Love in the Age of Chemicals Ch. 03

"How could she not," I began, but stopped when Miranda looked up with an expression I did not want to have occasion to see again. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm... very sorry to hear that."

"Thanks," she whispered. Then clearing her throat and turning her attention back to her meal, she asked, "What about you? Didn't you say you would go see your parents for Christmas?"

"Yes. That's what I do every year at this time."

"I bet they're excited to see you. What kind of weather are they having in Virginia?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't spoken to them yet this month."

"You just assume they know you're coming?"

"It's my annual routine. I arrive on the 24th and stay until the 27th. I will call them after I've reserved my flight."

Miranda breathed out a small laugh. "You haven't booked your flight yet? Deke, it's the 20th!"

"I know. I'll do it soon. My mother left a voice message the other day, probably voicing the same concerns."

"Your mom left a message and you haven'tlistenedto it yet?Deke! What if somebody is sick, or hurt? What if something's wrong?"

"If it was urgent or serious, she would have called again," I said to justify what was really my attempt to avoid thinking about going to see my parents.

"I still think you should at least listen," she muttered.

"If you're so concerned, perhaps you should listen to it," I said, not expecting her to have any such desire. I was hoping that would end the conversation.

Miranda straightened up in her chair. "Really?!" she squeaked. "You'd let me do that?"

"Well," I hesitated. "Actually, I..."

"No take backs," she said sternly. "Hand it over." She reached her hand across the table.

"Why would you evenwantto listen to the sound of my mother nagging me for two minutes?" I wondered aloud, pulling out my phone and retrieving the unheard message.

"Because, I want to hear her voice. I've been trying to imagine your family, and since you have no pictures around, I'd love to just get a little snippet. Even hearing the tone of her voice and the way she talks can give me such a picture of her."

"That doesn't seem reasonable. You can get no more information from a voice message than you could from having the same message typed and printed out to read."

"I know it's different for you, Puppy, but trust me on this, I really want to hear her voice." Miranda called me "Puppy" only when she was happy. I was willing to hand her the phone if it served that end.

Miranda smiled and put the device to her ear. Her expressions were funny, and she even stifled a giggle at first. But then her eyes widened in surprise and she looked straight at me. She pulled in her lips and listened wide-eyed to the rest of the message. When (I assume) it had ended, she slowly lowered the phone and turned it off. Sliding it back across the table, she whispered, "You should have listened to the message sooner." Her expression didn't indicate a death or illness. In fact, she seemed to be holding in laughter at my expense.

"Miranda?"

"Dear," she corrected me.

"Dear, what did she say?"

"Oh, nothing much. Everyone's fine. Neither of your sisters are coming for Christmas, so your parents thought it might be good to come visityoufor once."

I dropped my fork onto my plate.

"They arrive Saturday night," she said, unsuccessfully holding back a smile. "In two days!"

*******

Neither Miranda nor I could decide exactly how to handle our situation. In the end, the least problematic option seemed to be for Miranda to stay with friends while my parents visited and for me to say nothing about our "marriage." She convinced me to dispose of the old couch that was still in her room – though I suspected she was taking advantage of my state of relative panic in order to secure my consent to things I would otherwise oppose. In its place, we purchased a sofa sleeper. We moved her bed in next to mine (again) and she prevailed on me to allow my parents to sleep in my room while I used the sofa sleeper. I saw no reason in that, but Miranda insisted that it was the only polite thing to do. I remained dubious.

We made every effort to remove the evidence of Miranda from the house, but by the time we were finished, the whole place just felt "off" to me. Miranda assured me that everything would return to normal in a few days and that I was probably just anxious about seeing my parents.

Late Saturday morning, the day of my parents' arrival, Miranda was putting clean sheets on my bed ("In case you decide to do the right thing" was how she put it) and I was just coming out of the shower. I dressed while her back was to me, and as she finished her chore, she flopped down on the bed.

"Deke, can we talk about something?"

