Oh, God, no. No. Not him too.
‘Dad,’ Brandon said, and Leah was sure he was going to tell his parents to lay off the innuendo. ‘Pass more cake.’
Her appetite for it had fled, which surely meant the Apocalypse was coming. But, faced with the three smiling faces, she found herself unable to tell them she was leaving. Cowardice tasted a helluva lot worse than gooey chocolate cake, but she couldn’t have forced herself to eat even a bite.
‘You know what?’ she said faintly. ‘I am tired. I hope you don’t mind if I really do take a nap.’
‘Of course not. You go right ahead. But don’t sleep too long,’ Caroline said. ‘We’ll be having dinner soon.’
Dinner. Leah’s hands went automatically to her belly, still full from lunch. The Longs ate constantly. ‘Great.’
‘And don’t forget the Monopoly tournament later,’ Bill added, snagging another piece of cake for himself. ‘It’s my turn to kick all of your butts.’
Brandon snorted. ‘Big talk, old man. But we’ll see.’
Leah fled.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like board games, or cake, or even dinner for fuck’s sake … she did. And she liked Brandon’s family. She really did. But it was all so foreign to her, this constant living in each other’s pockets, the fond inside jokes, the casual acceptance of her as one of them. More than just acceptance, the full-on immersion of Leah into their family, as if she’d always been a part of it.
Leah couldn’t remember when she figured out that she hadn’t exactly been considered a bundle of joy, but she felt like she’d always known. Not that her parents didn’t care for her, or protect her. Not that they didn’t love her. But they were older when she was born, not a miracle baby but a mistake created by false menopause and too much wine. Her parents were as old as some of her friends’ grandparents by the time she was in high school. They’d always loved her, and she loved them, but there was no denying that when she’d gone off to college and her parents had finally started to do all the travelling her childhood had prevented that Leah’s parents much preferred not having to be responsible for her any longer. Her father always sounded faintly surprised when she called to check up on how they were doing, or to fill them in on her life. Her mother never forgot Leah’s birthday but always sent the same gift – a card and a gift certificate to the bookstore. An appropriate and often-times generous gift because of the amount, but not very personal. In their eighties now, Leah’s parents were still in good health and still travelling. This Christmas they’d gone to spend the week with friends in London. The one before they’d gone on a cruise. Leah hadn’t spent a holiday with her family in at least five years, and the last had been when her parents stopped at her house in Harrisburg for one night on their way to New York City, where they were flying out of JFK to go to Scotland. She loved her parents, but they weren’t anything like close.
In the basement she pressed her face into the stack of fabric-softener-scented clothes and shut her eyes, taking deep breaths. The ring in its velvet box wasn’t big enough to make a lump beneath the pile in the drawer, but she felt it anyway like it was sharp and poked her in the eye.
It was more than the differences in their families. It was the differences in him. The Brandon at home and the one here. They hadn’t talked about downplaying the way things were between them, though she’d wondered what his parents might think if they knew how much time he spent on his knees for her. Seeing his father with his mother, though, she understood they might not have found it as strange as some. On the surface, they couldn’t have been more different, Bill the sole provider and head of the house, Caroline a stay-home mother who baked cookies and made all their Halloween costumes from scratch. Yet watching Bill with her, the adoration in his eyes, the way he treated her like a queen, Leah understood a lot of where Brandon had learnt how to serve her.
Nevertheless, he was different here. The laundry for example. At home he’d have washed, dried and folded the clothes. He’d have put them away, taking the time to tuck her panties into the drawer and hang her blouses and skirts on hangers in coordinated rows in her closet. He did it that way because she’d told him it pleased her to have everything done just so, and because it pleased him to do what she wanted. It worked out well for both of them, and she couldn’t count how many times she’d come home from work to the scent of dinner in the oven and gone upstairs to run her fingers along the row of clothes, then turned to find him in the doorway with that eminently fuckable grin on his face.
How many times had he gone to his knees for her right there, his big hands sliding up her skirt, finding the bare spots above her stockings? She shivered now, thinking of it. Of the warmth of his breath gusting over her skin when he eased her panties down and worshipped her with his mouth, making her come while she sank her fingers into the thick, dark lushness of his hair.
Her cunt pulsed at the memory. Her breath quickened. And somehow, when she turned to see him in the doorway behind her, Leah wasn’t surprised.
‘My
