The Unexpected End Of Love

Jennifer had always been close to both of them, but especially her mother. Jen had always had a way of reaching Jennifer and helping her walk the right path. Even when Dexter had felt left out, he loved watching the two of them. From the time she had been a baby, Jen had infused Jennifer with a trust, as she had with Dexter, teaching her daughter that she would love and protect her no matter what.

"Dad. Seriously. I've been driving for 5 years. See you in a bit, ok?" There was still some rebellious little girl left in his adult daughter.

"Alright, Jennifer. Bye for now."

He had sat so often in the brown chair next to the bed that it started to feel like an extension of him, that he was growing into the house itself. It was comforting, like something permanent and loving was seeking to fill the void left behind as Jen slid away. He thought of his childhood, devoid of the loving permanence that parents are supposed to give their children, and how Jen had filled that empty space inside him, and now that she was leaving, something new was there. The memories of their life together raced through his mind like a slot machine with Dexter waiting to see if it would stop on a winning combination. Bucket lists. The slot machine lit up with lights and sounds as "WINNER!" scrolled across the screen.

"You have to remember the night we tried to make bucket lists in the backyard. I remember we were just sitting and watching the end of the day," he said to Jen. "I told you I couldn't have a bucket list because I didn't grow up with the luxury of dreaming about wonderful things to see and experience. It just wasn't a part of my life." The last light of that fading day long ago speckled through the trees, and...

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...covered them in warmth as Jen put her hand on the side of his neck in the way she knew calmed him. Dexter could almost feel himself being physically pulled from his painful past back to the present. He looked down, unwilling to meet her gaze in the shame of how he felt, the shame of who he was, certain that she would share his awful sense of self-loathing and disgust. She gently lifted his chin until he was looking in her eyes to see compassion, and patience, and love so wonderfully mixed with her endless mischievousness.

"Then let's make it our bucket list together, because I want to share everything with you," her mouth turned up at the corners the smallest bit, "Besides, I'm pretty sure we can come up with some adult adventures that require two."

"Like a threesome with a circus carny, or cream cheese and a goat?"

"What? No. Not like that, you dork," but she was smiling, "More like making love in a sailboat during a thunderstorm."

"Jesus, that's pretty specific," he said as he looked down at her 'IF I COME BACK AS A ZOMBIE I'm eating you first' tee-shirt, "How about item number one on our bucket list is for me to take off your shirt?"

She put a very serious look on her face and said, "We could do that, but since we've done that before, it's not really a bucket list kind of thing. It's more of a 'you're horny' kind of thing. How about the first thing we put on our joint bucket list is to make a baby?"

Dexter was frozen silent for a few seconds before his face broke into a huge smile, "Holy shit, are you serious? Let's start right now! Because I'm serious!"

"Can we at least wait until we get to the bedroom to impregnate me?" She took his hand and led him through the sliding back door into the cool air of the house, "And you're going to have to get your fucking language in check, Dad, because I'm not going to fucking tolerate a fucking child that cusses every other fucking word..."

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Dexter's mind jerked back to the present as he saw the ladder of light on the wall formed by the noon sun slipping through the slats of the closed blinds, and he felt the big brown chair still pulling him into its comforting fold, and heard the repetitive hum and click of the machines monitoring Jen's fading vitals. He remembered the night of their daughter's conception clearly, as he did so many others that were full of warmth and love. It brought his grief again to the surface and he cried quietly so that Jen wouldn't hear him. He didn't want to take the chance of that being the last thing she heard.

They never did finish their bucket list.

Dexter looked down at Jen. "Should I keep talking? Yeah? You were always a good listener," he said. "I remember all those days when Jennifer was so young. She tried so hard to be grown up. The time she wanted to order for herself at that crappy restaurant. Split pea soup. She asked if you wanted to split some pea soup with her, and then got so upset when we couldn't stop laughing. Remember how that just made it funnier, she got madder, we laughed more, and then she finally started laughing with us? I'll never forget that. What it felt like. A part of a whole."

"And her insistence that it was Jennifer, NOT Jen. She was always going to be her own person, just like her mother. But she always knew she could come running back to you when she fell off her bike. God, the time she hurt her knee in that lax game freshman year of college. She was a mess until she saw you and then she just calmed down. I could see it in her face. Determination. You held us together and I'm scared now."

