Across the Pond Ch. 08

"Okay then." Another beam of sunshine from my wife's friend. "Why don't you let me get in one last best friend duty, I'll bring her out when she's ready. Shane has to do his whole big brother, 'you hurt her I'll kill you and they'll never find the body' speech anyway and he's about three whiskeys in, it's the perfect time."

"I look forward to it. Thank you. Not only for tonight, but for everything you are to Sydney and more." She gave me a hug around the waist and I kissed the top of her head before leaving to find her hilariously intoxicated husband.

VI: Sleep Talking.

The following morning I found Sydney sitting cross-legged in one of the wicker chaise-lounges on the balcony, soaking in the sunlight with her eyes closed and a mug of steaming hot tea in her hands. My wife is stunning in all ways -- made up, dressed down and everything in between -- but it's like this she is the most authentically beautiful: still, quiet. With her nature fed and full she can take a few minutes of the day to breathe and simply exist in the world. As the center of my world, always.

The light bouncing off her illuminates her rich skin, leaving behind a slight sheen and a bit of magic. I don't know how long I stood there staring at her -- I was fortunate to even share her space - before her eyes popped open. All green and fully mesmerizing, though not as much as her smile. "Hey Dimples. What'cha doing?"

I didn't move, still stuck in my admiration for her. "Selfishly consuming your magnificence. How are you feeling?"

"Ugh. Not magnificent, I can tell you that. Man, I haven't had a hangover like this since my twenty-second birthday. Did I ever tell you about that?" I shook my head and she set the cup down as carefully as she could. "Tess and Shane had broken up and were the poutiest fucking kids about it, so I invited him without telling her. Poof! Back together. But it took two bottles of bourbon and a buttload of champagne to get the job done."

I finally walked to her and took a seat on the ground, resting my head back against her belly when she wrapped her legs around my torso. "Such a matchmaker my little one is."

"Like mother like daughter, I guess." Arms rested on my shoulders before setting her chin atop my head, but not without a kiss first. "Did you have a good time?"

"I did, though perhaps not as much as you. I thoroughly enjoyed your sleep talking however." I watched her confused, upside-down reaction. "Oh yes, my sleeping beauty is quite the chatterbox when in slumber."

"Uh oh. I don't start rattling off trade secrets, do I?"

"Not yet, though I'm still holding out for the secret coffee recipe." I crossed fingers on both hands much to her delight. "Most of the time you're speaking nonsense. 'Where is the pineapple, the pie will be late?" and 'Squirrel! The moose got out!' are two of my personal favorites. Though some nights - such as last night - you mutter again and again about a girl named Joyce. I haven't yet determined if she's imaginary or an actual friend of yours."

"...uh, neither. She's my birth mom." I whipped around and my wife looked shell-shocked. "That...is really weird."

"Oh. My apologies, perhaps I shouldn't have said anything -- "

"No no, it's fine," she interrupted, "I usually remember my dreams but I don't ever recall dreaming about her."

I hoisted myself off the ground and had a seat next to her, gingerly taking her hand in mine. "Do you remember much about her?"

She shrugged both shoulders and interlocked my fingers with hers. "Not really. I mean, I wasn't even four when she died from a speedball overdose. I sort of remember a lot of men coming in and out of our apartment but nothing graphic. Once I overheard Mom saying the social worker told her that she used to go on these long benders, disappearing for weeks at a time and the old woman who lived above us would watch me. I never told them there were a few times when she'd come back and she would do normal little kid things with me, like going to the playground or reading me bedtime stories. And man, she had the greatest laugh, right from the belly. But then the cycle would start all over and the last time she didn't come home again. I got lucky though, I was only in foster care a few days before my parents took me in."

"I'm sure she loved you the best she could under the circumstances." She shrugged it off again but had her face turned away from me, focusing on the stilled lake adjacent to our homes. "What of your father?"

"Oh, now that's a fun story. I tracked him down when I turned eighteen and my file was unsealed. He lives in this upscale neighborhood in New Jersey: head of the city council, has the wife and three kids, the whole nine yards. Got on a bus a few days after my birthday and rode 5 hours to see him, even bought him an early Christmas present: a gold pocket watch I spent three paychecks on because it looked fancy and I wanted to impress him.

