When I reach the kitchen, I see Marie has finished cooking and the dishes are also done. Damn she’s good. She gestures towards the dining room and I am light on my toes, moving quickly, eager to see Owen. The thought nearly stops me in my tracks as I reach the entrance to the dining room; I’ve never been eager to see anyone until I met Owen. Hmmm. The idea that perhaps I love Owen filters through my mind briefly as I step in the room. He immediately looks up at me, a tiny smile crawling across his lips as he rises, walking to meet me at my side of the table, gently pulling my chair out for me. I sit and he pushes me to the table, his fingertips grazing my bare shoulders as he does. There’s an electric grid running through my body, lying dormant, and whenever he touches me or gives me a look, or exists around me- its as if the switch is flipped and the grid goes wild, desire and hunger flying through it, causing me to come alive with need… everywhere.
Shocks of pleasure coursing through me as Owen settles into the table across from me. Tonight is the night.
Marie scurries in, settling plates on the table, unveiling dishes of food, all of it looking like it could be in a magazine and smelling like it came from a five-star restaurant. Or, at least I assumed, since I’d never been to a five-star anything.
“Oh Marie,” and temporarily, my desires for Owen gets put on the back burner because, well, FOOD. My inner voice may be a bitch but she’s always looking out for me and has my best intentions at heart. And now she’s screaming, clawing her way up my throat, EAT! EAT! EAT!
I soothe her with my last sip of peach wine and place my crisp napkin in my lap.
“Roasted chicken,” she waves her hand over a silver platter the size of my torso where a prepared chicken sits, stuffed with vegetables, rosemary sprigs resting comfortably atop. The skin is crisp and full of color and my mouth waters as my eyes travel across the table.
“Cheese souffles,” Marie continues, placing a ramekin of toasted cheese in front of my face. I don’t know how I’d eat it but my heart races as I begin to imagine just how wonderful this meal is going to be. Owen has chosen it-for me-and I’m starving.
“Bacon arugula salad,” she sets a tray of earthy greens down and I see bacon, tomatoes, some sort of soft cheese perhaps? An array of toppings settle on the tops of the olive colored lettuce and I realize this is the first fresh salad I’ve ever eaten. Surprisingly, though Marie and Owen have been feeding me amazing food for a month, we’ve not yet had salad. I am excited to eat salad.
As if reading my mind, Marie leans down and whispers, “this is my favorite salad, too.”
She winks and disappears, leaving the bottle of Pinot Grigio on the table for Owen.
He rises, taking my plate and filling it quite full. He sets it down in front of me and I thank him, again, for everything.
“I really can’t say thank you enough. But also,” he looks up at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence, and something in his expression tells me he’s longing to hear something more than what I’ve already said. But I’m not ready. Not yet.
“… how do you eat this?” I say, smiling, holding the ramekin up off of the table. He chortles, but looks vaguely disappointed as he taps the top of the cheese dish, the spoon causing it to shrink down inside the porcelain.
We eat, the sound of my ooh’s and ahh’s cutting through our lack of conversation. He asks me several times if I am satisfied and though I want to scream out No! Please! SATISFY ME! my inner voice reminds me that he’s referring to the food.
When we are done, I lean back in my chair, my hands instinctively settle on my stomach which now feels round and stuffed. I’ve probably gained five pounds since I’ve come to stay with Kyra and Owen but if I’m being honest with myself, I could probably stand to gain five more. The nearly full wine bottle sits in front of him and he reaches for it, giving me a questioning look as he holds it up. I shake my head.
“I don’t think I want anymore wine tonight.”
He is smart. I believe he knows what I’m saying. That if anything happens, I want us both to know I am of sound mind. His eyes flash wild for a moment, and he adjusts himself in the chair. I remember him saying he wouldn’t bring up the swimming again so I take the next step.
“I’d like to get in the pool for a bit, I mean, if you don’t mind practically babysitting me.”
Self-deprecating is something I’d learned to do. If you say it first, then it is powerless when they say it to you. Tricks of the trade when you’re poor and friendless. He leans forward, his gaze indignant.
“You know, it’s not your fault that you can’t swim. Children cannot teach themselves everything.”
He is angry and I see now that he isn’t angry with me but rather, he is angry at the experiences I have had. I wonder briefly if it is a fatherly thing that he feels for me. Oh, but I hope not. I nod, agreeing with him silently because I know if I speak on this subject, I may become emotional and that would be a definite mood-killer.
He leans back and runs his hand through his hair, finishes his wine and continues.
“But yes,” his voice is guttural, primal almost. “I would love to.”
Oh, that slickness between my thighs now grows warmer as it intensifies.
“I’ll go change and meet you by the pool. I’ll have Marie leave out some towels.”
I nod and smile, and excuse myself from the table where I pretty much have to count my steps until I am out of earshot and then I thunder up the stairs, excitement in my veins. I still have the swimsuit that Kyra has lent me. It’s one that she’s not worn yet before so even though it is a bit demure, it’s the safest choice. I suppose you can’t seduce a man while wearing his daughter’s swim suit.
IT’S FRIDAY EVENING, hovering close to 8pm and it occurs to me that I haven’t heard from Kyra all day. I sit on the edge of the bed after I pull on the navy swim suit and shoot her a text. Are you having a good time? Miss you xoxo She responds rather quickly.
Yes, oh yes! Waiting in the car for Jason, he’s getting liquor. Miss you too. How was work?
Work was fine. Have fun. Be safe, ok? Love you.
Love you too.
A weight is lifted from my shoulders knowing that she is safe and ok. I worry about Kyra’s good nature being taken advantage of but it brings me peace knowing that Jason works at the office and if I needed to, I could track him down quite easily.
Standing in front of the mirror, I survey my body.
The navy suit pulls in my small waist and pushes up my full breasts, giving me ample cleavage. My long, lithe legs are smooth and soft, colorless as I typically don’t spend much time in the sun. I turn around and look over my shoulder, seeing that the suit dips low, exposing my slender back. My long blonde hair covers all but a small portion that peeks up over my rump. My perky cheeks hang out of the suit-almost too much-so I tug at it, trying to find length in the fabric that I know is not there. Kyra telling me I am a knockout, that guys ogle me, that I am a natural beauty- her words replay in my head, giving me a surge of confidence that I know I will need desperately for tonight.
I’m sorry Kyra, I say internally, apologizing for what I am about to do. But my inner voice is there, her lips pressed to my ear, filling my mind with things I need to hear.
Don’t be sorry. Stop apologizing and live. She can’t tell you not to love someone.