As I neared Blossom's bedroom, her door flew open, and I froze. In the dim light, I saw my daughter dressed in pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Mom, what are you doing coming home so late?"
"Sorry. Did I wake you?" I purposely avoided answering the question and kept my face neutral.
"Honestly, I couldn't sleep. You didn't respond to any of my texts."
"I'm sorry. I missed your messages."
I even looked at my phone since I left Jamison's. I'd been in my own world, high off sex with a buttoned-up banker who wasn't so buttoned-up in private.
Focus, Tallulah.
"You could've called and told me you'd be coming home late. I was worried," Blossom said.
What was happening here? She was acting like a parent and treating me like a child. I was amused and slightly mortified by the role reversal.
"I'll be sure to respond next time. I'll see you in the morning," I said, trying to brush by her.
Please let this be over so I can escape to my room and continue processing what happened,I thought.
"Mom, you didn't answer my question. What were you doing out so late?" Frowning, she stared at me. "Were you having sex?"
Why did she sound alarmed? How did she think she came into this world?
And what the heck made her jump to that conclusion? Could she smell the sex on me? Was it somehow written on my face? Did I have a post-coital glow going on in the dimly lit hallway?
"Go to bed, Blossom," I said dismissively. "We'll talk in the morning. I'm tired, okay?" This time I didn't stick around. I took off toward my room.
"Are you tired from having sex?" This time, Blossom's voice was high-pitched, almost like a screech.
Good grief, this child. I wasnothaving this conversation with her. I opened my door and locked it with a satisfying click.
"Mom! I'm not done talking to you!" Blossom wiggled the doorknob and rapped her knuckles against the door.
Sighing, I stood in the middle of my dark room, contemplating what to do next. I really didn't want to have a conversation with my daughter about having sex with her future father-in-law. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
So I ignored her calls from the other side of the door, her constant knocking, and removed my phone from my purse and plugged it into the outlet next to my bed.
"Mom, stop ignoring me. You're being rude!" Blossom accused.
I considered responding but then decided against it. Silence was the best recourse at the moment. Besides, what was I supposed to tell her?
"You know how you wanted me and Jamison to get along? Well, we get along great now. Especially horizontally." Wink, wink.
Or better yet, I could say something like, "Well, my love, I had an amazing night with Manuel's father. We had sex—first on his bed and then I straddled him on the chair in his bedroom and rode him like a horse."
I seriously doubted she wanted to hear the details.
I went into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and stepped into the shower. Lifting my face into the warm, soothing spray, I relived Jamison's hands on my body. The way he traced my curves, not only with his fingers but with his lips and tongue. The way he'd whispered my name like a prayer, and when his control finally snapped... I shivered. He'd been like an animal—a sensually demanding animal.
I laughed to myself, shaking my head. I needed to focus on actually washing my body instead of standing under the spray, grinning like a fool.
When I finally stepped out of the shower, feeling refreshed and clean, Blossom was no longer knocking. She must've gotten tired and gone back to her room. Guilt nudged my conscience for ignoring her, but talking could wait until the morning.
Jamison and I didn't discuss what happened, but I was fairly certain he was of the same mind: this wasn't something we should share with our kids.
At least not yet. Maybe not ever. Sleeping together was complicated enough without adding our children's opinions into the mix.
