19
Spencer finished work early and looked out the front window. It was the first day of summer, glorious. Eva was coming over for a picnic later, but he had to get out and craved some energy and bustle, city vibe, faces and voices, all of them at the centre of their unfolding and far-reaching dramatic story, stranger than fiction.
He cycled to the art supplies store on Granville Island where they sold the writing journals with the paper that made handwriting effortless. Without even thinking, he chose one for Eva. The 8×10 size? Hm, maybe not, the mid-sized six-inch ones were more versatile for travel.
He rode by the gallery where they had seen the Jeff Wilson exhibit two and a half months ago and had sat on the bench drinking Diet Coke. That was the day before her meeting with Martin, she hadn’t gotten what she wanted from him. It felt like ages ago, a stark reminder of how little time had passed between them. And two weeks ago, she had voiced dissatisfaction and had thoughts of ending it. But now that seemed resolved? Her texts had been very affectionate lately.
For the picnic, he would dice up chicken and add it to a chopped cabbage salad, get baba ghanoush, and the rice crackers she liked. Hummus too? Nah. Olives, pickled artichoke, sun-dried tomatoes. Oh, maybe that quinoa shrimp salad with the Serrano chillies, cilantro, and lime. Gawd, she’ll love that. Drinks, both alcoholic and non. Napkins, small bowls, cutlery, a cloth to sit on, salt and pepper.
When the bell rang, he approached excitedly and leaned in for a kiss, followed by a deep hug meant to recall all that was close and wonderful between them. He ushered her inside. “You don’t have to ring the bell, just come in when you get here.”
“Oh, okay.” It seemed to mean only something procedural to her.
“I’m happy to open it for you. I just want you to feel relaxed.” She moved into the living room, sidestepping his comment, but stopped in the middle of the room. He guessed the absolute orderliness implied an etiquette that left her at a loss, so he pulled her in for another kiss, slid his fingers into her curls, and moved his mouth to her slender neck, like a supple tree, smooth and warm with her essence. They both sighed, relaxing a few notches.
In a whisper, he said, “Mm, good to see you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
He led her to the kitchen and handed her one of the packed shopping bags. She smiled like an excited child.
At Kits beach, there were plenty of spots to choose from on a Tuesday.
“How about here?” he suggested.
“Mm, what about there?” She pointed to another log and set off toward it. He followed dutifully and had the impulse to be sarcastic. Will this satisfy? but knew it would be laced with frustration. He checked himself: Are you here to have fun or not? He tossed her the tablecloth to set down how she liked it, while he unpacked the bags. A beer for him and a cider for her. He kicked off his sneakers and socks, she kept hers on.
He passed her the cider. “A nice cold cider for you, my dear?”
She smiled. “This is nice.”
“Because you are here.”
She chuckled.
He asked: “So, what’s it…what’s it been like, your week, haven’t seen you in what feels like forever.”
“Hm, been that long?” She was scanning the view with a hand to shade her eyes. “It’s been good. Getting work done.”
“How’s that been going?”
“It’s good. Two steps forward, two steps forward.”
“Well, that is good. Would love to read some more of it.”
“Sure. I’ll send you some. I like it when you ask about it.”
He smiled at her. “I love what I’ve heard so far. You have something there.” She turned away slightly, strangely modest. “Is there a way your inspiration typically works? How does it get turned on, or is it different each time?”
She looked down and thought for a moment, her upper lip curling over the bottom one slightly. “Hm, I guess different, but there’s always a feeling there, but sometimes I have to find it, track it down, what that feeling is I’m trying to get at. It can take a lot of time.”
“Emotional energy drives things, you find that?” He took a long sip of beer. Everything he was saying felt like someone else was saying it. Someone whom he wished would shut up and go away and never come back. He opened the baba ghanoush and rice crackers.
“Oh, yum,” she said. “Not always. Sometimes things just come out.”
“That’s what I love about creating art – or life for that matter – meaningful things can just suddenly appear.” He opened the container of chopped salad and set out the bowls, forks, and napkins. “Especially the things we learn about ourselves.” Again, it was someone else talking. “Help yourself!” he said brightly.
“Thank you.” She dished herself some salad. “You made this?”
“The salad is from a package – good though, I added the chicken for you to get your protein.”
“Hm, very nice, thank you.”
“Nice is nice. Why does that word sound so silly?”
“It’s too nice.”
