AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How were things at the salon?” I ask as we are seated in the Asian restaurant across the street from my building.
“Fine.” Her glib response is less than I gave her, and I wonder if she’s nervous or there isn’t much to tell.
I can only imagine what women do in a salon, or what she does as an aesthetician. I expect that, like me, her goal with each client is to improve their lives. I do so with bones and muscle, and she does so with a focus on the epidermis.
Over the years, Harrison and I have had enough conversations about the world of plastics that I understand feeling good about oneself has tremendous implications to the quality of one’s life. Sandra has, for as long as I’ve known her, cared about making other people feel good.
We agree to split beef Szechuan and vegetable fried rice. After the waitperson leaves, Sandra runs the pad of her finger up and down the condensation on her water glass.
“Sunny…what’s going through that head of yours?”
She breathes in so deeply her shoulders lift.
“I don’t want to risk our friendship. I need you to take this seriously. That contract might seem silly to you, but it’s important we go through it so we’re on the same page.” Her forearms rest on the table, and she splays out her hands, palms open to the sky, visually augmenting where words fail her.
I reach across the narrow table and capture one of her hands, clutching it and tightening my fingers around her slim, chilled hand.
“It doesn’t need to be awkward.”
She tilts her head and raises her gaze. The flush of color through her cheeks and neck could be interpreted any number of ways. Longing, desire, nerves. Uncertainty is a probable emotion.
“We’re both adults.” I weave my fingers through hers. “And we’re friends. We’ve been friends for decades. This isn’t going to change that. If anything, going through this together will strengthen our bond.”
“Well, that’s the point of the contract.” She pulls her hand from mine and places her hands demurely in her lap. Her gaze falls to the table, and I get the distinct impression she wishes she had the contract with her. “If I’m going to do this with you, or anyone, I want sole custody. That’s important to me.”
I get it. She’s thinking of Henry. The foster care child. The little boy she never gained custody of. The mother moved out of state, and Sunny has no idea what happened to him.
“Why would you even want to do this?” she asks.
And that’s the million-dollar question. Why do I want to do this? I’d like to believe it is a completely selfless act. That my friend wants a baby, and I want to give it to her. But Harrison wasn’t so off the mark. I’d be lying if I didn’t see this as an opportunity to have sex with someone I fantasized about for ages. But I still want to do this for her, just because.
The food arrives and gives me time to formulate my answer. An answer that should come easily.
Sunny sets about spooning out our shared courses, and my foot taps the floor.
“Sandra.” As always, my use of her first name grabs her attention, and she lifts her head, a large serving spoon held out midway across the table. “I told you, you’re my friend, and I want to give this to you. But there’s more.”
She sets the serving spoon down and straightens her shoulders, waiting for me to share my reasons. She probably sees me as a respectable surgeon, a friend she can count on, and an upstanding, dependable citizen. She’s probably never viewed me as a potential sexual partner, given I am the youngest brother of her first boyfriend.
“What is it?”
“I’m not doing this solely out of the goodness of my heart. In some ways, my offering, or, well, my request that you consider me, is one hundred percent selfish. You were always my fantasy. You probably don’t realize this, but I possess a stash of photos of you. Some I stole from Sam, some from my mom, some I took when you weren’t looking. And then, of course, there’s the mental stash.” Her eyes widen. My knee bounces frantically up and down beneath the table, under the weight of the knowledge this share could prove to be a colossal mistake. “I don’t mean to freak you out. I don’t want to sound like a pervert.” Those blue eyes finally gaze up at me, reassuring me she doesn’t find me so disgusting she can no longer look at me. “But it’s the truth. I don’t think I’ve ever fantasized about a woman more than you. For me, this is a dream come true.” It’s a win-win scenario, but I have the wisdom to refrain from using business terminology to describe this situation. “We live three hours apart. I don’t want children. I don’t want marriage.” She nods as she absorbs my statements. I’m not normally so forthright with women, but she deserves to hear the truth. She’s been my friend for over a quarter of a century. As much as I would love to have sex with her, I don’t desire it enough to throw away our friendship.
She fidgets with the napkin in her lap.
I take a swallow of water. A waitress walks by, and we exchange a glance. I offer her a smile.
I can’t take the silence or her downturned gaze, so I ask, “Does that bother you?”
“Reality never lives up to the fantasy. You know that, right?” She smirks, subtly mocking me in a manner reminiscent of how she used to when we were kids—or, well, when I was a kid and she was a college student. “You know, back then, I knew you were flirty, but I didn’t think–”
“Anything of it. I know.”
My gaze wanders down to her breasts. The scoop line of her dress offers no cleavage, and her bra conceals the outline of her nipples, but I fixate on the hint of curves.
She kicks me under the table. “Stop it.” Her smile is a cross between bashful and amused.
The vise on my rib cage loosens under that smile, probably because she isn’t treating me like a silly teen. The secret I shared isn’t my deepest, darkest secret, but it’s the source of all of the deepest secrets.
