As I break away from her lips and nuzzle into her soft hair, I realizing that it’s well past one in the morning. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” She yawns and nods her head.
We move quickly and quietly as we gather our clothes and sneak up into her room.
Spooning behind her in her tiny bed, I pull her as close to me as possible. Pressing my lips to the tender spot where her neck slopes down to her shoulder, I kiss her sweetly. “Goodnight, beautiful girl.”
She mumbles something in return before her breathing evens and she falls into a deep slumber.
Closing my eyes, I actually look forward to the morning. For the first time in four years, I will not be alone on Christmas morning. More importantly, I know that I will never be alone ever again.
One of my last happy memories from Christmas was from when I was about fourteen years old. I just started high school that year and Shane took me under his wing. I was immediately part of the cool crowd and I felt like King Shit. Anyway, what made that Christmas my most favorite ever, was the fact that he gave me his most prized possession as a gift: his old baseball mitt.
He was a baseball star and I wanted to be just like him. So that morning, so many years ago, when he reached under his bed, and slid a clearly-wrapped-by-a-teenage-boy present across the hardwood floor towards my bed, I never expected his glove, the one he used to win the state championship the year before, to be inside of it. While he had outgrown it, I felt like I would never be good enough to fill it.
I didn’t learn how to play baseball like most boys do. My father was never around and when he was, well, it wasn’t pretty. Baseball was not quality father-son time; it was a test of our capabilities. Shane and I had to demonstrate how strong or how fast we were in order to garner our father’s approval.
Of course, thinking of my father brings up thoughts of my mother. How is she spending the day? Is she having one of her good days? When Katie called me almost two weeks ago, I just wasn’t ready to deal with anything relating to that part of my life, to my mom – her apology, her illness, her imminent death.
Then of course, thinking about my parents, brings my present status of Daddy-to-be to the front of my brain. There’s going to be a baby here with us next year – our baby. With that image in mind, a ridiculously goofy grin splits my face. I’m fairly certain every soon-to-be parent says that they’re “going to do things differently from their own parents,” but I know for certain that I will never be like my father.
Yet the more I reflect on it, the more I realize that being like my mom, at least before everything happened with Shane, might not be so bad. Even recently, her humility, openness and honesty are all traits that I would want to share with my child.
Lying here, with Maddy snuggling up against my chest, so many of the issues that I’ve been trying to deal with, swirl in my head. Hell, even Maddy and I haven’t worked outallof our problems, but for the first time ever, I realize that not every single detail needs to be cleared and neatly packed away in order for us to move on. Tracing an invisible pattern on Maddy’s shoulder and upper arm, I think about our promises to one another from the other day. One, we’ll be honest with each other, even if it’s scary in the moment; secondly, we’ll be right next to each other in whatever decision we have to make, and that somehow, through all of this crazy shit, we’ll figure out how to make this work.
Staring down at the beauty beside me, feelings of love and gratefulness inundate my consciousness. Maybe it’s the overall reflective quality of my early morning musings, but I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her in my life. Hell, I remember the first night I met her, how even from across the overcrowded and oppressively hot space of my living room turned dance floor, I could sense her. There was an immediate pull to her. I mean, sure, she was bopping her perfect ass up and down to the beat of the music while her head was stuck in the fridge – that was definitely what drew me to her initially, but then she turned around and my heart skidded into the wall of my chest.
There is just something so disarming about her face, her eyes; innocence, honesty and genuine kindness, grace her entire presence.
Sure I have been with my fair share of beautiful women, but Maddy’s beauty is completely different. It is pure and you can easily see that it is much more than skin deep. Her soul is beautiful; her heart is gorgeous. I’ve never known anyone to be the perfect combination of sweet and sassy; goofy and sarcastic; passionate and alive.
And somehow, by some act of God, we seem to have been able to work out some of our problems. I know, based on her reaction to the apartment alone, that she still has trust issues. And I know she can tell that I’m still reeling from my own demons, but for the first time in my life, they aren’t keeping me from moving forward.
In fact, being with my beautiful Maddy has given me the strength to finally tackle the shadows of my past. I might not talk about her much, but I think about my mom constantly. Her forgiveness weighs heavily on my brain and in my heart. Reflecting on my own imperfections, I know what I have to do. I’ve spent so many years denying myself happiness because I thought I was undeserving of it. I could never forgive myself for what I had done wrong. My life has been fucking hell on earth because I couldn’t forgive myself for my mistakes.
Mom is no different.
I’ve been lucky enough to have someone help me face down my pain, help me learn how to forgive myself. But I know that no matter how hard Mom has tried to move on in her life – leaving my father, marrying Joe, developing a tight bond with Katie – I know that she will never forgive herself unless I help her take that first step.
As Maddy begins to stir at my side, I silently promise myself to call Mom today. It might not be easy, but I will put our past behind us and learn how to forgive my mother. If not for forgiveness, I wouldn’t have Maddy back in my life. It can’t be a bad thing when you look at it like that. Can it?
I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying here thinking about all of this, but a clanging tray in the kitchen brings me into the here and now. In true mom-like fashion, Momma is up before all of us making cinnamon rolls – you know, the kind that are as big as your head. Maddy and Mel wereohhingandahhingabout them all night last night as the three of them got lost in reminiscing over Christmas traditions. As the smells of sugar and cinnamon filter up to Maddy’s room, she is fully roused from her sleep. Rubbing her eyes and looking up at me dreamily, she says, “Merry Christmas, baby.” Her voice is husky and gruff as the sleepiness filters through her words.
Her eyes twinkle as the morning sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, and I’m brought back to our time in front of the tree last night. Gently pressing my lips to her forehead, I gaze down at her. “Merry Christmas to you too, babe.”
We lay there for a few minutes absent-mindedly running our fingertips over the other’s skin. The pads of her delicate fingers tracing over my chest and abs heats my blood. It’s crazy really. I was inside of her just a few hours ago. But the feeling of her mouth wrapping around me as I slide across her tongue, is seared onto my skin. I have no choice but to react to the feel of her. Add in all of the emotions that I was just sorting through and one thing is clear.
I need her.
Again.
She senses my desire because her innocent touches morph into lingering and languorously teasing patterns that trace lower and lower across my stomach. Still tucked into my side, she looks up at me through her long, seductive lashes. Her eyes are glazed over and hooded with lust. When her pinky unintentionally brushes against the tip of my cock over the fabric of my boxers, a deep and erratic breath hitches in her throat. Wordlessly, we both shift so that we’re on our sides facing one another.
No longer accidental, her touches become deliberate, yet delicate. Tracing over my hardened length repeatedly forces me to groan in response. When her fingernails trail lightly over the tightening skin of my sac, I shudder in delight.
Pulling the thin straps of her tank-top down over her arms, I graze my fingertips lightly over her skin. I pull her top down so that it sits directly under her breasts, pushing them up and together – exposing them completely. She shivers and her nipples pucker instantly. Crushing her supple breasts to my chest restricts me from toying with her pebbled buds. She eyes me in admonishment. “Let me touch you first. I want to feel you hot and hard and pulsing in my hand.”
Oh fuck!
Hooking her leg over my hips, she pulls us closer and she slides her hand under the elastic of my boxers. When her sure and steady hand wraps tightly around my cock, I can’t help but push up into her touch. Propping myself up on my elbow, she pushes my boxers down, allowing me to spring free. I toe them off the rest of the way and revel in the feel of her warm and sensual touch.
