Fixing her, p.12
Fixing Her, page 12
Asher: I can’t wait to feel your ass in my hands again.
Asher: Respond, babe. Don’t make me embarrass myself by sexting all alone.
Shit! What do I say? What’s an acceptable response to the hottest texts I’ve ever read? Is this even real life?
Me: Hi
Asher: Hi. You ignoring me?
Me: No, little miss got up. The perks of being a single mom.
Asher: You’re a great mom. You’re smart, patient, fun, and hot as fuck. I spend way too much time thinking about being with you, near you . . . inside of you.
Whoa.
Me: I don’t know how to do this.
Asher: Sext?
Me: No, we aren’t doing that.
Asher: But we could ;)
Me: Yeah, well, I don’t really know how to do that, but that’s not what I mean anyway. I don’t know how to be around you. When I’m near you, I forget all rational thought. Logic tells me not to get too close, then you look at me with those eyes and kiss me with those lips and I can’t stop myself.
Asher: It’s ok to let go. And I volunteer to help you become more acquainted with sexy texting. Let’s start simple. Send me a pic of you right now.
I’m nervous but excited. My gut says to run away, but the glass of wine I just finished off is telling me this is an excellent idea. Feeling brave, I hold the phone out at arm’s reach and take a selfie of me sitting on top of my unmade bed.
Times like these make me glad I’m not great about washing the small amount of makeup I wear off before bed. Typically, I just use a baby wipe right before I fall asleep to wipe off whatever bit of mascara survived the day.
Today’s makeup, though light, is still present. I’m spread across the bed in my tiny black shorts and my favorite red tank top with a shelf bra built in. Before logic can make its way into my brain I hit send.
I review the picture and instantly regret fills my stomach. I felt so brave thirty seconds ago. But staring at it now, I see the small rolls of my stomach, and my chest needs more support than the tank itself can provide. Those are not perky twenty-year-old breasts. Those are the breasts of a woman who’s edging toward thirty and has had a baby. I’m ashamed of the dark circles under my eyes.
Why did I send that pic?
Asher: Fuck
My heart sinks. He probably sees all my flaws, too. In a dimly lit house they might not have been noticeable in passing. But on a phone screen, where you can zoom in they’re just there for the seeing.
Asher: Wow. That’s an incredible sight.
I’m unable to conjure a complete thought, nothing sexy, witty, or interesting. I’m frozen, knowing he’s staring at a photo of me, in awe.
Asher: Ok, my turn.
I’m not in any way prepared for what he sends. I’ve seen him shirtless. Hell, I can’t believe I’ve seen him nearly naked in person, felt him in the palm of my hand. And still, I’m in shock at the sight of him stretched out on his bed in just a pair of thin gray sweats, his hand on top wrapped around the outline of his long, thick cock.
I stare for too long at that hand holding that cock firmly. I almost don’t even notice the smirk on his face. He knows how attracted I am to him. Just being around him makes me weak, and by the look on his face I’m guessing he knows how turned on this sight is making me.
My resolve weakens. It’s not even just his hard body or amazing face. It’s the patience he’s shown my daughter. It’s his willingness to spend his time and skills to help me. It’s how he came home to relieve his parents of the stress and pressure of losing a son and attempting to run a business. It’s everything I don’t deserve to hold so close to my heart.
He’s a remarkable man. A man that in a different life, at a different time, I would fight tooth and nail to make mine.
Asher: You still there? You’re starting to hurt my ego.
Me: Yeah. :) Just setting your profile pic on my phone.
Asher: Better make sure it stays locked then.
Me: No worries. I cropped it a tad.
Asher: Just a tad?
I giggle. There ain’t nothing tad-like about that cock.
Me: Well . . . maybe more than a tad. ;)
Asher: Ok good. Don’t want to be blinding everyone whenever I call your phone.
Me: Planning on calling a lot, are you?
Asher: As often as you let me.
Me: It’s getting late and little miss sunshine doesn’t like to sleep in past five.
Asher: Okay, but I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. I’m taking y’all out for dinner.
Me: Okay, but tomorrow no kissing. We need to talk.
Asher: We’ll see. We can talk first, but kissing you is the highlight of my days.
His words bring tears to my eyes. How did I go from turned on to tearing up so freaking fast? I want his words to be true so much it physically hurts. Even though I know they can’t be.
Me: Night, Asher.
Asher: Night, Tempie.
I jinxed myself. I flippin’ jinxed myself. Not only does she sleep past five she sleeps all the way until eight-thirty.
I roll over in my bed, surprised by how relaxed I’m feeling. I grab my phone off my nightstand for a little early morning social media stalking since Ellie is not up yet. I barely have time to pull up Facebook before my eyes skim over the top of the phone to the clock. The clock that must be wrong.
8:33 a.m.
SHIT.
What happened to my little girl alarm clock? The one who never lets me down by waking me up every day at least thirty minutes before I need to be up at seven.
“Wakey wakey.”
I’m rushing through the house, grabbing any clean work appropriate clothes I can find and throwing them on while yelling to my daughter, attempting to get my sleeping beauty to arise.
