Look How You Turned Out (20 page)

At the desk, they tell us congratulations and offer to take our bags, and Marcus says he's got it. We take the elevator up, and there are people on, and he looks at me and smiles, and I smile and as soon as the people are off, he leans over and offers me his lips, and I take him up on it…quickly.

We are laughing when we get off, laughing through the snow like a couple of crazies, and he runs down the hall, and it makes me laugh more because he's going in the wrong direction, so I have a headstart, but I reach the door first. He's got the key so he takes his time, and he's got our stuff but he walks kind of sexy, no kind of, he's sexy, and it's a saunter, so I stick out my hip and drag my hand down the center of my body, make a u and I figure I'm on some camera somewhere, but I'll never see these peeping toms again so deal.

He gets real close then, looking at me like…he's going to nail me real soon, and his bag is slung over his shoulder and mine is in his hand same side, my paper bag crushed under the same arm and other side he just holds the key and a gift bag they gave us at check-in, and I grab the key and swipe it, and open the door, step deep inside and holy cowbells it's so awesome in here, I have my arms out wide, and I spin around, and then I go to the window and look out at all the buzzers a rounders, the ribbon of highway going east and west into forever, the cars moving past like pawns in the game of Life, God's big hand where Juney's usually is, and a barge slugging through the gray river water, bridges in the distance, and a frosty gray sky and the beginnings of more snow and the cold glass on my cheek when he moves up behind me and runs his hands all the way to the waistband of my tights. "You won't need these," he says.

And he's carrying me again and he throws me onto the bed and I bounce like three times and it's so soft, so amazing I groan and remember to bring my legs somewhat together, and he dives over me and opens my legs back up so he can be between, and he kisses me again, not shy about anything, no holding back apparently, so I'll just go with it, why not…he's my husband.

He's my husband.

"What were you afraid of?" he asks, cutting another piece of his ribeye and holding it in front of my mouth because I got the salmon and we've already eaten that, and it was delicious. I take the bite, and I'm chewing.

"I wasn't afraid, but…if I turned him down, it seemed arrogant."

"So it was pity?" he says concerning my reasons for dating Myron.

"No. Not pity. Not at all. More like…what the heck."

"What the heck?"

"I mean…why not? You weren't interested.” he protests, but I continue, “and there I was, and he was pretty overwhelming…like a wooer, you know? And I hadn't had that, and he seemed…to admire me…this college grad all full of herself…overselling herself.”

He laughs, but it's fake. He's chewing the deliciously crusted over and perfectly seasoned piece of beef, but it's everything I'm saying he's really chewing on. "Overselling yourself. I doubt that. Underselling I could believe."

"Marcus…you were right…what you said before. I didn't get that job because of all my…preparation. I was…the new toy…I think. I've had trouble admitting it."

"I should never have said that," he said. "I was unfair. That damn guy…I should have ripped his smug head off when he showed up."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"And he seduced you."

"He was a gentleman. I could have refused. It's just…well, it doesn't matter now."

"Yeah? It matters. The whole reason I went out with Jessica…was you dating him. Artie made sure I knew. Good old Artie, ball-buster. The Abbott of my monastic life. Problem was…old Artie was slumming it with Teresa so…you know?"

"Bitter against good old Artie?"

"Nah. I don't blame him. But it hit me hard…you dating White. I'm not…why we talking about that guy on our honeymoon?" He pokes a big bite of salad in his mouth.

"You brought it up?" I say in a tiny voice before taking a big drink of water.

He laughs then, his foot moving up my leg. "Get over here. You're too far away," he says, using his napkin then reaching around to pull my chair next to him.

"Cheesecake time?" I ask in the same small voice. I mean to feed it to him.

"Hey, by the window. I'll get the pillows and blanket. You bring the food," he says. "I got a couple of ideas. Real creative.”

I’m wearing his discarded shirt. I figure I’ll save the white gown for later.

"Your mom says I make you smile," I say between licking my fork.

It's a little cold by the window. He's bunched the pillow so he can watch my every move. He’s rubbing my back. The lights outside can be seen in ribbons of traffic twinkling through the silvery highway lights.

