Catch My Fall (44 page)

“Faye, I hate your friend,” Meghan said, groaning.

“Oh, Trotsky. That hurts. And I was always so fond of you.”

Meghan glared at us. “I want your balls in a jar.”

Stellan gave an impressed nod. “And I want to smoke bath salts and eat your face.”

I fought through laughter to holler at them. “Both of you are intolerable!”

Meghan passed us to catch up to Jackie and Kevin. “Blame the primate. Jackie, we better be getting close, my feet are killing me.”

With Meghan in front of us, I swiftly reached down and cupped Stellan’s balls through his jeans. He shifted and squeezed at my nipple under my shirt. I tried to get away without squealing too loudly, but he whispered softly. “Mmm, careful or I’ll throw you in the bushes and have my way with you.”

I laughed, and grabbed his collar to kiss him. He smacked my ass, feigning ignorance when Meghan turned to ask what the sound was. We hit Main Street, and Jackie’s pace picked up, much to Meghan’s chagrin. Stellan and I walked with our arms around one another behind the pack, our footsteps matched. I fondled him a couple more times before we caught up.

Jackie was hovering just outside the now dark and defunct Boathouse Bakery, fidgeting with her coat pocket. Before I could ask, she pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the front door, stepping aside to let us all in. My eyebrows nearly flew off my forehead, and I met her gaze, searching for explanation.

She just smiled.

The chairs were settled atop the tables as they’d been left the day the place closed. The glass cases in the counter were empty, the trays disheveled and in some cases missing. Still, there was a warmth to the place when Jackie turned on the light. The wood stain of the counters and floors, the metal of the shelves and mirrors behind the counter – it almost gave the vibe of an old western saloon, like at any time, one of the thin framed chairs would be put to use, shattered over the back of some cheating gambler.

Kevin set up a few chairs as Jackie busied herself behind the counter. Meghan plopped down in the first chair Kevin offered and quickly removed her shoes to rub her feet.

I approached the counter. “What’s going on Jack?”

I turned to meet Meghan’s eyes, and after a quick shrug back, I knew I wasn’t the only one oblivious.

Meghan said something from far behind the counter. Whatever she was up to, she was in a tizzy. Kevin disappeared into the back to join his wife.

Stellan smiled at me and patted the seat beside him in offering. Before I could accept, Meghan propped her feet up on it, oblivious.

Stellan’s expression was priceless, and I instantly burst into laughter.

Before he could make comment, I sat in his lap. He nuzzled my chest and wrapped his arms around my hips, holding me on him.

“What the fuck?”

Stellan and I both turned to find Meghan with a traumatized look on her face.

I inhaled sharply at the realization. I still hadn’t told Meghan.

I wasn’t eloquent in my delivery. “Oh shit! Yeah.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Tell me this is just some new friendly cuddling Swede thing, and you two are not, actually, fucking.”

“Oh we are definitely fucking, Trotsky.”

I gasped, swatting at him. “Stellan!”

“What? Am I lying?” He asked, giving me an eyebrow wiggle.

Meghan shuddered. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

Stellan laughed. “Did it taste like semen coming up, too?”

I gave him a shocked expression. Did he
want
to die?

Stellan threw up his hands. “What? Alright, I’m sorry. It was just too good -”

Meghan went for him. “Ødegård, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

A warm glow behind the counter distracted us from further banter. Jackie had appeared carrying an exact replica of the Boathouse Bakery in cake form.

Stellan was awestruck. “Did you make that?”

Jackie beamed at us as she set it on the table. The roof was shingled with a tiny brick chimney, and the side stairs to the second floor were each perfectly painted in wood grain. We all stood to get a closer look when she finally stepped away from the table.

Stellan pulled out his iPhone and crouched next to the table to get a good picture. I caught Jackie smiling as she watched him. Meghan leaned over Stellan to get a shot as well, the two of them hovering with their phones.

They insulted each other for getting in the way or blocking the light.

“Suck a dick, Ødegård.”

“Why, Trotsky? Are you giving lessons?”

Stellan leaned in close to the cake, trying to make out tiny words. “Thoreau-ly Baked?”

I stepped in to see. On the tiny awning, there was a perfect silhouette of Henry David Thoreau with the words just under him.

