When It's Love (20 page)

“Yes,” I say. “Everything is great.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mr. Hart says. “What can we get you to drink?” He gestures towards Henry’s mother, “Carolyn is on a dairy-free diet, and so we’re skipping the eggnog this year.”

“I’ll have what Mrs. Hart is having,” I say, admiring her festive looking glass.

“Good choice. A cranberry martini is the next best thing to eggnog on Christmas,” Mr. Hart says as he makes his way out of the room to get my drink. “Scotch for you, Henry, I presume,” he says.

“Yep,” Henry answers.

“I love your dress, Mrs. Hart,” I say, trying to strike up a conversation. And I really do love it, and the way its silver color looks shiny from some angles and matte from others.

“Thank you, dear,” she says. “Your sweater is exquisite.” And then as if she senses my relationship with Henry has changed, she adds, “Please call me Carolyn and call my husband Benjamin. We’ve known you far too long to be on a Dr. and Mrs. basis.”

I smile warmly, feeling at ease thanks to her kindness. Benjamin returns with our drinks and raises his glass, “To our health and happiness,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”

We all repeat Merry Christmas and Benjamin reaches over to Carolyn and gives her a sweet kiss.

We sit on the lavish sofas, sip our drinks, and make small talk about classes and graduation. “Henry told me you received wonderful feedback from your writing professor,” Carolyn says.

I can feel my face turning beet red. I look over at Henry with wide, questioning eyes, unsure how to reply. Thankfully, he butts in and says, “Mom! Don’t embarrass Sydney.”

“I’m sorry,” Carolyn says and crosses her legs, calling my attention to her patent leather wedge pumps. “I was just going to ask Sydney what she wrote about.”

“Family stuff,” I say quickly, hoping the Harts can’t tell that I’m squirming on the inside. “And some thoughts about identity. Nothing too exciting.”

“But I’ve got exciting news,” Henry blurts into the middle of the conversation and I am so grateful for his interruption.

We all look at Henry with surprise. He reaches over to take my hand. “Sydney and I are, you know, a thing,” he says, lifting our adjoined hands in the air.

I’m turning red again. The Harts momentarily look surprised, but then Benjamin says, “That’s wonderful.”

Carolyn chimes in with a wonderful of her own. “I can’t say it comes as a complete shock, given how much time you two spend together.”

Benjamin downs his scotch and says, “So, we’ve got another thing to celebrate this Christmas.” He heads out to gather a second round of drinks.

I’m tremendously buzzed after my first cranberry martini, so I should probably decline the next one. Instead, I accept it gratefully, happy to numb my recollection of the day’s events. Henry gulps down his second drink and then we leave his parents in the living room to go tour the Christmas tree and admire the ornaments while we wait for Mayor Ryan and Celine to arrive.

Henry holds my hand, and in my other hand I hold my drink, trying to keep it from sloshing over the rim of the glass. “Just how tipsy are you?” Henry asks playfully.

“Very,” I giggle.

“Then you probably won’t mind if I do this,” Henry says in a sultry voice as he starts to run his hand slowly from the back of my thigh over the top of my stocking, where his fingers pluck at the elastic band.

I swat at his hand. “Henry! Your parents are only one room away.”

“One very big room away,” he says as he slides his hand onto my ass. He doesn’t squeeze, but rather strokes it exceedingly gently. His fingers run over the fold between my cheek and the top of my thigh.

“I’m going to spill my martini if you keep doing that, Henry.”

“Then you’d better drink up quick,” he answers smartly. “Because I’m not stopping.”

Henry takes my hand and leads me to the end of the foyer where we turn left into the cozy den with an L-shaped cream-colored sofa and a massive flatscreen. I set my drink down on the glass coffee table and Henry quickly pulls me into his arms, holds me close, and kisses me softly. He places both of his hands up my skirt and onto my ass, continuing his caressing. I lean into him and tense as his fingers near my crack. “You have the best ass,” he whispers in my ear and nuzzles his nose in my hair.

I moan quietly as I feel my body responding to Henry’s touch. I put my arms around his shoulders and lean into him.

“So tell me, Syd,” Henry says a little bit louder. “How many times can you come in one day?” He runs a finger along the string of my thong, and before I can answer an unexpected “oh” escapes my throat.

“I think three is my record,” I pant.

“We’re going to break that record today,” Henry says with confidence. He continues to trace his skilled fingers along the length of me, making me slicker by the second. The wetter I get, the faster his fingers glide.