"Continue," he says lazily. We are loved up, fed up. He has been successful with my…issue. He’s pretty proud. And I…am new.

Then his hand is on the small of my back, a place he absolutely loves, he says,

I feel it, and my eyes might cross.

Then later, in the bath, I am laying against him, my toe poking in the hot faucet drip. He loves my feet, he says.

There's no part he doesn't love, even my smart mouth. He loves my mouth he says.

We are kissing and kissing, and there are bubbles all around us, and we're drinking champagne and eating strawberries they delivered to our room with our meal. We have kissed for over an hour. He's added hot water to this bath three times.

It's perfect…it's, you know…poifect.

"I'd like three," I'm saying. "Like a couple more close together, plus Juney. Three."

"I'd like seven," he says, a big smile, then he kisses me before I can scream, what the hell?

"I love being a dad," he says breaking the kiss just when I was getting into it. "And I'd love to put one in you…every nine months or so." He laughs then, a big big laugh, and I push him under the water and use my weight to hold him there, and he blows lots of bubbles under there, and he's up like nothing and rolls us over so I'm on the bottom, and he puts me under, then lets me up laughing, then he rolls us again.

There is water everywhere, and we’re laughing. I’ve screamed a couple of times.

He breaks off laughing. "They're going to think I'm killing you in here."

"Well, you did nearly drown me," I say, my heavy curtain of hair dripping all over him.

He pulls me back down, kissing me and humming into me. "You are so delicious," he says in that voice that makes me quake, and we kiss some more.

"Look at you," he says toweling me off.

We face the mirror, me first, him behind me. I watch his face as he admires me, his arms coming under mine, his big hands covering Sid and Gladys, and I have to say they are looking their blushing best for him.

He wears a towel low on his hips, and I turn to him, and where that towel is joined, I pull it off. "You won't be needing this," I say.

I'm not that shy girl anymore…not now, with his admiration…and the Champagne.

All those years I had to sneak, always trying to see him, just wanting to look. Now here he is in all his glory, and it is glorious. I step closer, and he's running his hands all over me while he watches in the mirror. "You're perfect," he says, and he gives this satisfied grunt.

I know I'm not perfect, far from it.

"I see you arguing in that head of yours. Just accept it. You're perfect," he says.

He gets close enough to graze my lips. My face is lifted, and I'm breathing with him as we stay like this, so close. He picks me up again and stands there holding me. He's looking at it in the mirror, me in his arms.

"Now there's a Christmas card," he says, and we laugh, and I kick my feet a little and wave.

"Making Merry," I say, cause every card needs a caption.

"Let's do it," he says hurrying to the bed and once more throwing me there.

After round four, I lean back and put my hands on his face. "When I got to the chapel, I saw you…waiting. And I had this moment…I made vows then."

"When?"

"Looking in the window. I…knew how much I loved you…how much you loved me. I felt it."

Tears come to my eyes now. I'm so happy.

"When you opened those doors," he says, his hands on my face, his thumbs catching my slow roll of tears, "my heart stopped baby. You looked so beautiful. And…sure. Like…a woman. My woman."

It's a silent stare then, me looking into him, him into me.

"I'm so happy," I whisper.

He groans and gathers me against him, my leg over his hip, our heads on the pillow where we can gaze at one another, touch one another. He's mine to explore, and I do, each whorl of stubble, the blunt line of his nose, the small knot near its bridge where he tells me he broke it in tenth grade wrestling, the small scar near his hairline, he fell off a wall trying to get away from a German Shepherd, shortly after becoming a cop. I never knew that. Well, he tells me, I don't know everything after all. The lines of his face, his thick dark brows, his soft full head of hair, over and over I comb it through with my fingers. He does the same, his long fingers touching me, every curve and dip, smoothing over me like I'm precious. So much is conveyed in the way he lovingly worries his hands over me again and again.

The only light in the room comes from the glass wall of windows. We've left the drapes open all day, all evening, and the bathroom light we left on from our bath so these soft colors show up like distorted squares and rectangles of yellow or soft gray cast over sections of this room. Much as I love here, I love outside of here too, but I'm not yet ready to let any other reality pierce this sanctuary, this Eden.