I knocked on his door and when he answered I swear he knew who I was before I told him. Didn't matter. He said, "I don't have a daughter" and shut the door right in my face." Her laugh was wounded, full of malice. "I didn't need him to play daddy or give an apology for knocking her up then abandoning us - I have the greatest family in the world and there's nothing he could have done for me my own dad didn't do tenfold. I just...I guess I just wanted to be acknowledged. First man to break my heart, definitely not the last."

I didn't force her to look at me, the sole movement I made was to place a gentle kiss on the side of her nose. "I'm so sorry, Sydney. I shouldn't have dredged up the memory."

"It's okay. Do you want to see a picture of her?" Though her voice was wavering she shed no tears when she asked and I agreed. Releasing my hand she rose and ducked back into her bedroom, giving me time to mourn for my brokenhearted beloved before she came back out with a worn, yellow envelope. She handed it off and I pulled her to me by the waist until she was on my knee, my cheek resting against her shoulder. I opened it and unfolded the crinkled photograph, what looked to have been taken at a commencement judging by the white cap and gown her mother donned. She had green eyes that sparkled and a smile that was infectious. Sydney's smile. "She's gorgeous, right?"

"She is. I see where you received your looks from." I tucked it back inside the envelope and turned to look up at her. "But you are far more beautiful than she ever was, my love." She let go a shaking breath and touched her forehead to mine, closing her eyes. I did the same and alone we sat, the heavy thoughts between us threatening to weigh us down to the concrete.

VII: Coloring.

I think I've broken my wife and we've only been in London five days.

After the going away festivities we took two days to gather her essential items and set up movers to box and ship the rest. She was silent most of the plane ride home, only giving me small, polite smiles each time I asked how she was fairing. When we returned she moved around too carefully, as if afraid she would break something if she touched it. As if she were a guest in her own home. Christ, it hurt me to see her in such a state. I took her shopping, naively thinking that would lift her mood: I purchased an eighty-thousand-pound Caldera red Jaguar sports coupe for her and all she did was thank me and kiss my cheek. She didn't seem miserable per se, or really all that depressed. She was simply quiet, which somehow made it worse.

"Mr. Holland, I have Mr. Montgomery on line one," Ms. Cary informed through the intercom. I thanked her, picked up the receiver and pushed the button to connect us. "Best man."

"Good sir," Charlie replied. Since the wedding our effortless friendship had been back on track. "How are the newlyweds? Samantha informed me the two of you arrived a few days ago."

"Things are..." I wasn't to lie to him so I thought of the simplest way to put it. "I am ecstatic to finally have her home. Sydney, however, seems to be going through a bit of a rough transition."

"Well, she did relocate half a world away from her life, such response should be expected."

I turned in my chair so I was facing the window and the city 48 stories below, taking time to explain all her behaviors over the last few days. "She seems so unhappy, I'm not sure what to do for her," I finished.

"So, to sum up, you thought throwing money at the problem was going to fix it and now you're at a loss because it didn't." I scowled when he laughed. "Maxie, what little I know about your wife is she doesn't seem particularly materialistic. You'll need to find another way to comfort your spouse, because truthfully? It sounds as if she's grieving. Believe me, I'm intimately familiar with the process."

"Oh." Fuck. Not only did I fail to see it in my wife but it seems I'd neglected my brother well-being while wrapped up in my own issues. "...and how are you, Charles? Truly."

"I've taken a page from the Maxwell Holland book and drowned myself in work, as I am having more good days than bad I suppose I couldn't ask for more than that." He paused, then continued softly, "I've put the house up for sale. Kenzie and Sammy have been generous enough to allow me to squat with them until I find other arrangements. Poppy-Jacqueline went so far as to decorate my room with pictures of spaceships and zombies. My clear favorite is the undead flying the spaceship whilst eating the brains of the crew; dare I say my little sweet pea is enjoying her time with Uncle Charlene."

It was my turn to express merriment over her precious feminization of Charlie's name. The first time she said it was when he met her after the adoption, and he adored it so much he wouldn't allow anyone to correct her. Still, I could detect the downheartedness when speaking of leaving his childhood home. "You know you're welcome to stay with us as long as you need."

