They also stress how complex the organization is, and how much money is required to support it. Max would, indeed, have been in favor. I get caught up in asking Hester ever more questions about how the community operates and how replicable the model is, managing to put aside the matter of my own immediate future.
Of course, Hester’s love for what she’s doing, her investment in finding ways to provide hands-on assistance while not overstepping, and her joy in interacting with even the whiniest of residents catch me.
When did I last feel that joy? The company—Max’s company—makes a difference, but we’re removed from the people who ultimately benefit, me more so, since I oversee the necessary but hardly exciting tasks of ordering sufficient supplies and making payroll. No doubt I’m over-romanticizing Hester’s work. Dealingwith whiners can get old fast. I shake my head and push the thoughts away.
Yet when we’re back in the zipzap, the problem of work and money fades in favor of the more intimate hurdles before me.
For all that Anamaria and Bebe consider the Sage Street Community or something similar a viable alternative to packing up, their ideas of equivalency grate on my nerves.
Anamaria made nice noises about omegas continuing to have heats for most of their lives, even though fertility dwindles to nearly nothing in their fifties, yet she doesn’t seem to understand that older people can be, and often are, sexually active.
She talks blithely about me possibly packing up and laughs at the stereotypical three-alphas-in-a-room situation we left behind, but overlooks the implications that three older alphas might be interested in fucking each other or me, or both.
Maybe she doesn’t want to think about what her father and I might do behind closed doors. Fair enough—I prefer not to consider what happens during her heats in any detail.
That’s one reason my interest in the community centers on ways to offer support, rather than as a place I might want to live. I appreciate Anamaria and Bebe’s desire to offer me alternatives—but whatever life I build after Max has to speak toallmy needs and desires.
Corin. Dan. Nathan.
Two of the three can wait until the next meeting, whenever that may be. I’ll face Corin tonight with too many questions unasked, unanswered, or not yet answerable.
The moment I nearly kissed him this morning seems simultaneously close and so very far away.
Chapter 24
We Can’t Go Back, Only Forward
CORIN
“At last.” I shut the outer door on my twittering, teasing middle daughter, cutting off the cold draft that swept into the house during the five minutes she lingered on the doorstep repeating things she’d already said three times over beforefinallyheading back to her dorm.
My oldest daughter stands at the bottom of the staircase, laughing at me, as though she hadn’t aided and abetted Bebe every step of the way. They have ideas about what to do with Max’s money? Fine. They want to express opinions? Good.
Why do they have to do itnow?
There’s a glorious, irritating light in Anamaria’s eyes as she tilts her head and takes in Johanna curled at one end of the couch, her blue-and-white polka-dotted dress bright against the pale gold upholstery, and myself, still dressed for work—except for having wrenched off the matching tie—waiting, impatiently for my daughter to head up and leave me and Johanna alone so we can discuss an ever-growing list of subjects.
After dinner, I’d have hustled Johanna off up to my room if I’d had my druthers. But sweeping someone off their feet and carrying them upstairs requires a certain amount of cooperation on the part of the person being carried. It’s the kind of romantic gesture that only works when one is sure the other welcomes it—which, with both of us being older and set in our ways, means advance consent.
Which requires frank talk.
Which, in turn, depends on time alone with no eager ears listening in.
The young woman facing me knows she’s old enough that I can’t order her to bed. Her heat’s probably coming up soon, given how cuddly she’s been with all three of us this evening, and the shadowy lines beneath her eyes suggest she hasn’t been sleeping well. I’m careful to never inquire too closely about that. She has regular heats and arranges to be safely tended during them, and that’s all I need to know.
We’ve long since negotiated the boundaries of what Anamaria will permit from me when it comes to her being an omega. I’m allowed to worry, but not to hover.
The territory between me and Johanna used to be equally solid, but Max’s death upended everything.
Anamaria’s shifting from foot to foot, squirming and no longer meeting my gaze.
“Need a hug?”
She nods and lets me wrap her in my arms. Rubs her head against my cheek, scent marking me and picking up a hint of mine. Lilac and cedar mesh better than one might think.
Then, she turns a mischievous glance my way. “Remember all the times you lurked on the stairs when I wanted a little alone time with boyfriends and girlfriends? Payback is sweet.”
Turning on her toes, she trips up the stairs, her laughter floating down after her.