It's quiet discovery and lovely, and we are so wrapped in one another wrapped in the new and tender promises we've made, the love we've made, time ceases to matter even as it relentlessly leaks away and I imagine what it would be like to view us from the ceiling, or the roof, or the sky, Marcus and I in our nest, open, sanguine, equals in love…commitment. Oneness…this is it. No wonder it feels like heaven.

"What's he say?" I ask trying to read the message for myself. It is Juney's bedtime. He and Marcus had arranged ahead of time that Juney would text him goodnight. They do this, Marcus says, when Juney is with Elaine, and he can borrow Granma's phone.

Marcus reads the text to himself then he sighs and rests the phone on his bare stomach for a minute.

"Let me see," I say, and he holds it up so I can read it. "Dad," I say aloud, "that cat is back. It looks so cold. Can we please, please, please, please…," I pause here to laugh at the four 'pleases.' The kid has style, "...keep it? Granma says I can't feed it unless you say okay."

"I'm sorry," Marcus says. "He's just used to me tucking him in."

"Why would you be sorry about that?" I ask. "Give it here," I say.

"No. You'll tell him to feed it," he says.

We wrestle around a little as he holds the phone high on the other side of him, so I have to reach, but his arm is so long, forget it, but it's fun trying.

We kiss for a minute, and his arm lowers, and I grab the phone and roll off of him, and he's saying, "You little monster."

I'm already texting and speaking aloud as I write. "Feed that kitty little man you might entertain an angel unaware."

Marcus says, "What?"

"He hasn't had a pet for a while," I say. "He can feed it at least, see if it hangs around."

"Bedilia," he says as I hit send.

"Yeah?"

"He got ringworm once from a stray. He needs to go to bed."

"Well, he can feed it. He'll sleep better," I say.

Juney texts back, "So I can feed him?"

"Yes," I text quickly.

"Bedilia," Marcus says taking the phone from me. To my surprise, he's trying to be nice, but he looks miffed.

"Are you serious Marcus?"

"Well…I've always been serious about Juney," he says.

I am looking at him, but he looks away first.

"Are you mad that I said he could feed the cat?"

"No," he says putting the phone on the nightstand and pulling me closer. He's threading his fingers through a piece of my hair, and I'm still looking at him, and he's not giving me his eyes. When he does look, he says, "It's just..we'll talk about things, right?"

"Right," I say already wanting to defend myself.

"I mean…what chance will I have with Juney if you come along and…we just need to talk about things."

"Right," I say. "A united front."

"Right," he says with relief. Did he think I intended to launch a coup?

"He'll just feed the cat," I say like, oh come on.

"And he'll try to pet the cat while it eats," he says. "And he won't wash his hands unless Mom makes him."

I roll away from him, and we lay side by side, but not touching. I know I need to apologize or give him some reassurance right now that I won't wreck his dynamic with Juney, but my feelings are hurt, and I'm not even sure why. I think he's blowing this out of proportion, but on the other hand…I have no idea how to be a parent. I could ruin Juney. I'm probably already doing it.

I feel pretty foolish. "I'll text him and tell him, forget it. He thought it was you anyway," I say.

"It's alright. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. It's no big deal, we just need to talk first like we said."

"So I shouldn't have said he could feed the cat. What if he gets ringworm now? It'll be all my fault." me

"He's…he's not going to get ringworm. I over-reacted. I'm just used to calling the shots."

"Me too, though. I'm used to calling the shots," I say. "I'll bet you're already sorry we got married."

He laughs, and he's there now, arms and comfort, "Bedilia, you're taking this too far, baby, I am not regretting our marriage. Let's not re-invent that wheel, not ever."

"Really?" I hate how eager I am for his approval on this, but he's the parent. I'm just the fake parent. I didn't even think of…worms.

"Bedilia, all I mean is, let's talk it over. I've had him a long time. I don't want him to play us against each other, and he won't be able to help it if one of us says one thing, and the other says something else."

"Of course. I don't mean to come in and topple what you've got going with him. I really don't."

