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"Thanks for my birthday gift." He murmured at length.
There was a stretch of silence before she asked, "Marc, are you still awake?"
"Umm..." his voice was hoarse and sleepy, "You okay, baby? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he was struggling to stay awake and be considerate and attentive.
Aside from a pulsating, anomalous sensation that she wantonly basked in, she was fine, "I'm okay."
She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than surrender to the slumber that beckoned her, but she had to say this, "I know we haven't talked about this before, and it might sound fractional and late, but I want you to know that I'm on the pill."
She felt him stir into attention, and continued, "I mean, you came inside me several times in the past, and I just wanted you to know that I'm protected...and clean."
Propping himself on his elbow he looked at her with dilated eyes that were forced to focus, "I've never doubted that you're clean, Jillian. As to the...other thing...the protection...I...that first time I took your pussy I wasn't sure, but I completely forgot about the condom -more like, didn't plan for things to progress that far, then reckoned that you were protected so I never bothered with one afterwards. I mean, you didn't say anything so I just...guessed. That's not the reason why I wanted to come in your ass though...or on your tits or in your mouth, I just...I wanted to take you everywhere."
She touched his cheek with her finger tips drawing imaginary circles in the bristly beard, "You can't just assume that a woman is on birth control, Marc, some women like to trap men into marriage by having an unplanned baby. Not all women are like that, but there are people with low self-esteem out there who do desperate things. Men do it to women, too. When I worked for the city I ran across a lot of cases where one partner practically fooled the other one into a relationship with unplanned pregnancy, guys poking holes into condoms and women lying about contraceptions. You have to be careful."
He clasped her hand in his and printed tiny kisses on her fingers, "I know that, and I promise, I don't go around having unprotected sex with women, you're just different...special." He smiled, "Did you think I was trying to trick you into getting pregnant?"
Flushing, she averted her gaze, "No, I was just trying to get that whole protection speech out of the way."
"Better late than never?" he observed with amusement.
"I guess." She felt silly to the roots of her hair.
"For what it's worth, I'm clean, too. Routine checkups and everything, clean bill of health, scouts honor."
"You were never a boy scout!" she argued with a small smile, and he shrugged, "Well, I could've been. How hard could it be?"
They settled down again, and she laid her head against his chest and armpit as her gathered her to him.
She was just about to sleep when he said, "I wouldn't have minded if you got pregnant by me." he hastily added, "I didn't set out to do it, but if you'd wanted it, it wouldn't have been a bad thing. I don't feel that way about other women that's why I always pack my own condoms when I'm with someone else."
His statement choked her with an influx of emotions that rose to her throat. She had succeeded in pushing away thoughts of him with other women almost all night until he said that. She now faced the fact that he was going back to New York to resume his life and she was expected to live hers...separate from each other.
Instead of bringing up the subject of a long distant relationship again to rouse a barren suggestion and create another argument, she feigned sleep until it claimed her tired mind.
*****
By the time she got home, the events of that night had been played in perfect detail in her head yet again, and she sagged against a chair throwing herself in it and trying to banish the distracting memory.
Her gloomy mood shadowed her for a few days, but she managed to cheer herself up with positive thoughts convinced that she can turn him around and bring him to his senses if she tried.
February the 12th was their anniversary -if what they had qualified for one. Jillian didn't know if he was going to remember or not, but she had a wild wish that he'd remember and call. She didn't want to push it and hope for a surprise visit from him, but she was ready to drop everything and go to him if he even vaguely suggested it.
Her work day ended without even an email from him.
Deciding to give him time to get home from work and decompress, she got her grocery shopping out of the way, and loaded the laundry in the machine. Calling herself a good housewife, she didn't order in and negate the whole point of buying groceries, and set her butt in the kitchen to cook quinoa and vegetables. She even went the extra mile and made a salad and juiced a mango.
By 7:15 she had despaired of getting that call, yet, halfway through her dinner, she turned the volume down on the hockey game she was watching and picked up the phone.
"I'm reaching out for him, is what I'm doing." She told her birds who didn't really show any emotions unless she had food for them.