“This turns you on, baby.” Henry says, still whispering in my ear.

All I can do is groan in reply. I’m entirely at Henry’s mercy.

“What else turns you on?” Henry asks. He’s cupping my ass with one hand while his other hand travels under my sweater and tugs down my bra. He begins to roll my nipple between his fingers.

“That,” I murmur, barely able to speak.

“What about this?” Henry asks as moves his hand forward to my front, and slips a finger inside of me.

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Yes,” Henry agrees as pushes a second finger into me.

“Oh God, Henry!”

“That’s right, baby,” he says. His fingers move inside me rhythmically, and my head spins with drunkenness while my body tightens with desire.

“I think I need to sit down, Henry.”

“And I think you need to slide your hand down the front of your panties and rub your clit,” Henry says.

A mind-blowing sensation jolts me and I bite down on Henry’s shoulder to muffle a cry.

“Come down here with me,” Henry says authoritatively. He lets go of my nipple and grabs my elbow, gently guiding my hand from his shoulder to my waist. And then lower, over the hem of my raised skirt until I’m touching the edge of my panties, all of this while I continue to pulse around his two fingers inside of me.

I ease my fingers down gradually, purposely cupping my hand outward and away from my clit. My fingertips graze Henry’s hand, and at that moment he leans his head down to mine, prodding me to raise my face to his. Our lips converge, but I’m too far-gone to coordinate a kiss. I’m panting into Henry’s mouth. “Touch yourself,” he says.

I make a V with my first two fingers and slip them along the either side of my clit, putting pressure on its borders. Any more direct stimulation will send me spiraling.

“Good girl,” Henry says without taking his lips off mine. He pushes his body against me, crushing my palm against my primed nub.

“Oh, Henry. Oh my God, Henry.” I whimper into his lips, until my head starts to tip back. He leans forward, kissing my neck, while his fingers still move inside of me. I’m not in control of my body. All I can do is let go, and resign to the intensification of throbbing until it conquers me in a blast.

Henry pulls his hand out of me and takes me into his arms. I’m breathing rapidly, as if I’ve just sprinted up ten flights of stairs. I try to calm down, but I don’t think I will until the quivering inside begins to slow.

“You OK?” he asks.

“I’m destroyed,” I say with a sigh.

“In a good way, I presume,” Henry says with a chuckle.

“In the best way,” I say.

“Let’s go wash our hands in the guest bathroom,” Henry suggests. “We can’t exactly greet our guests in this state,” he says, grinning.

“I need to run upstairs for a minute,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry!” Henry says.

“Yes, sir,” I say and feign a salute.

I rush up the stairs as quickly as my high heels will allow. I need to text Henry his Christmas present before dinner gets going. I step into the guest room, grab my phone, plop down into the velvet chair and begin to write my messages:

Merry Christmas, Henry my dear

I’ve not forgotten your present, so have no fear

You’re mine to delight this Christmas night

However you take me, do it right

A,B,C, or D

Which way will you have me?

A. Missionary style that takes awhile

B. Grind from behind, fucking me out of my mind

C. Me on top till you beg me to stop

D. I head south, you come in my mouth

Not bad, I grin to myself. I feel silly and wickedly sexy at the same time, and I have a hunch that Henry will choose B or D. Grinning from ear to ear, I hurry out of the bathroom before anyone starts to wonder why I’ve been gone for so long. Fortunately, I hear Henry’s phone dinging up here so I don’t have to be concerned about a bunch of message alerts disturbing Christmas dinner.

Mayor Ryan and Celine have arrived by the time I get downstairs. Both are dressed in elegant black attire. I know they are easily in their late 50s, but they look much younger. They greet me cordially and after brief small talk, we all make our way to the dining room.

There are only six of us for dinner, so the dining room table, which can easily seat twelve, feels ridiculously large. Along the length of the table are five tall candlesticks with white candles burning, and gold paint-dipped pinecones. I’m a little unsteady in my high heels, thanks to a general lack of expertise, orgasm-induced exhaustion, an empty stomach, and almost two cranberry martinis. Henry pulls out a chair for me and I ease into it rather ungracefully. Before we eat, Mayor Ryan and Celine ask a lot of questions about campus life, which Henry and I answer politely. The conversation then segues to a discussion about what can be done to improve safety in town. Burglary increased 5% in the past year, Mayor Ryan explains. In 2014 he plans to increase police foot and bike patrol, especially around campus where most of the break-ins have occurred. “Believe it or not,” he says, “I got a call an hour ago from the chief of police reporting that there have already been two robberies tonight. People go out for Christmas dinner and thieves creep in.”