Jackie bit her lip, frowning at me sheepishly. “You don’t mind my stealing your idea, do you? You’ve always been the one oozing brilliance. I couldn’t come up with anything better.”

I shook my head.

Stellan chuckled. “I don’t think anybody could. Why? Whose idea was it?”

“It was Faye’s brilliance, not mine,” Jackie said, shrugging at me. “I’d actually half hoped you come be my – I don’t know – wingman, but then you got the job at Chalice.”

“Wait,” I said. Dawn was breaking on Marblehead. “You bought the bakery?”

Jackie hopped up and down a little where she stood.

I stared at her ecstatic face. It was so huge, so big – the risk, the jump, the dream itself – and she’d just up and fucking did it.

I searched for words to encompass what I was feeling. “You’re so brave,” I said.

Jackie’s face fell, but Meghan rounded the table to give Jackie a hug and take a selfie of the two of them with the cake. I stood there staring at it. The skill it took to make it, the time she’d taken to learn to do this very thing, wiling away the hours in her beautiful kitchen. Now here she was, stepping outside that beautiful kitchen, and if the sheer cool factor of that little sign had any say, she was going to do well.

I know I’d order my cakes from a place called “Thoreau-ly Baked.”

I wanted to feel honored to have had a hand in its naming. I’m not sure what I felt.

Jackie pulled a tray down from the top of the glass case and set it alongside the cake. Cannolis. “And I brought these!”

Meghan was on them without pause. They were small, half-sized and perfect, with chocolate chips on either end. I moved closer to look at the cake, inspecting every little detail. Jackie was an architect with fondant.

Meghan spoke as she picked crumbs out of her sequins. “I can just see this window with your cakes in it.”

“I’m hoping to branch out from just the sweets and stuff. You know, keep the Cannoli alive, but charge a lot less. Maybe do sandwiches or soups and stuff. I don’t know, I’m still a little – I haven’t decided.” She laughed nervously.

Stellan ran his hand up my back. “That sounds boss. We’ll come patronize the shit out of you.”

Jackie laughed. “Yes, please!”

I stood with my back against the front window, watching my friends eat Cannolis and laugh. I felt somewhere far away, like I was watching the scene from behind a window, like a ghost that they couldn’t see. Kevin snuck behind the counter and produced a bottle of champagne, popping the cork into the back recesses of the bakery.

We sat there for some time talking and drinking, Stellan at my side, interjecting as though on my behalf. I wondered if he knew how far away I was - if he could feel it. I did my best to engage in the conversation, finding my comments to consist mostly of how beautiful the place was going to look, or how fat I would get having her so close to home.

After a while, Meghan and Kevin finally demanded cake. The tiny bakery was carved into, cleaving the front window in twain. Stellan handed me a piece and pulled up a chair for me to sit in. I took my fork and poked the cake, but my stomach warned against a bite. The Champagne didn’t settle well either.

I shifted in my seat.

“You alright, dove?”

I touched my hand to my stomach. “I don’t know.”

He set his hand on my stomach too, rubbing me softly. “You feeling sick?”

I shook my head. “No, no. I’m fine.”

He leaned in to me. “You haven’t touched your cake, and I finished your drink. What’s up? Do you need me to take you home?”

He rubbed my stomach again and when I didn’t answer, turned to the room. “Hey, I’m gonna run Faye home. She’s not feeling well.”

Jackie fawned, and Meghan called me a quitter, given that it was only ten forty five, but I didn’t protest.

Stellan wrapped my coat around my shoulders and opened his hand to Meghan.

She glared at him. “What?”

“Give me your keys, Trotsky. I’ll run your car down so you don’t have to walk back.”

Meghan’s gaze softened a moment as she stared at him. After a moment of speechlessness, she did as she was asked. “I’m still gonna hate you though.”

He took the keys. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, twat.”

“Fucktard.”

Being curled up in my bed away from cakes and cannolis sounded ideal at that moment, so I let him hustle our exit without complaint. I made a round of hugs, taking a moment to tell Jackie how proud of her I was. She teared up when I said it, and I felt even more determined to get the hell out of that building.

