OK,’ I said. I curled into the sofa, closing my eyes, reliving our phone conversation and the orgasms. ‘I’ve thought about us.’

‘You have?’ he said.

‘I have. I’ve thought about it and what we did. I thought about how good it felt and how your voice was like hands on my skin. You weren’t touching me, but you were.’ That made no sense. I shook my head at myself.

‘But when I spoke to you about my dreams, I saw it in my head. I felt like I was touching you. In my mind’s eye, I could see me touching you. I was, for all intents and purposes, Merritt, touching you. And kissing you. And ...’

‘Yes?’ I breathed.

‘Fucking you,’ he said and I made a soft sound. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I feel confused,’ I said.

‘By me?’

‘By life,’ I said. ‘By how profoundly you affect me,’ I admitted.

His laugh was soft and understanding. ‘I can empathise. You affect me very much like a sledgehammer affects stone.’

I had to smile. ‘That’s pretty intense.’

‘Yes, it is.’ But this time I could hear no joke in his voice. ‘Is it getting the other men out of your system that has you at odds?’

He was way more emotionally advanced than any man I’d ever met before. There was no jealousy in his voice, only curiosity. ‘No. I was ready to put that all behind me. At first it was freeing. Then ... not so much.’

‘Then what?’

‘Fear.’

‘Fear is a nasty animal. But one I understand. Sometimes you just need faith.’ His voice was more soothing than any red wine, than any warm blanket, than any hot bath. He was a human pacifier and I let my body relax at his rich tones and kind words.

‘Faith, eh? You sound like you’ve had some experience with that?’

‘When I decided to be an artist, my mother was beside herself. How would it happen? I was not from your country; they had only visited before I was born. When my mother was pregnant with me. But ultimately, I had been born in Romania, I was a foreigner, how would the Americans react to my art? The gargoyles and angels. And then eventually, my very own work. From my soul.’

‘But it’s beautiful,’ I interrupted.

He laughed. ‘Thank you, Merritt. But the point is my mother’s unfounded fears rubbed off on me. Then I met Eugene. Eugene saw my work and said he had to represent me, but he was new. Would I take a chance on him?’

Eugene had been the one to contact me to work for Penn. To get him organised and a bit more on track. I owed Eugene a beer and a kiss.

‘And you did,’ I said.

‘I did. My first showing with Eugene was at a hospital cafeteria because he had a friend who worked there and let him hang my art on the wall.’

‘What?’ I laughed and covered my mouth. ‘A cafeteria!’

‘Hey, there was a ton of wall space, rich doctors, doctors’ wives. There were small placards put under the work and prices. I sold three paintings and a sculpture of the Archangel Raphael. To doctors’ wives, no less. My next showing was at the hospital’s big charity event. It was host to thousands of doctors from neurologists to cardiologists to rare disease specialists. Eugene took a chance on me and I on him.’