The Sex Education of M.E. (14 page)

I didn’t want to do it, but Gia said I should go out with Rod again. We decided on a movie. I hadn’t seen a movie in so long I didn’t even know what was playing, so I let Rod decide. The comedy was something straight out of a fraternity boys’ wet dream. Tons of T and A, with lots of laughter about drugs and raunchy college kids hooking up. This wasn’t my kind of movie. The predictable scenes were not hilarious to me, while Rod couldn’t control his laughter. When the third sex scene started, he reached for my hand, and that became my focus instead of the film.

Rod’s hands were large and meaty. There wasn’t another way to describe them. I honestly couldn’t remember the touch of his hands from our teenage years, but it wasn’t like this: clammy, moist, and heavy. There was just something not right about his touch. It wasn’t Merek’s. I’d been trying not to think of Merek since he hadn’t called me again. Thinking of him was like my own sordid fraternity wet dream. Thoughts of the young girl he left behind in the bar continued to haunt me. He probably preferred someone like her. Young and lithe, she was most likely more experienced than I, sadly. Which made me think of my youth, and wonder what happened to that girl.

That girl I had been…the one who had dreams and goals. The one who felt sexy in her twenties and used it. The one who wanted a soulmate experience, who was supposed to be my husband, but had sadly turned out not to be. I’d disappeared along the way. I’d lost myself. It took years to find her again, but I didn’t feel complete. Merek popped into my meandering mind.

Gia wondered where I disappeared to the other night. While she didn’t pry, she noted Merek followed after me. She hadn’t noticed if, or when, he returned, so she could offer no report if he had a repeat performance with another woman. Or that girl. My stomach lurched at the thought of him sleeping with others. We didn’t have commitment or stipulations in his proposition. Only, I struggled with the terms of agreement. This was what I wanted, and yet, it wasn’t. Add in the whole lack of kissing thing, and I started to think he had some strange Vivian thing going on. Only I was the client, when I wanted to be considered the pretty woman. I sighed while Rod laughed again and then squeezed my hand.

“This really puts me in the mood.” A harsh whisper hit in my ear. Then he growled. Literally. He sounded like a sick tiger and it was the first thing I found funny all night. It occurred to me that while Merek might be sleeping around, I couldn’t.

Thankfully, the movie ended.

“My place or yours?” he teased. The flirtation unsettled me, but I offered my home. I found it odd that Rod didn’t ask for an after movie drink or an ice cream dessert. He claimed he had to work early the next morning, but he wanted to go to his house or mine. It puzzled me at first, but the excuse was reminiscent of poor ones from the past. Nate had them all the time. He couldn’t do this or that because he had to work late. He had to wake early. I understood the code. Nate wasn’t interested in spending time with me. He only wanted occasional sex. Merek used the excuse as well. He hadn’t called because he had to work.

Rod kissed me.

It was a surprise attack that threw me so off guard it took me a moment to catch up to what happened. He pulled back with lazy, hooded lids before opening them and addressing me. We hadn’t moved from the car parked in my driveway.

“You taste exactly the same,” he said. “Just how I remember.”

“Is that good or bad?” I asked, realizing I’d had popcorn during the movie, and probably had salty-butter-kernel breath.

“It’s good.” The words struck me. I didn’t want to be good, like Merek teased. Taking up the challenge, I leaned toward Rod and kissed him back. I tried to throw into his lips what I would do to Merek’s. How I wanted to tease the bow and lick the curl. How I wanted to suck his tongue. How I wanted to nip those lips in hopes he’d beg me for more kisses. Only this wasn’t Merek, and Merek didn’t kiss me.

When Rod pulled back for a breather, his heavy lids plus another growl sealed the deal. I couldn’t do this with him. Rod and I had our shot twenty-five years ago, and it wasn’t going to happen twenty-five years later.

“Want me to come in?” The implication of what Rod wanted was clear and I had my own excuse. I had children.

I need a ride
, I texted to her.

Isn’t that my line?
she responded.

I’d like it to be your line.

There was a long pause while the three dots rolled and bounced signaling her response.

I can’t.

This better not be another fucking date
, I thought. While I wasn’t typically exclusive, I also wasn’t fooling around with anyone else. And while I was a man of many needs, I wanted Emme for now.

Hot date?
The question was bitter to type, but as long as we played these awkward word games, it was my only response. I already knew what my reaction would be if she answered with another yes.

Sore throat.

I choked at the thought.

And a headache.

I laughed. Not like I hadn’t heard that excuse before, although it had been a long time since that happened.

Good excuse
. I guffawed to myself, bitterly.

It’s true. I get migraines once a month.

I stared at the words: once a month. Well, this was no good. Emme was out of commission, if it was that time of the month. Not that I was opposed to that experience, but we didn’t have anywhere near that comfort level.

Okay. Well, hope you feel better soon.

When the only response was a smile emoji, I felt less than stellar. I called my brother instead.

Finding ourselves at Bruno’s late on a Tuesday night was dangerous. The Cubs were on and the place was packed. Marshall was in rare form, hitting on anything with two long legs even though Bridget was having his baby. It reminded me of when I was still young, and foolish, and didn’t know better. Marshall wasn’t a youngster, though. He needed to get his head out of his ass and marry the girl. Pissed off in my own right, for no apparent reason, I picked at Marshall.