Dexter stood up to stretch his legs. "I feel like I have so much to say and I'm running out of time. Stay at least until Jennifer gets here." He paused to take in a large breath. "Jennifer. I would have never imagined raising a daughter would be like it was. Trying to teach her to play lacrosse catch? She figured it out the very first time. She's like you, that's for sure...Sensibly free-spirited," he laughed, "makes you guys sound like clothes from the JCPenny catalog."

"She grew up right, though. We got her far enough. I can't imagine holding a grandkid without you. I'll probably cry the first time. But fuck it, because I know Jennifer will understand. She'll cry, too. And then we'll laugh and share 'remember when' stories, just like now. And your grandkids will grow up knowing all about you. Who you were, where you came from. How you laughed...But I'll keep one thing just for myself."

"I need to eat something," he told Jen, "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." While the little attempt at lightheartedness had the opposite effect on Dexter, Jen had always cherished his ability to keep some perspective on the harder things in life. She told him a few years back that always made her feel strong, like nothing was too big to handle. He remembered their conversation exactly.

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"I don't feel strong, though," he tried to explain, "I feel like I'm trying to hide from something." Jen crinkled her forehead in the way that said 'I'm a little bemused'.

"I don't see it that way," she said, "It feels more like you're in control of things, like you're confident." Her voice slipped into a bad imitation of a British accent, "And when you're like that, you make me so horny, baby."

Jen put her hands around his waist and pulled him close and whispered "And you know what happens when you make me horny," and kissed him. Gently at first, Dexter could feel her body pressed against his, and then they passed a point together where sex was inevitable. But it was only partly physical. The rest was the need to be connected, to be as close as they could possibly be. Jen knew that, just like she knew when the self-criticism from his childhood threatened to pull him backwards, sex was often the way Dexter could most quickly find safety in their relationship.

They had made love then. It was gentle and sweet and passionate, and it felt to Dexter that those feelings defined who Jen was, and who he was when he was with her. Not always, but there were moments when he felt like she liberated who he truly was away from the isolated, self-abusing parts that were gifts from his parents that kept on giving.

Jen loved the unrushed feeling that Dexter could bring to sex. So different from anyone else. It allowed them to connect in so many different ways, 'and,' she thought as Dexter achingly entered her, 'it always felt so good.' He held himself up with his forearms so that their chests were together and they could kiss, long and deep. The feeling of having an orgasm while kissing Dexter was indescribable to Jen; if it was an especially strong one, she would moan into his mouth, sharing the intense pleasure. He almost always came then, the same way they had made love; unhurried and protracted.

They lay quietly afterwards, the last of the sunlight painting the bedroom in the deep blue-grey of a Pennsylvania dusk. "You know," Jen said, turning on her side to look at him and laying her leg over the top of his, "we're actually still having sex. I can still feel it in my whole body, like fireflies flickering in the field."

"You make alliteration so sexy," he answered. Her hand snaked down to his half-hard cock and began to tease that one little spot that drove him crazy. She could feel him getting hard again.

"Pretty good for an old man," she said. "You got enough in the tank to pick up the pace a bit?"

He pulled her on top of him and said, "Be careful what you ask for, old woman, or you might end needing a new hip."

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Dexter broke his trance and looked into the kitchen. Organized chaos. Not just kitchen things, but emotional ones. When Dexter had met Jen, he was just learning to cook in the aftermath of his divorce. It was important to him not just to survive, but to find ways to touch the richness of life. "Eat well, be happy" had been one of his mantras after Ashley left. It didn't always work, but it gave him something to hold on to and then became something he shared with Jen.

The small counter-space was littered with the accumulated cooking accessories of 21 years together. The Kitchen-Aid mixer she had gotten him one Christmas when he was in his 'baking phase', a basket of fruit, a big spice rack, and thises-and-thats, each of which carried the torch of memory for Dexter. The kitchen had been a place of love for both of them, the place where they re-connected every day after work, and after Jennifer was born, it was the common area for the three of them.