His phone rang and rang then right before it went to voice mail. He picked up, his voice breathy and distant, "Hullaw?"
That was out of character. He normally said "Dussant speaking."
"Marc, it's Jill." she used the nickname because it was a part of the bond they had.
"Yeah, oh, hey Jillian." Do you need something?"
He didn't remember. Moreover, he was obviously in the middle of doing something completely unrelated to her.
"I just..." She flat-lined.
"Is it work? Can you email it to me?" he sounded impatient. There was some rustling and shuffling on his end of the line. Did she hear glasses clanking? Was he eating?
"I'm sorry, are you having dinner?"
He paused, "I ah...no." laconic, still in a hurry to hang up it seemed.
"Can you talk?" her fingers were gripping the phone too tightly against the tremors that ran along them. Silly.
"Is it about work?" he repeated.
She didn't care if it made her sound desperate or clingy, she opened her mouth to remind him what day it was, but a woman's voice bled through the line, "Oh c'mon, Marc! You said you won't work tonight! Meg is pouring the margaritas, get off the phoooone!"
"Just a second, Sheila." His voice sounded muffled like he was pressing the phone against his chest.
"No seconds!"
"One second, sweetie." He cajoled the woman.
It sounded like they were joined by a second woman as Jillian heard a different unclear voice and managed to pick up fragmented sections of what she was saying, "My panties," and "We'll do body shots on-" and "Hella fun."
Heart thudding, Jillian pronounced, "Am I interrupting something?"
Simultaneously, Marc and the first woman -Sheila?- said "This isn't a good time, Jillian." And "She can join if she's game. I'm game! Meg?"
Marc cursed and grumbled, "Jesus. Can you hang back a sec?"
"Noooo, no secoooonds!" Sheila whined.
"I'm sorry I bothered you, it was nothing." Jillian murmured and hung up. She was so bewildered she felt she might hurl any minute.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly staring at the phone in her hand. As if by magic, it started to ring, and she had to focus her eyes and jumpstart her shocked brain to comprehend the name on the screen; Marc calling her back.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to fake a smile hoping it would make her voice sound pleasant and unaffected, "Yes?"
"Jillian..." he started and took a long breath, "I..."
"It's alright, I see that you're busy." It was killing her to talk to him pretending to be unperturbed. She was burning inside, "I didn't want to interrupt...anything."
"Jillian, you must-"
But she did interrupt him, "It was nothing I can't take care of." Like always, she had herself and herself only.
"Would you let me speak?" he cried, and one of the women with him called his name. He snapped at her, "I said give me a second, for fuck's sake!"
Jillian heard a door slam before Marc came back on the line, "We agreed to see other people."
"I know. I didn't say anything."
"You can't make me feel guilty for living my life, Jillian, you didn't want to give me one hundred percent and we agreed to go on living our lives."
She caught her reflection in the stark white ice rink on the TV screen for two seconds before the cameraman zoomed in on Eric Staal who was arguing with a linesman. The television was muted and he didn't have a mic, but she could almost hear the player yelling, and imagined shouting in the phone at Marc just like the athlete was doing on her screen.
"I didn't say anything, Marc." She repeated collectedly, "I just had a question and automatically thought of calling you." Good, she sounded balanced, "I certainly didn't insinuate that you should feel guilty," her frayed nerves started to take over, "you can fuck whomever you want. I don't care if you have a threesome every single night of the week. I have my own life, Mr. Dussant, so you can feel perfectly comfortable going back to your orgy!" she tapped her phone screen ending the call then turned her cell off.
She hadn't meant for that explosion at the end to blast out of her mind. She felt mortified, but, strangely enough, she didn't feel any remorse for going off like that.
Her eyes found the television again. The Hurricanes' captain was in the penalty box, and The Ducks were dominating with the power-play advantage. Her dinner sat neglected on the table, no longer an appetizing feast.
"Oh God!" she whimpered, her lower lip trembling and her eyes stinging. Her legs felt too weak to stand on, so she sat down and turned the TV off staring at the dark screen for a long time.
She wasn't going to cry. Not this time.
Armed with resolve despite her desolation, she stashed the food leftovers in the fridge and threw away anything that wouldn't survive overnight. She then grabbed her car keys and left to the office.