“Exactly. Too fucking nice. It needs to be badass, that’s the new word for ‘nice’.” He dished himself some salad and took a polite bite, careful not to drop any on his shirt. As he chewed, he looked at the mountains across the water and then up at the sky at nothing, telling himself it was all so beautiful.
She took a sip of her cider. “Who do you see these days?”
“See?”
“Yep. Who else do you see?”
“Friends?” He laughed nervously.
“Yep.”
“Well, Roger, we have dinner every couple of months. I’ve known him since school. There used to be a whole group of us. Gabe and Celia moved back to Regina. Jasper went down this rabbit hole of Trump and conspiracies, and Dillon – he was my closest friend – suddenly up and decided not to be my friend anymore.”
“Oh.” She looked at him. “What happened?”
“I honestly don’t know. He got a girlfriend and met some new guy friends through her. I didn’t relate to them, and I guess he just preferred their company over mine.”
“But he was your closest friend?”
“Yeah, until he wasn’t.” Spencer looked at couples on the beach, lazing in the early evening sun, chatting.
“Did you guys talk about it?”
“Not really. He just kept cancelling on me, then apologizing, so I stopped trying, and he never called.
“That’s really…too bad. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. He was a cool guy, smart, interesting. We had a lot of fun, interesting conversations. But a lot of drinking, getting high, maybe that’s all it really was.”
“What about now? Roger?”
He felt she was evaluating him, but he was encouraged by her interest. “Yeah, he’s great. I love him. Interesting, solid. We talk a lot about everything. Listens to everything, supportive – that’s meant a lot over the last ten years going through the divorce.” He took a long swig of beer. “I’ve tried meeting new people, but nothing blooms. The cycling group they were my age, but I don’t know, I…nothing clicks. Same with the walking club and classes I’ve taken, I try but…” Again, the words felt foreign, too rational. “I’m just not interested most of the time, to be very honest. And they have their lives, they don’t seem very interested either. I think at this age people kind of have their set of people of family and friends.”
“What about when you were married, the people you knew then?”
“Other parents, yeah, no, I mean, we’d come and go for dinner, but it was just because we had kids in common, talking about diapers and soccer, it was okay, they were good people, but I’m not into seeing them now, there was really nothing much in common. I’d rather read a book than yap over red wine, repeating the same topical shit we’ve gone over a million times before.”
She chuckled, “Yeah, I know. I know. I don’t see anyone from when I was married, everyone I know now is just in the last few years.” It calmed him to hear this. “I really like meeting new people – they know me as me, not who I used to be.”
He took another shot of beer. “I have to say it’s where I am right now, it’s not like I’m actually wishing I had more people to hang out with. I know that sounds odd. If I really wanted those connections I would do more to get them but I don’t so I guess I don’t want that. Maybe at some point I will. I certainly don’t want to be meeting up at the pub, been there, done that.”
She nodded.
They chatted lightly about other things for a while longer, finishing their drinks, nibbling at the rice crackers, watching the sun tip into deep yellow. It still had another hour before setting and their butts were getting sore, so they packed up and went back to his place. Soon they were in his room, taking each other’s clothes off. The summer body scents felt new on inviting and familiar places. Hard kisses, soft kisses, light caresses, grabs of flesh and hair, nudging, tugging.
“It’s good to have your mouth on me,” she said, following a sigh of pleasure as he savoured her torso. Her left arm was behind her head, exposing her armpit. He neared it, moving over from her nipple and caught its lively stench. He paused a moment and then gave it a French kiss with a full lick. She screamed, tickled, as an electric jolt of pleasure flashed through his body.
“Let’s fuck,” she said. “Put some lube on.” He slapped some on, then took his time joining her.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed out in a heavy whisper, “You have such a big dick!”
He laughed. “And you are damn sexy.”
“And smart too!”
He laughed again, “Why do you think I’m so hard?” and laughed at his own joke, but she didn’t.
He woke early and sat with his coffee on the couch, scrolling through the news on his phone. Soon, he heard the bedroom door open, she used the bathroom and then came out. Her sleepy sideways curls were cute as hell, and he took her in his arms and kissed her forehead, then her lips.
“Tea?” he offered.
“Yeah.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Hm, yeah, you?”
“Yeah,” he said, sincerely. Sleeping near her was sleeping well.
“I’m going to get back into bed.”
