“Great. Have a good night.”
Lloyd muttered something and hung up. Carver stalked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, stripped to his boxers and collapsed facedown on the bed beside Lillian. She put her phone down and stroked his hair.
“That was good,” she said. “I like when you go full intemperate lunatic. He went for it?”
“Yeah,” Carver said, muffled. “He peed his pants and he’s gonna go run and show the committee his pee pants.”
“Yesss,” Lillian cheered. “Wanna have sex?”
Carver’s body remembered its earlier longings, and his dick stirred. Unfortunately it wasn’t stirring for Lillian but instead fora memory of the current poolhouse guest fucking him senseless in this very bed, five months before 9/11. These physical reactions had to be aftershocks from seeing Scott after so long.
He rolled onto his back and offered himself to his wife. Lillian pulled his dick through his boxer slit and stroked him, then bent to use her mouth on it, trying to get him hard. Carver closed his eyes and went elsewhere.
“Xanax dick?” Lillian asked after a few minutes.
Carver lolled his head. “Mmm.”
“You bring any Cialis?”
“To my parents’ house? No. Let’s just go to sleep.”
Lillian shoved him over to his side of the bed, then spooned up against him. He pressed himself backward into her, sighing, wanting what she couldn’t give him.
She kissed his bare shoulder and said, “You were a good boy tonight.”
Carver’s dick twitched for her, then. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think you handled yourself well with your parents, you didn’t give them an inch. And not with Lloyd either. You did exactly what I wanted.”
“Good,” Carver said. She ran her warm hands over his arms and torso, and he shivered.
“I like when you’re a dickhead to other people and obedient to me,” Lillian whispered in his ear.
Carver shivered again and made a soft sound. His body was attempting an erection but couldn’t quite get there. The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.
“Alright,” Lillian said after a moment. “I gave it a shot.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said honestly. “I’m gonna get some sleep.”
She patted his arm and rolled onto her other side, facing away from him.
CHAPTER THREE
Carver went downstairs for coffee at 8 a.m. the next morning, freshly exercised and showered and humming along on 200 milligrams of modafinil. He was committed to facing the day and whatever it entailed. Seeing Scott hadn’t gone how he feared, and as long as he avoided being alone with him, he expected things to remain copacetic.
His mother was by herself in the kitchen when he got there, reading theTimesat the breakfast bar, cutting a dainty figure in the jets of white-hot morning light that poured through the southeast-facing windows. She eyed him as he waited for their Nespresso machine to choke out the contents of a Dolce pod. Carver looked around the room, noticing a few new items of decor — namely a red wastebasket printed with white lobsters and a footrest that took the form of a goldendoodle, presumably sourced from her preferred tchotchke retailer, Scully & Scully. Nora’s taste had gotten 7% more whimsical since she became a grandmother.
“Would you like to come with us to the club?” she said, disturbing the silence. “We’re meeting Letty and her fiancée there, we have to go over some things before tomorrow.”
“You seem very involved with this wedding?” Carver couldn’t help responding.
Nora shrugged and turned the page of her newspaper. “We’re giving them some help. We got them in with the club, and we’re paying a large portion of the venue fee, as a gift.”
He was taken aback. “Why?”
“Why not? My sister and her husband weren’t able to help them much.” Nora sipped her own coffee. “You know what terrible investors they are. They almost lost their house in the dot-com bubble.”
“I’m just surprised.” Carver picked up his own mug and focused his gaze at it as he said, “It’s a gay wedding. I didn’t think you’d be this supportive.” His voice shrank as he spoke.