There wasn't much that she hadn't finished doing during the day, and what little she wanted to busy herself with couldn't snap her mind from its distracted state. She just sat there breathing in and out, and making out a melody of the sounds around her; her breathing, the ticking desk and wall clocks, the whoosh of the thermostat kicking in and out, and the tapping of the drizzling freezing rain against the windows.
She brought herself back to reality with a blink and a jerk. Still wallowing in daydreams and unfit to look intelligently at any of the printouts on her desk, she pulled out her old email address and started going through old messages. Forgotten funny conversations, university assignments, online orders...all useless now.
The cursor stopped on an email that contained some modeling shots the magazine decided not to use, but she got from the photographer because she liked them. It was like looking at a different person. She was a different woman now; heavily altered from who she was at that time, yet still very much the same. Still stubborn, goal oriented, and boasting that paradox of self-confidence that went along with a fistful of discordant insecurities.
She stared at a picture of herself that Keith took of her during their time together. She wore underwear that she had designed and sewn during her creative era when she dabbled with modeling. Her muses had been hyper in the period of her life, and had rioted in her head making her fill three sketch pads with lingerie designs. She executed two or three projects before her breakup with Keith then just filed everything away dismissing it as a distraction.
The portfolios were still tucked in her closet, along with her old modeling files, sewing patterns, measured designs, and a variety of detailed drawings.
After a cup of coffee that was dark as tar and equally thick, and bitter as her mood, Jillian shifted her mind towards work and buried herself in it until midmorning.
She left when she concluded the last of a series of quick meetings with some department heads. Clad in skinny cargo jeans and a Marilyn Manson t-shirt, she didn't even look like a customer who shops at Élsi's exclusive boutiques, not to mention a manager for the company, but she carried it well. Boss Lady never relents.
A few steps out of the elevator put her in front o Max who was fumbling with his phone and frowning.
"Morning!" she smiled.
His head snapped up and he mirrored her smile, "We need to stop meeting like this!"
"We do!" on a whim, or maybe a spark of spontaneity, she suggested, "I think we should meet for dinner instead, at...say, my apartment maybe?"
It was easy, now that the words were out she couldn't take them back, and all she had to do was look at him expectantly.
"Oh..." he lowered his eyebrows again for a second while a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, "It's long due, isn't it?"
She couldn't admit to him that she'd been avoiding him -was avoiding him, but won't be any longer- "I just haven't seen you in a long time."
Nodding, he gave her a rueful look, "My life's been hectic, Jillian. Work then more work on top of work. I had to travel a lot, too, spent two weeks in Italy and about a week in Greece. I only got back two nights ago."
"You poor thing, Italy and Greece? What torture! How dare they send you to Godforsaken places like that?!" she razzed him and he started to laugh, "I did only work related stuff, well, mostly."
"I see that, your tan look better than ever, it must've been hell!"
Scratching his cheekbone, he winced, "I'm still jetlagged. Anything? Sympathy?"
It shouldn't have taken any convincing for her to reach for his arm and establish contact with a brief touch, but it did, and it was silly. As handsome as she found him to be, she should've been eager to touch him, not reluctant.
Her touch made him smile, "Tonight?"
"Why not?"
"Where do you want to go?"
She told herself that it wasn't payback, that she wasn't using Maxime to prove that she can move on. That she wanted him for him and not because Marc was doing his own thing and binging on sex back home.
"I was thinking you should come to my house. I'll cook."
She wanted to kiss him, didn't she? Those perfectly sculpted lips beckoned her, glistening as he moistened them with his tongue and smiled again accepting her invitation.
Yes, she wanted to press her mouth to his, her body against his, sliding her golden skin against his sun-bronzed perfection. She was going to banish all hesitation, all thoughts of Marc away when she gave herself to Max, and by God, she will enjoy it!
Their plans shot to hell later that afternoon though, he called to postpone as his ex-wife dropped off his son unannounced, and he welcomed the chance to see his little boy.
"I can see about a babysitter if you want me t-" he started halfheartedly, but she interjected, "No, you need time with your son, it's okay."