"Do you mean you just want to talk about anything? Or about something in particular?" I asked, knowing that with Miranda that question could have either meaning.

"Something in particular," she said.

"Now?"

"I'll be leaving soon, and I'd rather not put it off."

"OK," I agreed, and waited.

"Come sit with me," she said, sitting up and scooting until she was leaning back against the headboard. Patting the space next to her, she looked at me expectantly. I joined her on the bed.

Miranda breathed in deep, then exhaled slowly. "So... did Katerina come by your office this week?"

My body stiffened involuntarily. "Yes. On Tuesday."

"And did she... What did she say?"

"She attempted to convince me to reconsider her grade."

"And did you?"

"There was nothing to reconsider. She did not score sufficiently to pass the course." It amazed me that this was not an obvious fact to everyone.

"And that was it? She just let it go at that?"

I paused and wondered if it might be wise to... withhold certain facts.

"Deke?"

It seemed as if Miranda was less interested in learning the facts than in hearing me confirm what she already knew. "No," I conceded. "In fact, she suggested the exchange of sexual favors for a better grade."

There was silence. Not even the sound of Miranda breathing.

"Naturally, I told her that was not how grades are earned."

A loud exhale. "And that was it?"

"She persisted in her efforts, even pulling my hand to her... her body. But I still refused. She was dissatisfied with my answer, plainly, but she left."

"Well, I hope she just lets it drop," Miranda said softly. Then with a tone of bitterness, she added, "The bitch."

"What else would she be able to do at this point?" I asked, knowing there wasnothingthat could change Katerina's final grade at this point.

"I don't know for sure... but if she's really determined..." Miranda seemed to think for a moment. "I'm just worried for you."

"Well, rest assured: the matter is closed," I said.

"And was that why you came home all worked up that day?" she asked, leaning a little towards me and putting her hand on my arm.

"Yes. I'm sorry about that. I really lost all self-control."

Miranda laughed and linked her arm with mine. "Don'tapologize!" she said. "I loved it! I want more of that!"

"But I was so rough and selfish. I treated you – and I'm ashamed to say, Isawyou – as just an opportunity to sate my lust."

"It'sOK, Babe," she said, squeezing my arm a little. "That's what we need sometimes. Everyone does. That's why we started this whole thing: to have someone to turn to when you feel that way."

"In any case, perhaps I should also apologize for yelling at you... afterwards. What I said may be true, but I should not need to resort to yelling."

Miranda put her head on my shoulder and said, "I forgive you, Puppy."

We sat like that – backs on the headboard, arms linked, her head on my shoulder – for a few peaceful minutes. The Miranda spoke softly. "Deke, you need to know why I said what I said that day – the thing that triggered your outburst."

I remembered her words:You don't know how happy you just made me.Words that put unbearable pressure on something that was not designed to bear that pressure. Words that hinted at the opening of the door to emotional chaos.

"What made me happy," she went on, "what I just said I want more of, wasyoucoming tomefor sex. I'd been trying to hint and suggest for a while that I would be very open to your advances. Heck, I was getting pretty horny myself. But I decided to wait, because so far, everything we had done was somethingIhad initiated. And... I know it's silly... but a girl... orthisgirl, at least... wants to be pursued. I don't want to think that you're just going along with all this because you're unwilling to say no. I want to feel that you find me at least alittlebit desirable. That I'm able to excite at least alittlebit of lust. That younoticeme and think of me as sexy. You said I was beautiful... and you assured me you meant it. But when you're living with a woman you find beautiful, and she has made herself sexually available to you, and you never act on that,... well, she can't help but wonder if you really meant what you said."

Miranda, it seemed, was awash with insecurities about her attractiveness. It baffled me, utterly baffled me. A woman that beautiful should be more prone to pride than insecurity. Not sure what power I had to help her, I simply said, "I believe my exact words were that you areextraordinarilybeautiful."

She pressed closer to my arm and said, "Oh, believe me. I remember your exact words very well."