There’s no way I’m going to make it on time to daycare, let alone to work. I’m screwed, and not in that pleasant, sore-between-the-legs way I’ve been yearning for. More like the how-am-I-going-to-pay-the-bills-this-month sort of screwed.
“Eleanor Grace, can you please get out of bed.” I’m pleading with the devil and I know it.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
I hear her little voice coming from the living room, and I immediately pause my rushed panic to try and figure out what exactly is happening here. I walk into the living room and around to the front of the couch to discover not only is she not asleep, but she is fully dressed in a princess costume, gloves, tiara, and all. And is playing on the rug with her My Little Ponies.
“I gots myself dressed. You proud, Mommy?”
How do you tell a three-year-old she can’t wear a costume to school? You can’t. She just looks too proud.
“Yeah, baby, why didn’t you wake Mommy?”
“Leigh-Leigh said I needs to let you sleep more. She says not to wake you all the time.”
“When did Leigh-Leigh tell you this?”
“Last week.”
“And today was just the right day to start?”
“I tried to wake you. But you just kept asking for Muffin. So, I lets you sleep. Is Muffin coming over to see me? Is that why you kept saying his name? I know! Maybe he can let me use those shiny tools of his.”
I’m not sure I have enough caffeine in the house to keep up with the rate she’s talking. I need to put a pin in the talking about Asher in my sleep information. I don’t have the brain capacity to deal with that. Right now, I just focus on being happy she’s wearing something that resembles an outfit.
“Baby girl, can you find some shoes to go with your pretty dress while Mommy finishes getting ready?”
It might be the first time in three years it’s happened, but luckily, she listens. She runs off to her room and I send up a silent prayer that when she comes back out she has on some sort of school appropriate shoes. But beggars can’t be choosers and I know I’m stuck with whatever shoes she decides she has on. Assuming they at least match.
After a quick glance at my phone, I see I have ten minutes at most, to get dressed and out the door. I guess it’s a whore’s bath kind of morning again.
I get ready fast. No time for makeup. It’s a simple ponytail and clean face sort of day. But honestly, much to Leigh’s chagrin, most days it’s only mascara and blush anyway. I pinch my cheeks for color and grab my baby girl, running out the door with one minute to spare.
I’m praying I can pass off my black leggings and long red T-shirt as office appropriate. Maybe if I rummage through the closet I have stored in the trunk of my car I can come up with a cardigan, scarf, or something. Hopefully, whatever I find will hide the stain on the front pocket of my shirt that I didn’t notice until I climbed in the car.
I drop her off without anyone from the school complaining to me about something I’ve done—or possibly haven’t done, such as sign up to volunteer for their latest party.
They seem to have parties, events, or special “fun” projects every friggin’ week. She’s three, not thirteen. Can we hold off on the neediness at least until she starts regular school, for heaven’s sake?
I made it, thank God. I cannot be late again. Mr. Garcia is out to fire me. He’s a grumpy old man who wants to hate everyone and for everyone to hate him. Mission accomplished.
“Cutting it close, Temperance.”
“Sorry, Mr. Garcia,” I mutter with my middle finger hiding just inside my sleeve.
He hired me out of loyalty to my mother, something he reminds me of often. She was one of the few people he tolerated in this town, and while he wasn’t overly friendly with her, she still always made sure he was on her Christmas card and cookie list.
Now, years later, I don’t think her kindness is going to keep me safe in this job. Sadly, there isn’t much in this town I can do during daycare hours. I need to start looking. There’s no way he’s keeping me around much longer.
We finish the morning in silence while he takes several calls in his office. I man the reception desk, though no one ever comes in here. I consider it busy if five people pass through those doors all week. Most insurance work is done over the phone or online. He even sprung for a website a year ago.
Once I see Mr. Garcia climb into his car for his daily lunch break, I hightail it out of the office, locking the door behind me. I have one hour to run to the store to try to find something acceptable to wear for dinner tonight.
I don’t think I have a single clean outfit and once I get Ellie home from daycare there will be no time for laundry. I should pick up some dry shampoo, too. I doubt there will be time for a shower either.
Fuck, I really wish I’d bothered to set an alarm last night. So many of my problems could be solved if I just stopped and got all my shit in order.
An hour later, I rush inside the office. Mr. Garcia’s car is already parked outside, and I know there’s no way I can get out of being written up. I’ve fucked up too much lately.
If only he’d be willing to work with me with our daycare schedule, but today is on me. I was still in line at Target when my lunch should have ended.
I’m fucked.
I was already late this morning and now there’s no chance I can talk my way out of trouble this time. I take a deep breath, and with my shoulders held high, I make my walk of doom.
“YEAH, MOMMA, I’LL COME OVER this week.”
“Love you, baby boy, but you told me that last week. You work too much. I hoped when you came back we’d be able to spend more time together.”
“You’re right. I haven’t been around enough.”
She’s laying the guilt on thick and damn if it isn’t working. I want to make family a priority in my life again. It was the driving force for me to return to Red Oak.
“Damn straight, baby boy. I already lost one son. Don’t make me beg to see my other one.”
It’s official. I’m a crap son.