She padded across the kitchen and down the hall. He made her tea and added a dash of milk – specially bought for her, he never drank the stuff. He put it on a plate with a napkin so she had somewhere to discard the teabag. He made another espresso for himself and ported them down the hall, feeling like the butler as well as the good lover. He put the tea on the nightstand next to her.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said softly. She sat up and put a pillow behind her. He did the same, both of them facing the blue mandala wall hanging, the rippling designs fanning out, easy to get lost in. His impulse to fill the silence grew, but he held back, hoping to hear her first, some revelation of her thoughts or mood or intentions, but nothing came. The sun wedged through a crack in the blackout curtains. He suggested breakfast.
By the time she came to the kitchen, he had the eggs whisked in a bowl and the pan was hot.
“Want some help?”
“Sure, you can cook the eggs.” She put some oil in the pan, then added the eggs, they crackled. “I have something for you,” he said. He disappeared to his office and came back, holding out the writing journal for her. “Ohhhh, thank you,” she said in a high-pitched sing-song. She opened the cover, there was a big heart he’d drawn and below it, “For Eva.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. The eggs sputtered, the toast popped. As they plated the food, she said, “It’s weird because I just finished the journal I’m using.” His heart surged. There were few more pleasurable things than doing the exact right thing at the exact right moment. They sat on the couch to eat with the sun angling across them, promising everything.
“Looking forward to a swim,” he said.
She checked the time on her phone. “Not even seven! We have lots of time, we should be there near eleven.”
“Oh, what shall we do with all this…time?”
“What do you want to do?”
“You know what I want to do, sexy.”
She chuckled.
They finished their food and dropped off their plates on the way back to the bedroom for caffeinated sex.
When he exited the change room at Kits pool, she was already powering down the dedicated lane. The water shimmered electric blue in the full sun. He waded into the free-swim area and began a leisurely breast stroke. This was exactly the kind of lifestyle he wanted – active, at the free pool with his girlfriend after a wonderful night together, enjoying the water and sun. She swam for nearly thirty minutes. He joined her, and they took drinks from their water bottles.
“There’s a party coming up I’ve been invited to,” she said. “Old friends. It’s his 60th birthday party. I’m wondering what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Martin will be there.”
“Ah, right.”
“I’m not super close with Rupert and Jasmine anymore, but she was a good friend. They’re from the early days of our marriage – he and Martin were friends, still are, I guess, but it’s not fair if I feel I have to bow out.” She took another drink of water.
“If you don’t go, do you think you’ll regret it?”
“Yes, but with Martin there, the way things were left after we talked, it will be – I just don’t want to see him.”
“Right.” He knew enough to stay out of it. Just listen and empathize. “Not easy,” he said. But what he wanted to say was: Who gives a shit, just go, show up with bells on and let it ride, maybe there will be a scene and you’ll throw a drink in his face.
She offered to drop him off at home, but he declined. It was just a few blocks to his place and he wanted to savour the beautiful day and how good his body felt after the last 24 hours. As he neared his place, alone, and turned the key to unlock his door, it crumbled as if something had yanked the foundation away.
That evening, stewed in longing, she texted:
Hi, thinking of you. Thanks for the yummy picnic, notebook, and the fun sleepover and that crazy good sex. Yeah, thanks for that too 🙂 😘
It was like he’d been given a drug. Or was it just love?
Him: 🥰
Just before he turned out the light, she texted again, asking if she could call.
“You know how I was telling you about my friend’s 60th birthday party?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, would you be interested in going with me?”
“Of course I would.” It felt good to be asked and he became conscious of how he felt unworthy when she didn’t ask him earlier, probably because he was used to that feeling, it was a quiet but constant river that cut through his heart.
“Martin will be there with his girlfriend, so whatever.”
“That doesn’t bother me at all. It’ll be fun.” He wanted to see what would happen in a sick way, to see if someone would get upset or fall apart, even if it was Eva, because perhaps then she would take another leap away from anything that had to do with Martin. It still smarted how she had said he didn’t live up to Martin’s playfulness when she came back from Seattle. Spencer was, apparently, according to her, on a lower rung than the man she had left.
Her tone brightened. “Yeah? Okay – are you sure? I would totally understand if you didn’t want to go. I don’t hang with any of those people, but I love them, old friends, you know?”
“Of course, it’s a birthday party, just a time to have fun. Don’t worry about me, it’ll be great.” He wouldn’t miss it for the world.