"I appreciate the offer. However, I'm toying with the idea of relocating."

"To where? And why?"

"Nothing's been decided, and because law isn't fulfilling me anymore. When Kenzie and I founded the practice and expanded, working 12-hour days was fine because I had someone to come home to at the end of it. I had an outlet, a...it's not only because of Clarissa, I'm considering an occupation with less conflict. A new start, yeah? I'm not sure what that would look like but it worked out well for the two of you."

Oddly enough I understood exactly what he was speaking on. "If you have a few billion to spare you're welcome to buy me out and take over HMC International."

"Cute, that you think my net worth is anywhere near yours. Are you thinking of a change as well?"

"No. Or, I don't know." I swiveled back round to my desk and the mountain of documents I still needed to get through before the end of the business day. There would have been a time when I chased the rush of a deal like any other addiction, the office more of a house than my own - but since I met my wife, work was more bothersome than anything else. "What should I do with Sydney?"

"I'm not your life coach Maxie. You're a big boy, figure it out."

"Fuck off, arsehole. I love you. Dinner soon?"

"Yes, you fucking twit. I love you too." He ended the call first and I took the minutes following to sit and think. And think, and think, until the most brilliant idea sprang into my head. Closing the files on my laptop I rang down for Sodhi to meet me at the curb before searching for two things: a recipe, and the nearest grocer.

"Are you home, wife of mine?" I shouted up the stairs an hour later before taking the four bags of food into the kitchen. I had a stroke of genius after my chat with Charlie and was rather pleased with myself. It wasn't until I'd laid out two bags worth of ingredients that Sydney appeared, covered neck to toe with black, baggy clothing. It gave me stinging heartache to see her so disheveled, and not from the clothing alone. "How was your day?"

"Blurred. What's all this?" She asked and pointed to the bag of flour I was trying to open.

"This is dinner. Or should I say, dessert." I finally pulled the bag apart and a substantial amount splashed onto me and the counter. "I thought we'd have your favorite: raspberry torte with vanilla icing, completely from scratch."

"That's nice of you. Who's making it?"

"I am." Her face expressed uncertainty and considerable concern. "I know, I'm not the most experienced baker but you've been so sad since coming home and I thought perhaps this would help you feel better."

"I thought we agreed you weren't allowed within ten feet of the stove after the omelet fire hazard." She leaned her hip against the counter and smirked at the memory of my first -- and only -- attempt to make her breakfast in bed. "Tell you what, Dimples. I'll leave you to connect with the spirit of Julia Child if you can tell me where the stand mixer is."

"...we have a what?" Sydney laughed. She howled with her entire body, doubling over and holding her stomach. I thought she was having a conniption fit until she walked over and threw her arms right 'round me. It was when she calmed that I picked her up and placed her on the marbled countertop next to the elements of my botched idea. "I hate that you're taking this so hard. I want you to be happy here because I'm happy you're here."

"Then I appreciate the attempt to burn the house down." Her arms lay on my shoulders, pulling back enough to be eye-to-eye. "Max, I'm processing. Just give me a few days to work everything out."

"But I want you to be happy now," I whined as a needy child, and lucky for me she found my persistence endearing rather than irritating. I reached behind my back and tickled the sole of her foot, feeling at least a bit better when she giggled and tried to push me away. Brushing away her fringe out of her eyes I came up with a less destructive idea. "Why don't we go to the aquarium tomorrow?"

"Really?" she gasped. "Really really?"

"Really really, really, my love." The way her face lit up. My wife has an affection toward octopi. "We'll sleep in, go for a bite, explore the city. I want to show you everything there is to love about London."

"But what about meetings and mergers and all that fancy grown-up work shit?"

"Fancy grown-up shit can be postponed for a day." It could wait forever as far as I was concerned. I hadn't seen her smile so naturally in days. "Although I do have some files to look over before retiring for the evening. Take my desk and ring your family via Facetime, they're probably wanting to make sure I haven't decapitated you and am airmailing them a package with your beautiful head inside."

"Ah ha! I knew you were going to love Seven."

