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“You asked for it.” She releases me a tiny bit and she launches into a long, detailed story about how she finally took Jake to her old sex spot and had her way with him. Twice.
River waits patiently at the side of our rental car. Technically, it’s his rental car. My Tesla is parked in the garage. Dad likes driving it when he’s meeting people who care about the environment.
Initially, I insisted River rent a car, so he could have the best possible impression of life in Orange County. Initially, I thought,This two-week trip is my chance to show him he loves it here. And how could anyone love the suburbs without a car and a driver’s license?
But I don’t feel that pull anymore. I love it here, I do, but I don’t want to live here anymore. I would move back in a second if Lexi or Dad asked, and he’d move with me.
But they wouldn’t. They want me to have space to soar on my own. And I want that for them, too.
Finally, Lexi finishes with her dirty details (for now), releases me, greets my boyfriend with a friendly hug. He hugs back without any desire or embarrassment, then he follows us into the house and says hello to Jake and Dad.
After a catch-up session here, we unpack in the apartment (now officially a guest apartment, since Lexi and Jake have their own house in Newport Beach).
“What do you think?” River pulls me into the backyard and motions to the big blue sky, the clean-cut grass, the sparkling azure water of the pool. “Are you tempted to move home?”
No, but I want to let him sweat it. “In some ways.”
“Deanna Huntington.” He smiles. “You’re trying to play me.”
“Play you? No. Never.” I wrap my arms around him, too. “Use fair and valid negotiating tactics?”
“Always.” He presses his lips to mine. It’s a tired, messy kiss. That sort ofI’m too exhausted to do this with my best technique but I love you and I want to be close to youkind of kiss. He’s worn out, too. From the weather, the travel, the stress of juggling contract gigs with running a burgeoning small press. But he’s here, with me. All of him is with me.
I kiss back with even less technique. After a long week at work debating our latest buyout offer (eventually we decided no, we can get more money) and our cancelled flight adventure, I’m something beyond exhausted. But his affection wakes me the way it always does. It reminds me I’m aware and alive. It reminds me the world is a beautiful place, whether it’s blue skies and sunshine, or blizzards and storm clouds.
I haven’t totally adopted his romantic predisposition, but I appreciate it more these days. I proudly display the roses he sends me and I devour the dark chocolate. He doesn’t try to convince meBefore Sunriseis the most romantic movie of all time (seriously, how illogical is it to not exchange phone numbers?) and I don’t argueCasablancais about duty and commitment, not passion (the text speaks for itself).
We’re not perfect. We frustrate each other sometimes. We argue sometimes. But, usually, it’s the sort of banter you see in an old movie. We respect each other’s point of view and the way it enriches our own.
We are who we are, just together.
After another kiss, he leads me to his grandma’s house, and we catch up with her. As usual, she’s living large, dancing three times a week, playing bridge with friends, and, of course, writing a new erotic novel. This one is about a dominant woman. Which means way too many knowing glances from River.
Thankfully, in the middle of a story about her lunch with a publisher, River breaks to make us tea and Ida leads me to her backyard. The space where our worlds used to meet.
Ida looks at the succulents lining the white fence and shakes her head. “Fern and North love the cacti, but I miss the drama of the roses.”
“These are better for the environment and easier to keep alive,” I say.
She smiles. “And you like the look of them better?”
“I prefer them, yes.” They’re prickly, tough, hardy. It’s easy to love a soft, feminine rose. It’s a lot harder to adore a spiky cactus.
“That would be a way to do it. Put the ring on a cactus. Can you even keep them alive in the city? It’s so cold there.”
“It’s a struggle.” Wait a second. “What ring?”
Ida smiles in that impish way of hers. “He asked your father for his blessing.”
“He did not,” I say.
Ida nods. “Of course, he did. And of course, your father said, ‘Good luck convincing my daughter of anything.’ I told him the same thing, of course. He needs to wait until you’re ready.”
“But you still gave him your ring?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Is he planning to do it while we’re here?” I ask.
