–Me: A long story. I’ll talk to you later.
There is a pause. Then:
–Dad: We WILL talk. Your grandma’s worried.
Hmm… Guess it won’t be one on one with Dad, but with all The Fogeys. If Grandma is worried, Aunt Jeremiah’s going to show up too. Not to provide emotional support—that isn’t Aunt Jeremiah’s forte—but to advise and strategize.
“Mmm…”
I glance over at the bed and put the phone away. Fiona finally stirs, slowly turning. Her hand stretches out, touches the empty spot next to her. Three grooves form between her eyebrows, then she slowly blinks her eyes open, looking at the ceiling.
“Hey, Siri,” she says, then stops, her scowl deepening. Her voice is hoarse and rough. She curses under her breath. “What time is it?”
“It’s ten seventeen a.m.”
She lets out a soft sigh. “Thank you.”
A corner of my mouth quirks up. But then, she’s always courteous…to others. Just not me. She wouldn’t have cheated on me if she’d thought I deserved any consideration.
“You’re welcome,” says the chirpy artificial voice.
Fiona lies motionless for a bit, then shifts in my direction. Her sleep-glazed eyes meet mine. Hereyelids flutter.
“Good morning,” I say quietly.
“Ack!” She jackknifes up, then bends over, her elbows digging into the soft duvet. “Ow, ow, ohh…”
Placing the coffee on the table next to me, I almost start to get up to check on her, then catch myself. But the question slips out anyway. “You okay?”
She gives me a hard stare. “What do you think? You aren’t allowed near me for the next three months.”
I feign innocence, relieved she isn’t going to talk about the inane desires I displayed because of the drug. Hopefully she assumed I was acting emotionally off due to being drunk or something. “What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem?” she repeats incredulously. “Are you kidding? I’m sore all over.”
“Well, multiple orgasms can have that effect…”
“It’s not the multiple orgasms. It’syou! My God, who does it all night—for real—without any break? Did you steal your dad’s Viagra or something?”
Murder flashes in her eyes, but when her cheeks are flushed from sleep and her neck and chest are mottled with the marks I left, she looks ridiculously cute. I laugh softly. “You can ask him.”
“Seriously?”
“No.” I laugh again at her expression. It reminds me a little of Gardy when she was a puppy and had a biscuit taken away by Grandma, who worried that she was getting too obese. That poor puppy couldn’t decide how she should react.
“I didn’t steal his Viagra, if he even has any. But I’ll ask for you. Tell him you’re curious.”
“Don’t you dare! It was just a rhetorical question.” Her eyes drop to my iced Americano. She lets out a longing sigh.
I pour her some hot coffee from a thermos room service sent up and dump some sugar in. “Here.”
She bites her lip.
“Oh for—! Stop acting like taking a cup of coffee is some kind of surrender. I don’t want to engage with a woman who hasn’t had her morning caffeine.”
“Fine.” She takes the mug and takes a long sip. “Thank you.” Her eyes close. The tension drains from her face and shoulders. The blissful, unguarded expression reminds me of the peaceful mornings we had at Harvard.
As soon as the memory pops up, I push it back down. The two million wasn’t to relive the past; it was to get her out of my system. Reminiscing is for the weak and foolish. Life is about internalizing hard-learned lessons and moving on.
