Twenty-Eight
FRIEDRICH
All through lunch,I had to keep a tight rein on my burning need to take Aurelia in my arms and kiss her senseless or drag her to an empty room and remind her who owns that pussy.At least, who owns it for now.I hate it when my brain tries to take control where she’s concerned.
But now, in the car on the way back to my house, I get to touch her, even if it’s just resting my hand on her knee when I’m not shifting gears.
“You handled my family quite well today,” I say, giving her leg a little squeeze that makes her squeak.
She swats my hand away, and we laugh together. Her laughter always makes me feel like I could float away with it.
“I’ve never been taken home to mother before, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”
“Come on, you can’t tell me some guy back in America didn’t take you home to meet his parents for Sunday dinner or whatever it is you southerners do?”
She shakes her head, her lips drawing into a tight line. “Nope. There was never anyone that serious.”
“No one you wanted to meet your mother?”
“None.”
How can one girl be such an open book and so closed off at the same time?But then again, I feel a strange sense of pride that I have the honor of being the first to introduce her to my family. “And what about me? When do I get to meet your dad?”
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you want to meet him today?”
It’s still only midafternoon, and my plans for the night, after I’ve had my way with this woman, involve visiting Miles at the jazz club and preparing for yet another trip in my father’s stead.
“I’d be honored.”
Aurelia directs me as I continue driving, anxiety churning a bit. Brenton and Frank follow behind in his black SUV. I’m sure I’ll get an earful for making an unplanned, unapproved stop.
“Should you call first and make sure he’s up for a visit?” I ask.
“No, it’s fine.”
For someone who has such an uneasy relationship with her father, showing up unannounced feels rather familiar. I follow her directions to the south end of the city and through a set of iron gates.
“Does your father work here?” I ask as we pass rows of headstones and artificial flowers, because surely this isn’t going the direction I think it’s going.
“No.”
That is all the explanation she offers.Shit. I swallow hard, pushing down thoughts of my own father as we wind to the back of the cemetery.
I put the car in park, bracing against the winter wind as I step around to the passenger door. Aurelia wraps her coat tight around her waist, her other hand falling into mine like it’s something we do all the time. My chest swells as her fingers lock with mine. It’s not quite possessive, more like grounding. And I need that grounding because I can’t think about the fact that she’s lost her father when I might be losing mine too. And—fucking stop it, Friedrich!
We walk along a couple rows of burial plots before coming to a stop in front of a simple grey stone.
Julian Otto Graf
12 November 1977 – 29 May 2020
Aurelia kneels before sitting on the ground, tucking her legs to the side. She pats the grass next to her.
“Friedrich, meet Dad.” She gestures to the stone as I join her. “Dad, I’m sure you already know who this is.”
My eyes dart between her and the grave. Her expression is soft, and I don’t pick up any signs of sadness. I’m struck by how at ease she is, sitting in front of the marker for her dead father, like it’s just another day at the park. I swallow hard against the lump clogging my throat.
“I arrived in the country two weeks after he died. Funny how life works.”