“What the fuck you doing, man?” He’d just tugged a girl onto his lap. “You’re going to be a father.”

The girl looked over her shoulder at Marshall and cooed. “You’re going to be a daddy? That’s so sweet.” She was wasted and had no idea what she was saying.

“I’ll be your daddy for the night,” he slurred, and the brunette giggled.

“I mean, a real father, dickhead.” I sucked back my beer, briefly glancing at the game on the large screen.

“Like you’re a real father?” He barked back over the uproar of the bar when the Cubs scored. My eyes narrowed at him.

“I don’t need this shit tonight,” I said, standing abruptly, brushing back my chair.

“Sit down. I didn’t mean it.” Keeping his eyes on me, he placed a kiss on the neck of the girl.

“What did you mean, then?”

“Nothing. What’s your problem tonight?” He nudged the girl to shift to his other thigh.

“You’ve got a girl who loves you. She’s having your baby, and you’re out here dicking around.”

The expression of Lap-girl shifted. Her eyes lowered and she picked at the label on Marshall’s beer bottle.

“Dicking around is what we do,” Marshall laughed, jostling the girl up and down on his knee.

“Why?” Lap-girl and I asked at the same time.

“Because your heart broke once and it’s safer.” Marshall arched an eyebrow. Lap-girl nodded as if she was part of our conversation.

“Then what’s your excuse?” I snapped. Marshall only glared at me across the table. Bridget loved him, I was certain of it. She’d loved him since we were kids, only she married some asshole and had three kids with him before my brother paid attention. Now, he dipped in the honey pot, stirred up the bees, and he was going to get stung, if he wasn’t careful. I knew. I had the history to prove it.

The bar crowd cheered again at another hit by the Cubs, but I wasn’t in the festive mood. In fact, ever since Emme used the headache and monthly-bill excuse on me, I’d been down right pissed off.

Before Marshall could answer my question, another girl sauntered up to the table. Late twenties. Size C cup. Narrow hips. Size four. Blonde hair. Not fake. I played this game with myself, sizing up the possibilities for a night then shared the skill with Marshall in a drunken stupor when he was twenty-one. We’d bet on it. Then it was tell-all once we had our hands on those breasts and our dick between those thighs. We were on the honor system to share details. No fudging the results. My stomach soured at the thought of this game, that we hadn’t played in years.

When the woman stopped at our table, she helped herself to the spare chair.

“Judy, whatcha doing?” she asked Lap-girl, still perched on Marshall’s lap.

“I’m going home with my new daddy,” she giggled then swung an arm to wrap around Marshall’s neck. Only it knocked him in the nose, and he cursed while tears filled his eyes. She peppered him with kisses, murmuring words to soothe him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, standing again. “I’m headed home.” I hadn’t gotten very far before I sensed someone behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed I was followed by the blonde.

“Hey,” she called out. “Looks like Judy’s tied up with your friend. Mind giving me a ride?”

I laughed at the irony of her question, but kept walking.

“I bet you’d like a lift,” I snipped under my breath.

“Actually, from the likes of you, I bet the lift would be pretty amazing.”

She bumped into me as I spun on her. Her young form saddled against mine and my hands instinctively settled on her hips. An arm draped around my neck and I leaned forward. Whiffing a strong scent of citrus and bar smoke and something else, I froze. The fragrance was wrong. This wasn’t what I wanted. While I typically didn’t care who I drove home, tonight I didn’t want to give anyone else a ride, but Emme.

My hands gently pressed Blondie away from me.

“I can’t tonight.” I paused. “I have a headache.”

I was sick. It was more than a headache, and blast it, if I didn’t have my period, too. I ached all over. A summer cold, and I blamed the combination of air-conditioning and college students I encountered at the university. The day was gorgeous outside, but I tossed and turned in bed. Merek clearly didn’t care for my excuse, which was not an excuse. Moments like this reminded me of Nate. As a mother, I wasn’t allowed to get sick. When my daughters were little, I worked through my own fevers, sore throats, and earaches. There was no one to take care of me. Nate was the worst. He still expected dinner on the table when my girls were young and I was a stay-at-home-mom. He had no sympathy for a headache, and forget about the pain of a period. It was all an excuse, he would say. People wondered why I married Nate and some days, I did, too.

When a knock came on my front door, I ignored it.
Nobody’s home
, I cried in my head. It was only me. The girls were at work, and I was slightly grateful I had the house to myself. No one would take care of me anyway. Being sick brought out the Debbie Downer in me, and I hated it. I acted like a baby. Melancholy and illness certainly did commiserate.

Emme?
My phone pinged.

I stared at my name on the screen. It was rare for Merek to text me early in the day. Even more rare was the fact that it was actually the day after his last text.

Hey
, I typed weakly. I didn’t have the energy for Merek at the moment. Contributing to my headache were wayward thoughts about him, his lack of kissing, and his sexual history. I hadn’t thought about it before, but if I didn’t fulfill his needs last night, had he found someone who did? The weight on my chest was as heavy as the ache in my lower back and I sighed audibly in my empty bedroom.

Open the door
, he replied, and I heard a knock again. I shot upright. The pressure on my head forced me to wrap my hands around my forehead. He couldn’t possibly be at my house. He didn’t know where I lived. He didn’t care that I was sick. He wouldn’t want to see me looking like I did: unshowered, sick-smelling, greasy haired.