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You can be good.”
-John Steinback
Jane
“You called me your sugar mama?” I ask Warren with a snort. “I can’t believe you said that to your dad.”
Warren laughs lightly, his arm around my shoulders as we sit on the back deck. It’s just after sunrise and we’re soaking in our last few hours before we head back to reality. “What? You don’t want to be my sugar mama?”
“Hmm,” I hum and run my hand over his thigh affectionately. “Well, I wouldn’t say no. But I would assume it comes with some perks?”
“Well, of course. I couldn’t ask for a sugar mama without giving the sugar mama what she wanted.”
“Anything I want?”
He locks eyes with me and his eyes blaze. “Anything you want.” His voice is hoarse, and I lean up to his ear to whisper just what those demands are. I feel him tense and pull back to wait for his reaction.
“Good morning, lovebirds!” Linda’s voice startles me and I bump my hand, spilling nearly half of my coffee onto Warren.
Right on his crotch.
“Fuck!” He stands quickly, his own mug crashing to the deck and I sit there, watching in horror with my hand over my mouth, trying desperately to contain my laughter. My eyes move from him, roughly brushing the hot liquid off his sweatpants and panting, to his mother, who’s watching in confusion.
“What just happened?” Linda asks and I laugh harder, Warren glares at me.
“What are you three doing?” Henry comes out on the deck, his hair askew, a mug of his own coffee in his hand. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You know what? Never mind. Your mom and I thought we should go have some breakfast in town before you two head back to Denver.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I answer because Warren is incapable.
He groans and points to his pants. “Well, I hope you two didn’t want grandchildren! I’m on fire here.”
This sends Linda into a fit of giggles and Henry smiles at her reaction. I can’t contain my own laughter any longer and Warren points an accusing finger at me and growls, “Adoption isn’t easy, Janie!”
This sends me into an even deeper fit and his parents howl at the scene we’ve created.
We all head inside, Warren straight to the shower to wash the coffee off of him, claiming he needed to “tend to his wounds,” and Linda and I clean up the coffee mess. She surprises me by grabbing my hand and smiling at me. “I wanted to say, before you two headed out, that I’m so glad he found you. He’s a lucky man.”
I smile genuinely, glad I have his mom’s approval. “It’s me who’s lucky.”
She winks and says, “And that right there is why he’s so lucky.”
A breeze blows through my open window as we cruise back down the mountain toward the city. Warren drives my car, his hand clutching mine with this right. Luckily, he rode up with his friends so I could steal him for the ride back.
I mentally block out everything that I need to get done when I get home. The laundry, the shopping, the cleaning I like to do that resets my week again.
All of it can wait though.
Because the only thing I want to do when we get home is cuddle up on the couch and hang out with Warren. Something simple.
Last night, when we were hanging out with his parents, they sat next to each other on a love seat while we chatted, Henry with his arm around Linda’s shoulders and her head resting on his shoulder like they were newlyweds. They were what I would label as goals.
Thirty-two years of marriage and still loving each other in that way, it’s what I want.
If I had it my way, I knew exactly who I would have it with, too.
We get back to my place, neither of us even bothering to put on pretenses on whether or not Warren would stay. Over the last few weeks or so, Warren has brought clothes with him to keep here and I’ve gladly made the room for him.
We get our bags into the room and then change into more comfortable clothes before we collapse on the couch, me with a book, him with a sketchpad.
