How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [111]
So I pour it out to him, the waking up to dread and my worry over Sofia, and the terse texts followed by nothing, and then the big disaster of the hot-water heater and the fight with my sister who would not help me and the fear of calling my father, who wasn’t in, anyway.
“Pretty lousy day.”
I nod. “And I just can’t shake this feeling that something is really wrong somewhere.”
“I know that feeling.” He takes my hand. “I’ve been thinking of quitting my job.”
“I thought you came here to do it.”
“It’s a good organization. I like it, and it feels good to do work like that, but I’ve been asked to submit some possibilities for a score. A friend of mine is pulling it all together, and—” He shrugs. “It seems like it might be worth a try.”
“Jonah, that’s great news. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” In his pocket, his phone buzzes, and an expression of weary sadness moves on his mouth. He doesn’t answer.
“I don’t mind if you answer.”
He shakes his head. “It’s my ex. She calls nearly every evening. I don’t have the heart to tell her to stop.”
“Why does she call?”
“So we can say a prayer for Ethan.” He takes a breath. “It seems to help her.”
“That’s very generous. Pretty sure I’m not that nice.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Would you ever want more children?”
“No.” The word is absolute, and I mean it most sincerely. “I’m going to be a grandmother any second. That will be plenty.”
“I can understand that.”
“Do you want another child?”
“I’ve never considered it. But sometimes lately I think it wouldn’t be so terrible.”
“You’re older than I am!”
He laughs, low and deep. “That’s true. But there are a lot of children in the world who just want a place to land, something safe and warm.”
“Katie was so skinny when she got here that I was horrified.”
“Exactly.”
“So you would adopt?”
He looks at me. “Yeah. I couldn’t—”
I smile softly. “You won’t love any child less. It doesn’t matter if they belong to your blood.”
He puts a hand over his chest. “It’s hard to imagine.”
“I know. But that’s how it is. Life happens to you.”
“Speaking of that …” He puts his feet down, stopping the glider, then stands up, pulling me gently to my feet. “It’s time.”
“For?”
“The natural thing for two lovers to do is to make love.” He pulls me into his body. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, and the day before that and the day before that.”
And for the first time, it does seem right. It’s not a decision made in the heat of the moment, although when he gathers me close and kisses me, I find myself melding into him, our skins dissolving one into the other. His hands press down the cloth of my dress, moving surely across the landscape of my back, cupping my bottom. I press upward into him, head bending backward to accommodate his tongue. My hands are roving, too. Over his back, down his arms, hands open along the outside of his thighs. I feel the air on the back of my bare legs and realize only as his hands move beneath my skirt that he’s tugged it up. “Is Katie asleep?”
“Yes,” I say, but the sound is strangled, because he’s sliding those clever fingers between my legs, and I make a noise, then step away. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He smiles and follows me, and I lead him up the back stairs, through the dark kitchen, and into my bedroom, which is messy because it always is. At least the quilt is pulled up over the pillows and the clothes are mostly piled on one chair. I close the door and reach for him.
“It’s too dark,” he says.
“My room is messy.” I think of how tidy his house is, everything in its place, all the clutter stowed. If he even owns any clutter.
“I don’t care,” he says, laughing. “I want to look at you, not your bedroom.”
Reluctantly, I turn on a lamp, and I’m even embarrassed by the fact that there is a scarf around the shade, a peachy color I love so much I want to put it everywhere. I turn back to find him looking at me soberly, and he reaches for the buttons of my dress. I start to help him, but he says quietly, “Let me.”
He takes his time, unbuttoning