“I like this top,” he said.
The blouse was white, sleeveless, sheer in some places, ruffled in others, and altogether very feminine. I felt like a girl in it, which is admittedly why I’d bought it for this trip. So that I would not look like someone’s mother.
“Are you just going to stand there counting my ribs, or are you going to kiss me?”
He smiled at that, his eyes decidedly green. “You like me kissing you.”
“Well, I did come all this way…”
“I thought you came to return my watch.”
“You want it back?”
He shook his head. “I just want to look at you for a moment.”
“You’ve been looking at me for over an hour.”
“Yeah, but before I was trying not to be obvious about it. Come here.” He led me over to the daybed against the far wall and pulled me onto his lap.
I could feel him through his pants. Oh, the wonders of twenty.
“You want to be kissed, Solène?” His hands were in my hair, pushing it off my face, cradling my neck.
“Yes.” I nodded. “You think you can handle that?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
*
We had not been at it for five minutes when I was distracted by a series of calls coming in to my phone. I could hear it vibrating in my purse. Across the room, in the chair, while Hayes’s mouth was on my neck, his hands up the back of my blouse. I attempted to ignore it.
The calls then switched to the text signal, one after another. I pulled away from him for a moment, trying to do the math. What time was it in Los Angeles? Boston?
“Do you want to get that?” His hands were on my breasts, over my bra, his thumbs rubbing my nipples through the sheer material. Black, silk, ridiculously overpriced, purchased expressly for this trip. Getting that was the last thing I wanted to do.
Eight twenty-five a.m., I registered. Eleven twenty-five Eastern. “No.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” He smiled and slowly lifted off my blouse. “Hiiii.” That face.
“Hi, yourself.”
His finger hooked beneath the shoulder strap of my bra, before running down over my breastbone and dipping inside the demi cup. Teasing. He looked up, as if to check in with me, before pushing the material to the side and lowering his head. My breath caught, his tongue on my nipple. Fuck fuck fuck. What was it about being with him that made me feel as if everything were happening for the first time?
My fingers entwined in his hair as he unhooked the clasp and cupped my breasts in his hands.
“God, everything about you is perfect,” he said. It was precisely what an almost forty-year-old woman wanted to hear about her breasts.
I was reveling in the smell of his hair and the feel of his mouth when I heard it again, my phone. Dammit.
I waited for two more text alerts before I attempted to stop him. “Hayes … Hayes.”
He lifted his head, slow.
“I should probably make sure that’s not an emergency.”
He nodded, his eyes holding mine as he completed removing the bra and placed it beside him on the bed. “Go,” he said, coy. “But come back to me.”
*
There were three missed calls and voicemails from Isabelle. Followed by five texts: Where are you?
Please call me!!
It’s urgent!!!
Mom!!!!!!!
Mommy!!!!!
Shit.
“I’m sorry. I have to take this. It’s Isabelle.”
He was reclining on the daybed, arms clasped behind his lovely head, long legs hanging off the edge. “Do what you have to do. I’ll wait.”
She answered in a tizzy. Frenetic, which was not typical of her behavior.
“Heeey. What’s happening?”
“Why aren’t you here?”
“Because, honey, I had to come for Basel. You know that. Is everything okay? What’s going on?” I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it had happened, that Daniel had proposed. And that I was going to have to be strong for her, six thousand miles away and topless. And that I was going to have to lie and tell her that it wasn’t going to change anything, even though deep down I knew it would. And that Hayes was going to be witness to it all.
I folded my arm across my “everything about you is perfect” breasts and prepared for the worst.
“You should be here.” She’d begun to cry. “I need you.”
“Izz … what happened?”
“I got my period.”
I sank into the armchair then, relieved. “Izz, that’s great. That’s wonderful. Congratulations!”
“It’s not wonderful. You’re not here.”
“I know, honey, I’m sorry. But we thought there was a good chance it was going to happen this summer when you were in Maine anyway.” This was me trying to deflect the fact that I was an absentee mother out gallivanting in the South of France with rock stars while my daughter was experiencing her first true coming-of-age milestone. I sucked.
She was quiet for a moment. I was staring out at the lawn, the long drive winding down the hill, so much green.
“It got on the sheets,” she whispered.
“It’s okay, you can wash them. Use cold water. But do it now, okay. Don’t wait.”
“And I don’t have any, like, stuff here.”
“We’ll take care of that. Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s out running.”
“All right. He can swing by the drugstore before work.”
“I’m not telling him.”
I could feel her getting worked up again over the phone. “Isabelle, he’s your father.”
“He’s a guy.”
I smiled at that, looking over into the alcove. A guitar case was propped up against the far wall. Hayes was in the same position on the daybed, eyes closed. I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just lying very still, listening. “Honey, he’s your dad. He’s not just a guy. I promise.”
“No, I’m not telling him.” She paused. “You tell him.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him—”
“No, don’t tell him.”
I laughed. “Where’s Eva?”
“In the shower, I think.”
I hated going this route. I hated knowing that she would be the one to hug her first, to share knowing looks and nudges and traipse with her through the aisles of CVS in search of Always with Wings. Like some chummy big sister or cool aunt and not the intellectual property tramp who was fucking her father. But it was not to be avoided.
“Do you feel comfortable talking to Eva?” I asked.
She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess…”
“She’s not a guy.”
“She’s not my mom.”
That hurt and felt good at the same time. “I’m sorry I’m not there, Izz. Truly. I’m sorry. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Hurry up and come home, okay?”
Just then a black Range Rover came pulling up the drive followed by two smaller cars. Simon and Liam were back. The thought arose that maybe they could see into this window.
“I’ll see you Thursday, in Boston. And we’ll celebrate. Promise.”
“Okay,” she sighed. “Have fun. Don’t work too hard.”
The last bit was like twisting the knife.
“Bisous,” she said.
“Bisous.”
“Everything okay?” Hayes asked when I sat beside him on the bed.
“Yeah.”
“Girl stuff?”
I smiled, nodding. “She would die if she knew you knew.”
“I won’t tell her then.” He reached up to stroke my hair, his movements slow, lethargic.