He leaned against the counter and recalled again the day Jen moved in next door and he had made her an apple pie. A bad one, but they had shared it that night. He had always held onto the beautiful thought that they were celebrating the first day of the rest of their lives together. He had told her it was a house-warming gift, but it was so obviously an excuse to spend time with her, something Jen always teased him about. He asked her once, "Would you have made the effort to meet me if I didn't make you a pie?"

She smiled that perfect smile, a few more years' worth of laugh lines then the day they met, but always captivating to Dexter, "Fuck, yes. Probably not that first night, because I'm so petit and demure," Dexter scrunched his face into the 'you have got to be kidding me' look as she went on, "When I pulled up to that house I was renting and saw you playing with Dog, I thought 'he can't be single'. I had to find out if there was a Mrs. Stud Muffin around. But yeah Dex, I would have made it happen."

Dexter ran his hand across the smooth granite countertop and drifted back.

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The cold, fall rain dripped off Jen as she walked through the front door and dropped her work bag. She shrugged out of her coat and heard the rattle of a pan from the kitchen.

"Dex!" she called, "Ima need something hot! Stat! I'm freezing!"

Dexter stepped into the hallway, backlit by light from the kitchen, a big smile on his face. "Oh, I've got something hot for you, baby. Come and get it!" He grabbed his crotched and leaned forward onto the tips of toes. "I'm bad!" he sang, in a high Michael Jackson falsetto.

She hugged him tight, the way she always did. "What's got you in such a good mood? I mean, besides your incredibly sexy and willing wife."

"Well, in addition to you," he answered, leaning back to look at her. "We got the baseball job."

"Oh. My. God!" she yelled, pulling him tightly into her. "You're going to be a professional baseball groundskeeper!"

"Yep," Dexter said, "The Clownton Clown Punchers. An auspicious first step into the world of professional sports."

"Tell me all about it while I warm up," Jen said, "I need a cup of coffee."

They had made the kitchen warm, with sensual smells of cooking and the shared sustenance of life, a place of safety and connection to the things that were most important. Hardwood floors and dark walnut cupboards fronted with glass. The walls were a veneer of large stone and the countertops granite, giving the room strength, folding them into its protective embrace.

"Sit," Dexter said, and lifted her by the hips onto the counter next to the warm oven. She was light for him, a landscaper used to hard, physical work, but she still had the body of an athlete, with strong shoulders and legs. Her blue eyes set off perfectly from her long sandy blond hair. Dexter found more attractive with each passing year.

"What are you cooking? It smells amazing."

Dexter said, "Oh, I just whipped up a little chicken cordon bleu casserole with whatever we had laying around. It'll be ready in about a half hour."

Handing her a cup of coffee, he said, "We're having an appetizer, too."

"Oh, really?" Jen giggled, "And what's that?"

"Fresh clams," he answered, "Butt up."

She braced her arms and lifted herself off the counter so that Dexter could slide her skirt up around her hips and her red panties down. He gently pulled her legs to coax her to the edge of the counter.

"I should be doing this for you today," she said as her hands ran through his hair.

He kneeled on one knee and looked up at her, "Oh, dear Jen, this IS for me." He kissed up her thigh and barely touching, ran his tongue along the length of her slit, stopping to just graze her clit.

Jen let head rest against the cupboard, "Ok. Fuck. Whatever you want."

Dexter ran his hands over her thighs as he teased her. His hands made her feel so connected to him; more than just physical, it was loving and erotic blurred together. He pulled her clit into his mouth, his tongue flickering over the exposed tip, sending sparks into Jen.

"Dex," she hissed, "This isn't going to take long."

He gently slid a finger into her, his palm up so that he could massage the sensitive bump inside her pussy, causing Jen to let out a small moan. His tongue continued to work her clit, continually changing patterns and pressure to keep her from coming too soon.

Dexter took his mouth away from her and stopped moving his finger. "Maybe we should wait and make this dessert?" He asked.

She pulled him back into her, "Are you kidding? I'm so close."