“I promise. I have a busy weekend coming up, but how about I take you and Pop out for dinner next Sunday? Then maybe the following weekend, we can have a cookout at the house. I want to see y’all more, but I’m not used to this. We need to start having Sunday dinners like we did back in the day. I want to make it my normal again. I miss being with y’all.”
“That’s a great idea. The weather is getting so nice. How about you invite Sam and any of your other friends along one weekend? I love having a full house.”
The lightness in her voice is something I haven’t heard in too long. I can’t deny how good it feels to hear her excited about something. But it makes me sad to realize what a shitty son I’ve been since returning home. I should have been putting this effort in all along.
I hang up as I return to the office, just in time to see Mia come barreling out, waving her hands in the air frantically.
“Hey, boss, I need to head out.” Her words are rushed and frantic.
“Is everything okay?” Concern for my cousin overtakes me as I see the worry sketched across her face.
“I hope so. Nattie fell. I gotta get to the hospital to check on her.”
“Of course. Did they call her family?”
“She doesn’t have anyone. That’s why she took a liking to me when I started coming around years ago. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let me know if you need anything.”
I spend the next hour and a half returning the dozen or so emails that accumulated in my inbox overnight. I’m just finishing typing the last reply when a text pops up on my phone.
Mia: Bad news, Cuz. Nattie’s hip is broken.
Me: Fuck, sorry, Mia. Does she need anything?
Mia: Full-time care . . . which leads me to my dilemma.
The dots on the phone screen indicate she’s typing and it must be a hell of a message because it takes her a full five minutes before the text comes through.
Mia: She needs full-time care and Nattie . . . well, she don’t trust no one. She wants to pay me to help her out when I’m not in class. And I don’t like the idea of her being alone at night. I hate to do this after you took a chance and gave me a job, but I gotta quit. I can’t not help her out. I hope you aren’t mad.
Me: Of course, and don’t worry about it. Just have Aunt Rose give Mom the scanner and laptop whenever you have time. I can grab it from their house next time I go over. Tell Mrs. Scarborough I hope she heals up fast.
With Mia gone I’ll have to go back to doing all the management work in addition to the full workload I’ve already undertaken. I should really put my focus right now into starting to look for a replacement.
I’m too worked up thinking about dinner to even start the process of sorting through the old résumés I have. None of those people were good enough weeks prior, so I doubt I’ll find a good enough candidate now.
I’m running late picking up the girls. Right as I was ready to leave, Pop decided today was the perfect time to stop by to say hello. I think he’s starting to get bored working his way through my mom’s mile-long honey-do list.
I sat down with him for a while to catch up on how the company is growing and showing off the new website and digital filing system. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished since taking over and being able to show it all to Pop means more to me than I thought it would.
I took my time answering all his questions and even made time to reassure him that all the long-time clients weren’t being ignored since I was bringing in so much new business.
After a few hours, he finally headed home so he wasn’t late to dinner with Mom. I made a mental note to help him find a new hobby or at least maybe someone he can hang out with.
Work is all he’s ever known. While I’m hanging out with him a lot more than when I first moved home, I only have so much time to spare right now.
I can feel the shit-eating grin that’s spread across my face as I ring the bell. I expect to hear tiny feet clamoring to get to the door, but a good minute passes and I start to worry. I ring the bell again and relief floods me when the door is pulled open and my Tempie stands in front of me.
The joy I was feeling just seconds ago bottoms out when my eyes connect with hers. Something isn’t right. Every emotion she feels is always displayed on her face. It’s impossible for her to hide her feelings. It’s one of the things I like about her so much. She’s always so genuine. I know that what I get from her is one-hundred percent real.
“Hey, come on in.” Her greeting is as flat as the expression across her face.
She holds the door open and I walk inside. I kiss her cheek and notice her eyes gently close as if she’s memorizing the feeling. I can feel her slow breath on my skin and the worry that was brewing when I was on the other side of the door is bubbling back to the surface.
“Where’s Peanut? I thought we could go to the Chinese buffet over in Mooresville. I haven’t had Chinese food in forever.”
“I asked Leigh to keep her.”
“Is everything okay? I thought we were all going to dinner tonight.” There’s really only one answer possible and I’m filled with dread waiting for her to tell me what I know must be coming. My girl is skittish as hell and not having Ellie here is the first sign that tonight is not going to go the way I’ve been hoping it would.
“I had a shitty day at work. I thought about canceling, but we really need to talk.” She motions toward the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
“Yeah, but I’ll grab it. You wanna sit on the patio?”
I grab a beer for me and a glass of wine for her. She heads out back, sitting on the worn and slightly rusted patio furniture in complete silence. I know we’ve been moving fast lately, but I can tell she wants this as much as I do.
I know I’m not kidding myself. With each kiss I feel her melt into me. Each conversation, I can tell she doesn’t want to end. So why is the mood so morose tonight?
Before she can say more, I set my beer on the table and quickly lean over her and press my rough lips into her soft ones. I don’t even have to ask for entry before her mouth opens, welcoming my tongue. The kiss turns fevered in no time. I pull her up to standing as we continue to make out like we don’t have a care in the world.