"No, it was the worst and your taste in films is horrific. But I love you." She gave me an enthusiastic smooch before hopping down, but before she was out of reach I slyly caught her arm. "They were blue. With silver stars of David and menorahs all over them. I thought, why is this girl wearing Hanukkah knickers in May? If I had known you were meant as a present for me I would have unwrapped you right there on the bar."

"...I knew you looked, fucking pervert," she playfully scolded and I gave her a sound smack on her arse before she headed for my office.

VIII: Bambi.

"Come here!"

A melody of gleeful shrieks trailed after my wife as I chased her up the stairs and into our bedroom, where she ducked down on the opposite side of the bed as if I couldn't see her. I stomped my foot and pointed to the floor. "You come here this instant and allow your husband to say good morning properly."

"No! You're fucking weird!" My head cocked to the left and my grin widened as Sydney's eyes did, dancing with merry and mischief, and though I couldn't see the lower half of her face I knew she was matching my expression. "And don't give me those dimples! What is it with you and my stretch marks?"

"If you come give me a kiss I'll explain." Doubt made her dawdle when she rose but she used her knees to crawl across the bed until she reached me. The first part her lips graced were the tips of my fingers when I tapped each once against her mouth, followed by satisfying little pecks delivered to my cheeks until I chuckled, deeply pleased with her affection. Lifting her face until her eyes focused on my own I let my thumb travel from her chin to the pulse point on her throat. "My scars. Do they repulse you?"

Her brows bunched tightly at the question. "What? No. Why would you ever think that?"

"Because they repulse me. Even after I had them covered." I glanced down at the heavy ink masking the jagged markings. "I thought it would make me forget them, but they're always there, as a branded reminder that I am not worthy of love."

"But I love you," she reiterated, voice cracking a bit.

"I know, little one, don't fret. Since we found each other I feel loved, for the first time ever. My point is they're no longer symbols of my worthlessness anymore, they're simply...there. Now, tell me about yours."

Sitting back with her legs tucked under her Sydney rested her hands palms down the bed. "When I had my first period at eight everything just started growing and wouldn't stop. I was the tallest one in class with the biggest boobs and, I don't know. I grew up so fast and I hated it. All the boys just wanted to grope me and the skinny white girls made fun of me because when I ran in gym class my thighs jiggled. Don't get me wrong, I'm a full fucking hottie now but the stretch marks are just so damn ugly."

I pulled her to my body, so close and warm with a sweet little spot I pressed my own lips to. My fingers ran over the soft creases that called her hips home. "I love them because hardness surrounds them like a shield, but the deeper I touch the softer they are. I love to run my fingers over after I've fucked you good and proper because they throb and tingle, sated and satisfied as you come down. I love how much lighter they are than your skin, they stand out and they stand proud." I confidently planted myself within her line of sight. "I love them because they're you, Sydney. No part of you, big or small, is anything less than beautiful."

"Aww. You're just trying to get your dick sucked again."

"Bloody hell, I'm becoming transparent." I pushed off my feet and attacked, covering her body with mine as I repeated her action of multiple face kisses. A plan of how to spend the morning before our aquarium tour popped into my head and when I shared it with her she was positively elated.

Which is how we found ourselves at the same tattoo parlour I had my full sleeve done over sixteen years ago, except this time my wife was the one the chair. I sat in the waiting room, finishing the horrid novel I began reading around the time her and I became much more than employer and employee when she burst through the curtain, her black skirt hiked all the way up so I could see her tattoos as well as her G-string. "Lookit! I'm a mermaid!"

I stood and went over for a closer look underneath the protective plastic. The striking hues she picked to trace over the narks were turquoise, seafoam and magenta; from the tops of her thighs and over her hips it did resemble a blooming sea flower. I lowered her skirt before anyone else in the shop could see and she rose on her toes to whisper in my ear "I made an appointment to come back for a piercing, I'll tell you where when we get home."

I didn't have the opportunity to share my own excitement because my mobile rang just then, Toby's personal number on the screen. I handed my card over to Sydney and with only a slight eye roll she parted to pay at the counter while I answered. "My boy, I believe I said not to ring me today."