Maybe if I was alone I could understand why I felt so wrong in that space, why I was so incapable of – of being happy for her.

Stell said ‘Thank you’ and walked me out into the cold, pulling his hat on outside. He hooked his arm with mine, and we walked.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I just feel off.”

“I know. Bit worried actually.”

I frowned. “I know.”

It worried me, too.

Stellan did as he promised, putting me to bed and delivering Meghan’s car to the center. He threatened to go drive it into the quarry and suffer the cold walk home simply to see her face when he told her. I curled into my covers and sheets, and nestled into the mountain of pillows. When Stellan got back, I listened to him kick off his boots downstairs. He slipped into bed beside me and wrapped an arm around me.

I pretended to be asleep.

That was the first night that Stellan and I did not make love.

CHAPTER Twenty-Three

I
f someone doesn’t get drunk or stay up all night, how the hell do they spend New Year’s Day morning?

I woke late to the smell of Stellan cooking breakfast and my mother chatting away downstairs. I shimmied out of bed to join them.

Apple Pancakes with Maple Bacon and eggs – I sat at the kitchen counter as Stellan put a plate in front of me. I took one bite and called him a slut. They were phenomenal.

My mother moaned over her plate beside me and took a few more bites before she spoke. “So, any plans for today?”

I shrugged, but Stellan answered. “I’ve got a little work I need to get done at home, but otherwise, not a damn thing.”

He sat across from me, digging into his own breakfast. God damn, those were good pancakes. Still, my stomach began to shift around the third or fourth bite.

What on earth was wrong with me?

My mother leaned onto the counter. “Working on New Year’s Day, Stellan? What has the world come to?”

He smiled. “Believe, I’ve been blowing work off a lot, lately.”

I pushed my food around. “What do you need to do?” I asked.

“Something Evan’s been pestering me for. Told him to ‘stuff it’ one too many times so I’m afraid he’ll show up to ‘motivate’ me.”

He shot my mother a smile.

She shook her head. “I didn’t realize you worked with Evan.”

Stell nodded and stuffed another bite in his mouth. “Off and on.”

“Taught the man everything he knows,” I said.

Stellan blew me a kiss.

Stellan headed home after breakfast, despite hemming and hawing at my bedroom door over whether he should have his way with me before he left. I urged him to go get his work done, and I would follow after a shower. I spent that unabashedly long shower sitting in the bathtub, thinking.

My mind went everywhere – to what I might want to read on my iPad when traveling, to Jackie’s bakery, to
Gorilla Warfare
, to Stellan and I not having sex the night before, to Jackie’s bakery, to how many months of paychecks I’d need to get out of my mother’s house – to Jackie’s bakery.

I considered having a claim to responsible adulthood again. In a few days, I’d officially be working. In a few days, I would no longer be wiling away the hours curled up on couches or in beds with the man I love. I would be working; I would be making a living and a good one at that, doing what I’m so very good at. I would be traveling all over the country within a few months, seeing cities I loved, staying at my usual hotels, seeing old friends. I thought about actually using my frequent flier miles to pay for Stellan and I to travel somewhere warm and spend the hours curled up in beds or on couches in tiki huts or bungalows with margaritas. I smiled at the thought and vowed to do just that in several months - when I could afford to take time off of work.

It was snowing when I went downstairs. I bundled up and headed over to Stell’s. Downtown was quiet, all the shops closed up tight. I was the only person in sight when I crossed the snow covered square.

Linda was folding laundry at the dining room table, flashing me a smile as I came in. I said a quick hello before heading downstairs. Stellan was at his wall of screens, talking away on a headset. I thought for a moment that he’d tricked me and was busy playing Battlefield, then I heard that language – the inexplicable drone of programming.

I mentally shut right the hell down.

He squeezed my legs as I bent down to kiss his neck. He whispered that he’d be done soon. Though I loved his company, I wasn’t sure how long he’d be, and Linda was alone upstairs.

I enjoyed chatting with Linda immensely. She was like a second mother, at times, and given the strict sex schedule Stellan and I had, I’d missed a few weeks’ worth of her interrogation that I loved so much.

She smiled and greeted me as I came in and sat down. She finished folding one load and set it aside before starting on another. I offered to help, but she naturally refused.