“It’s despicable,” Celine says as she brushes her black hair away from her face.

Everyone nods in agreement, but I suspect I’m the only one at the table with a sinking feeling and a chill down my spine.

Benjamin stands to fill our wine glasses with Chardonnay and I realize I’ve forgotten to bring down the bottle I brought. But the flight of stairs to the guest room seems daunting in my tipsy state. It can wait, I reason with myself.

Carolyn and Celine are going in and out of the kitchen, bringing out various platters of food. I try to get up to help as well, but I’m wobbly and Henry tells me to sit down. “It’s OK,” he says. “I know you’re not used to drinking.” He squeezes my hand.

“Why are you trembling?” he asks quietly while Benjamin and Mayor Ryan chat about planned renovations at Addison Hospital.

“I didn’t know I was,” I say.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asks, a little too loudly. Benjamin and Mayor Ryan turn to look at us.

“Is something the matter?” Benjamin asks.

“Um, maybe,” I say. “Mayor Ryan, do you happen to know where tonight’s robberies took place?”

“I don’t,” he says, “but I can easily find out. Are you concerned about someone?”

“Sort of,” I say.

Benjamin looks sternly at Henry. “Would you like to explain?”

The table is now full of elaborate dishes and the honey-glazed ham looks divine. I’m starving and given how much I’ve had to drink, I know the best thing for me to do is eat. It will also buy me some time while I try to figure out how to explain why I’m worried about my apartment without mentioning my father. “I’ll tell you everything after dinner,” I say. “Everything smells delicious. Let’s eat.”

The sense of dread stays with me as I methodically bite, chew, and swallow my Christmas dinner. I’m unable to taste a thing because all of my senses are overwhelmed by the terrifying thought that my father has broken into my apartment. What if Tiny and Little ran away? The thought of them out in the snow makes my head pound and I can’t stop myself from saying, “Excuse me, Mayor Ryan, I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“What is it, Sydney?” he says looking concerned.

“Would it be a big deal for you to ask a patrol car to pass by my building?” I ask in a shaky voice. “Just to see if anything looks unusual, or if there happens to be a blue sedan with a dented door parked on the street?”

“Of course not, dear,” he says. “C’mon with me to the living room and we’ll make some calls.”

I sink into one of the leather sofas beside Mayor Ryan and give him my address. After he calls the police, he tells me I look pale. “Can I bring you a glass of water?” he asks. “Would you like to talk about what’s troubling you?”

“Actually, I think I’ll go upstairs to rest a bit,” I say. “Please let everyone know that I’m fine. I just need a few minutes of quiet.” I thank Mayor Ryan for his help.

“I’ll let you know if there’s any news,” he says.

“Great,” I say and scurry upstairs to the guest room.

I take my shoes off as soon as I get to the Persian rug in the hallway. In the guest room I dig through my backpack hoping to find a painkiller for my throbbing head. No luck. The bottle of Chardonnay still sitting there reminds me of my Christmas gift to Henry. I’ve made him some very gratuitous offers, and with the way I feel now, I’m not sure I can own up to a single one of them. I climb into the bed fully dressed, slide in deep beneath the covers, put a pillow over my head, and hide from the world just the way my cats do. Please be OK, kitties. Please finish dinner quickly, Henry, so I can ask you to drive me home.

After everything that’s happened in the last few days, I have an overwhelming yearning for my old life, the days before sexting with Professor Sparling, before fucking Henry, before my father began prowling through the cold, dark Addison nights. When it was just my cats and me, I had things figured out. I was entirely depressed, but at least I had my shit together. I was making progress on coming to terms with who I am in the world, and in my personal essay, I was able to articulate my feelings about my mother and the way I believe she perceives me. I know I will always be my mother’s crisis. Carrying me in her womb was like having her assailant inside of her, and because of me she is permanently bound to her rapist. Although none of these things is my fault, I am consciously aware that no matter how good I am in this world, I will always repulse her. My mother will never look at me without seeing evil, and I can’t blame her. I’m an extension of him. But after all the years of mourning my identity, I’ve started getting closer to a place I dream of, where I don’t think of myself as part him or part her. I’m just me.