Claire
Afew weeks passed without incident. Unless you count my falling for Aikenan incident…which it was.
Mostly, I taught while Abbie hounded me every day about another ridiculous idea. She was becoming quite the psychology protégé—or so she thought. Aiken hadn’t mentioned her or her friend again. He seemed busy with a new website for a local photographer. Arranging all their example photos and a separate password-protected proofs section was taking a big chunk of his time.
It was almost Halloween, and I was working in my kitchen, reviewing a paper I’d assigned to be due the morning of trick-or-treating. I needed a glass of wine. I was tired, overwhelmed…I didn’t know what.
“Knock, knock.” Aiken walked in my back door, which I’d taken to keeping unlocked when we were both home. Otherwise, as soon as I’d go upstairs to change, Aiken would be knocking. No one came around otherwise.
Smitty ran to nudge Aiken’s hand into petting him, tail wagging, acting like I hadn’t paid him any mind.
“Hey,” I said, peeking out from the cabinet, taking in his tight running pants and formfitting shirt. With nothing left to the imagination, my heart and brain did flip-flops thinking of the scenarios. “I was just going to pour myself some wine.”
“Oh good, let’s go for a run and then come back and have dinner and a drink. I’ve been cooped up all day.”
“God, can’t a weary lady stick her feet up with a glass of wine?”
The words clogged in my throat even as they made their way out.
Wasn’t that what I’d said before Abby died?
“Claire, you okay?” I turned to find Aiken by my side, his palm lightly gripping my arm. “Where’d you go there?”
I shook my head, but he was faster, cupping my face between his palms, turning me to face him, putting my emotion on full display.
“Don’t do that. Don’t clam up.”
“It’s just…that’s what I was thinking when I dropped Abby at the concert with her friends. We’d made a choice to let them go on their own. All the other moms were busy with their other kids or their husbands, but I didn’t have anyone else to be busy with. What if I’d gone? I could’ve sat somewhere separately, keeping an eye on them from afar. But, no. I wanted to drink wine, take a bath. I’m right back to where I started. A few months with you, and I want to sit around and drink wine like my life depends on it.” Tears fell from my eyes, and I felt Aiken wipe them away with his thumbs.
“Claire, it’s okay to want to drink wine. It’s okay to live your life.”
“Well, I wanted to drink wine rather than go on a run with you. What if something happened to you? And I wasn’t there because I was drinking wine?”
He pushed my hair off my wet face. “Darling Claire, first of all, I’m a big boy, all grown up. I don’t need a chaperone when running. That’s not what this is…you taking care of me, chaperoning me. I’m not a kid. Not your kid. I’m your lover. Do you understand that?”
Slipping from his grasp, I said, “Don’t make this about you. This is about me. I’m not a fool. I know you’re not my kid.”
Did I?
“This is about me sloughing off shit for wine drinking,” I continued to explain, amending my feelings while leaning against the counter, the edge biting into my back. Welcoming the pain, I fumbled with my hands and words.
“How about this? Why don’t we sit together and have wine? Forget the run. Later, we can take Smitty for a walk or something.”
“You don’t have to do that. Like you said, I’m not in charge of you. If you want to run, go run.” But he was already reaching up and grabbing two wineglasses, pulling them down, and uncorking a bottle of red. With the stems caught between his fingers, the goblets hanging upside down, the bottle under his arm, he said, “Come on, let’s go to my place, and I’ll light a fire.”
“Aiken, this is crazy. You wanted to run. I’m getting whiplash from your change of plans.” In reality, my heart sped up at his demand to go next door, sacrificing his run. I’d thought he was mad, but to be honest, I didn’t know shit.
“Let’s go, Smitty.” He opened the screen door and let my dog out. “Let’s go, Richards.”
And just like that, I found myself curled up on Aiken’s leather couch, glass of wine in hand, my head leaning against his hard chest that rumbled with laughter. “No, you did not assign a paper due on Halloween to your poor students. Do you have no soul?”
“I did. Why not? It’s just a regular day. They’re in college. It can’t mean that much.”
“For starters, they’re going to be partying the whole weekend before.”
“Not my problem.”
He spun me around, making sure my glass didn’t topple. With his hand grasping my arm, he looked at me. “What’s the real reason behind this? And don’t say nothing.”