She reassured herself that it was disappointment she felt and not a touch of relief at the halting of their date plans.
"I've missed him so much." He breathed.
Yet, she had to move forward, had to make an effort, "I have two tickets to The Blackhawks game on the 18th. I can scramble a third one and all three of us can go."
It sounded like he was grinning, "I'm not really a hockey fan, but I'll go with you. Caleb flies back to California on Monday morning; his mom just wanted Valentine's weekend free."
Her hand absently ran over her neck and around it to massage her nape, "I can set up some snacks and a light dinner if you want to bring him over tomorrow night. I'd love to spend time with the both of you." she meant it; Max was a magnificent parent, and a sweet man. He was a step in the right direction, no more self-imposed road blocks.
"You're very considerate. Have I ever told you how amazingly wonderful you are, Jillian?" his voice shook slightly, and it made her feel precious...special.
*****
She loved kids, and they loved her back, so preparing an evening that included a little boy wasn't difficult. She baked a strawberry shortcake, and cooked a dinner entirely comprised of finger food that would be both filling and fun to eat.
Not knowing how hyper Caleb was, or how he behaved in other people's homes, she opted to stay on the safe side and move any breakable antique pieces or crystal figurines off the coffee table, or the accessible surfaces and arrange them on the higher shelves of her book displays, and out of the kid's reach.
It was almost seven o'clock, and she hit the record button on her machine to record The Avalanche game she was bound to miss when her dinner guests arrived. As if on cue, the doorbell rang as soon as she set the time taking in account the possibility of overtime.
"Greetings, greetings!" Maxime boomed holding a box of chocolates as his son held a large bouquet of red roses.
"For you!" the boy, who's permanent teeth had came out since the last time she saw him, said smiling up at her.
"Oh, you shouldn't have!" she accepted the flowers, and felt like steering her thoughts away from all the floral gifts Marc had given her in the past was like driving a semi truck on slushy snow.
"Happy Valentine!" the father said when she met his eyes.
"I completely forgot what day it was!" She blushed dropping her gaze to the big, elaborate box of chocolate he presented her with.
"I'm glad you invited us, I didn't want to be dateless on Valentine's Day."
"Hey! You're the Christhmath lady!" Caleb exclaimed wanting the attention back on him.
Chuckling, she dropped to a squat in front of him, "And you're the pirate captain, aren't you?"
Shaking his head he declared, "I'm Ironman!" and drew her gaze to his Marvel t-shirt.
"Ironman is his flavor of the month." His dad clarified scratching the back of his head and still holding the box of chocolate braced against his chest with his other hand.
"That's cool! I like Ironman, too!" turning to the kid again she asked, "How's your puppy, Monster?"
"You know my puppy?" his eyes lit up and he yanked at his father's pants leg, "Chrithmath Lady knowth Monthter!" his light lisp was less noticeable now that his upper teeth grew out, but still there.
"Christmas Lady, I though get new business cards with my new title now." She smiled leading them to the living room.
Unlike her old loft, this one had a living room that extended to include a dining area two steps lower and overlooking Lake Michigan. Her kitchen was completely separated.
"I gotta say, you got a great place here, Christmas Lady." Max whistled stuffing both hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Thanks. Hardly anyone visits me here." She shrugged lamenting the fact that only Simone and Tamara come to her house regularly.
"Most of your friends still live in New York City." He stated factually, but she shook her head, "No, not really, I'm just not your typical social butterfly; I don't get close to a lot of people." She set the chocolate on the dinner table, "I like people from afar, I guess, because I like being around people in public places, at work, anywhere actually, I just...don't bring a lot of people into..." she searched for the words to explain it, and he supplemented, "Your personal space is sacred to you."
"Yes, yes!" she nodded enthusiastically, "I just don't welcome outside interference into my personal business; so I have a strict screening process, if you will."
Noticing the keen look in his eyes that made them seem more green than hazel, she changed the subject swiftly, "I wanted us to have a fun meal, so I made a bunch of stuff that are quick to eat and easy to handle. I don't have any video games, but I have board games, cards, and classic Looney Tunes DVDs that we can all watch."