His tongue settled into a circular motion on her swollen clit and he began to lightly rub her G-spot with his finger. Dexter knew this drove her wild. He thought to himself, 'This is my finishing move!' and almost giggled. His free hand had to hold Jen's hips down as she began to come, her hands clenched behind his head and her toes curled into tight light little balls. She was never loud, but the unintentional sounds that she did make were so authentically erotic that Dexter could feel himself getting hard. He peeked up at her face and saw her hand slipped inside her blouse, gently pinching her nipple. Her teeth clenched as her whole body tensed for what seemed like a happily long time to Dexter before she slumped back and he took his mouth away.

The chicken cordon bleu casserole was exquisite.

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Dexter had to force himself to come back, looking at the space where Jennifer's high chair had sat 2 decades earlier. She must have been about 2 at the time and Jen was trying to feed her while Dexter cooked. It was spaghetti night and Jennifer's mouth had a halo of orange from the sauce and a single, long noodle clinging to the top of her head. She had always been a good-natured but stubborn baby and this night epitomized it. In a state of bloated infant satisfaction, Jennifer had signaled that she was done eating by very casually pushing her sippy cup off the high chair. Jen was talking to Dexter, and without being interrupted, picked up the cup and put it back on Jennifer's spaghetti- and pea-strewn tray. Jennifer waited for a few seconds and brushed the cup off again. This time Jen stopped talking and looked with her stern mother face, which clearly wasn't interpreted by Jennifer in the way it was intended, and retrieved the cup. The kitchen air filled with the smell of 'game on', and Dexter stopped to watch as the test of wills began to unfold.

Jennifer stared at her mother, defiance written across her spaghetti-stained face, and slowly, deliberately pushed the cup off the tray again. The cup hit the ground, and they both sat motionless. Dexter's eyes went back and forth between mother and daughter, waiting to see who would laugh first. Jen retrieved the cup again, and held it in front of Jennifer's face until they both broke out laughing. Hearing them laugh gave Dexter a deep sense of peace and belonging that he had never known before Jen, a sense of happiness and certainty of love. The thought of that night, and the feelings that went along with it gave him a jolt back to the present. He said out loud to no one but himself, "You taught me to laugh, Jen. The day we met was the first best day of my life." He took deep breath to ward off more tears and decided he didn't feel like eating after all.

His phone rang, ice cold water thrown into the face of a sleeping man. Jennifer's voice was distant, a voice from the other end of a canyon.

"Hi Dad. How are you?" she asked.

"Ok, I guess," Dexter lied, "Am I on speaker phone?"

There was a click and Jennifer's voice was clear now. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Sitting around, I guess, telling your mom stories to keep her company."

When Jennifer finally spoke, Dexter could hear how stuffed up her nose was. "It seems like a week ago that mom was helping me shop for a prom dress. 'Nope, too short', 'Too low cut', 'Too tight', but we finally found the perfect one. We had so much fun. Did she ever tell you that I got her to try one?"

"No," he answered, "I wish I would have seen it."

"You know, it was really funny, and then I realized how beautiful she was. She made that stupid dress look amazing."

Dexter took a deep breath. "You look a lot like her. At least the good parts came from mom."

"I didn't get her great boobs, that's for sure," Jen said.

"No, no, no. That's not a dad topic." Dexter regretted the words as they came out, too late to take them back. "I'm sorry, Jennifer."

"No, it's ok," she said, "I guess we have to get used to it. But I am going to miss being able to talk to her about anything."

Dexter looked around the kitchen. He wondered for a second how he had gotten down here, a black stretch on the road of his memory that felt like a missing puzzle piece. His head twitched to the side, an involuntary movement he knew was a holdover from his abusive childhood. It usually felt like that was a switch to a different part of himself, a child part split off and hidden for safe-keeping when he was very young. He felt a growing panic that came with the feeling of acid in his stomach, like danger was coming and there was nowhere to hide. His head jerked again, like a parent slapping the face of a child. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that it wasn't 50 years ago, and thought of a safe place for the child, the backyard in the early summer evening. It was a sanctuary for him. In his mind, life was bursting all around; butterflies, bees, bird song, and the loud trilling call of tree frogs. The cooling air carrying the smell of cut grass from somewhere close by. He was sitting in the grass while Dog romped around. Dexter said to himself, 'It's ok. It's safe. You're not alone.' He could feel himself almost physically dragged back to the present. "It's no safer here," he muttered.