"I'm still... processing... the phenomenon of sex... and how it is affecting me," I said, trying to condense hours of introspection to a few phrases. "And one thing that I've come to realize is that, even though I greatly desire you, I'm afraid to propose sexual relations. I'm intimidated."

"Intimidated? Why?" she asked, leaning back to observe my face. She seemed to find humor in my explanation.

"Because if you say no – which you would be fully entitled to do – but if you did say no,... I think it would break me."

That statement hung in the air a moment. The Miranda softly exclaimed, "Oh. Oh my. I see."

I wanted to get up and leave. Perhaps I made a slight motion in that direction, because Miranda gripped my arm tighter. "Deke. You have to understand that, as long as we have this agreement – this 'spouses with benefits' thing – if I ever say no, it's probably just a timing thing. Like a bad time of the month, or I'm in a bad mood, or I'm really busy with something that can't be put off, OK? It wouldn't be personal. I wouldn't be rejectingyou.I'd just be rejecting the idea of having sex atthatmoment."

"I know. And that's... that's very reasonable. But to my shame, I'm not sure my subconscious can distinguish between the two."

She leaned on me a moment longer, then said, "Well if it helps any, I think my subconscious – or even my conscious – is the same way about your pursuit and my feeling beautiful."

It was an insightful remark. The correlation was striking. Both of us affected by irrational currents in our minds. We could be fully aware of them and yet still get carried away by them.

"That does help, Miranda. It helps very much."

For another few minutes, I reflected on that insight. I tried to resolve to initiate sex again in the near future. But I knew it was easier resolved than acted upon. Meanwhile, Miranda moved her hand to my abdomen.

"So... my tuition bill for the spring arrived today," she said plainly.

"Was everything in order?" I asked.

"I owe zero dollars," she declared with a smile.

"As was expected," I noted.

"Yes. But I'm just still amazed that we're actually pulling this off. Especially given how much more complicated it got than when we first planned it."

"Whenyoufirst planned it," I pointed out. "I don't recall doing anything more than signing some papers."

"Whatever," she said, rubbing my belly slowly. "My point is, I'm very grateful to you, and I kinda want to show my gratitude somehow."

"That's not necessary," I said.

"Yeah. Which is why I said Iwantedto, not that Ihadto," she pushed back.

"Fair point," I conceded.

"How about a blow job?" she asked casually.

"Huh?"

"How about I use my mouth on you? I'm not really good at that, but it would be nice to get in some practice."

"I know what a blow job is," I assured her. "I just... hardly think that's a good idea right now."

"What? Why not?" she asked, slipping her hand into my pants and slowly massaging my member.

"Because... of the clean sheets..."

"I won't spill a drop. Or we could move."

"and my parents will be here..."

"It's not going to take me eight hours."

"and it's almost lunch time..."

"It's not going to take me more than 8minutes."

"and I'm just very uncomfortable with the idea of oral sex!" I blurted out, clenching my eyes shut.

Miranda froze, pulled her hand out of my pants and said, "Oh! I'm sorry. Is there a reason? Is it, like, a hygiene thing?"

"No... or... yes... It's not something I want to discuss."

"OK, Baby," she said soothingly. "Whatever you say."

I had not even begun to harden, even with her hand attempting to coax me into arousal. Then, remembering the conversation we hadjusthad, I turned quickly to face Miranda and said, "It's not that I don't find you beautiful, really. It's... it's..."

Miranda smiled and touched my cheek with the palm of her hand. "It's fine, Puppy. I understand. I really do. And I won't take it personally. How about I just cook you some lunch and give you the afternoon to read?"

"That would be wonderful," I sighed, feeling my whole body relax.

She kissed me quickly on the cheek, climbed over me, and left the room.

It was a good meal and a great afternoon. Miranda did not interrupt my reading even once, except to say good-bye as she headed out to the car, promising to see me the evening of the 28th, after my parents had left. Neither of us expected that she would in fact be back in the house much sooner than that.

*******