He kisses me. "I know that. Just give me a few weeks to get the hang of it…of sharing…Juney."

"Are you having a hard time thinking of sharing? You know he'll always be yours."

"No. It's not like that at all. Listen…when you came in the chapel today, I think he gave you the last crumb of himself," Marcus says. "You've not only stolen my heart…but his. It's so powerful…over-whelming for both of us in different ways. We're…at your mercy, baby." He kisses my hand, the ring again.

"I…I'll uphold you, Marcus. I promise. I may take you down later…when he can't hear, though. I will if you're too…crabby or something. I'm sorry, but I'm an only child too, and Artie let me have an opinion. You may have noticed," I smile.

He kisses me now. "I've noticed," he says. "I wouldn't change a thing about you, Bedilia. Not a thing."

But I may need to change a couple of things about me. Then he won't have to worry so much about it.

When I do fall asleep in Marcus's arms, I wake more than once, dreaming of Juney and gigantic worms. The first thing I'll do when we get home is to make sure he uses bacterial soap.

I awake a couple of hours later.

"What is it…what's the matter?" Marcus asks coming to. I'd tried to get out of bed quietly, but I yelped in there.

"Marcus…I'm on fire."

"What kind of fire?" he asks sitting up.

"Here," I say, lightly, and I mean lightly cupping myself between the legs.

"Oh…a bath? That's what you need," he says to me and then himself, "I'll run it. I'll run a bath." He pats my shoulder. "Stay here, baby."

I see the father…the cop. He switches between those personas and my lover so easily. How many times he's been awakened from sleep either by Juney or work, possibly Dad even, to handle dilemma or disaster. He thinks clearly right out of a fog. I can already hear the water running in the bath.

He comes back with a warm washrag. "Here, lay back," he says to me as I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, legs sealed.

I lay back, a little thrown by what I think he's going to do. He has the washrag folded into a pad. "Open your legs, baby," he says, and when I do, even that causing a sting, he squeezes that rag just a little and warm water rolls, and it feels like pee, but I don't laugh cause it also stings, but that warm-rag-follow-up really works. "You okay?"

"No," I say shakily. "But thanks."

He scoffs. "Thanks? I did this."

"Um…me too," is about all I feel like saying. The rag is helping.

I take over holding the rag so he can check the bath. He stops to put on his boxers then he comes back to me. He scoops me right up, and I have to laugh a little. "Marcus, I can walk."

"I got you," he says like he just saved me from a building burning instead of a hoochie-coochie fire.

When he maneuvers into the bathroom, still carrying me, I hiss with relief as he lowers me into the water. It's hot but just right. Oh, he's good.

"My hair thing," I say, and he disappears for a minute to get one of my bands. He comes in, and I lean forward, head on my knees cause he seems to want to take care of me, and his big hands fumble and try to be gentle as he gathers my hair into a ponytail. Once he does that I reach up and twist it into more of a bun.

"Lay back," he instructs sinking to his knees. I do lay back, and he has his hand in the water, comes up with the rag which he squeezes and sets on the broad side of the tub.

"Is this anywhere near normal?" I ask, disgusted with myself.

He smiles, "It is for us apparently." His arm cuts though the water as he strokes up and down my legs. "It'll get better," he says with all the confidence Google has inspired in him and also a great deal of admiration in his face for my floating appendages.

"What if it doesn't? What if I'm some defective…reject?"

He laughs a little. "Don't make me push you under Mrs. Stover."

"I'm serious…sort of." I know Jessica didn't have this problem. She was probably able to participate ten ways to Sunday.

Grrrr. But me? I'm already out of commission after one night. What a loser.

"Hey," he touches me under my chin and makes me look at him, "This will get better. We over did it. That's all. You were a virgin, Bedilia. We need to let your body catch-up. I was a total…glutton," he says, but he's laughing a little.

"Maybe you could get in…show some moral support?" I say, my chin touching the water as I smile.

He stands and kicks off his boxers.

We spend the rest of those early morning hours dozing in the tub. He gets very good at letting more hot water in and lifting the stopper to prevent overflow, with his feet. He also makes a fabulous waterbed.

Marcus Stover is all around amazing.