Pushing onto the balls of her feet, she kisses me chastely.
“That reminds me, did you remember to pick up––”
“Yes, beautiful. It is all done. You can check it if you want.”
“No, I believe you. Thank you. She is going to love it,” excitement weaves its way around her words. “I need to use the restroom before I go.” She slips out of my arms, and shrieks playfully as she hops lightly over the mass of dry crumbs and half-cut cherries that lay splattered on the tiling.
I love that woman.
Feeling somewhat drained from the extensive cleaning, yet relaxed from my late-night shower, I throw on my pyjama bottoms and slip into bed.
With my back flush against the cold leather of the headboard, I glance around the chocolate and cream room and down to the vacant space along my left-side. I offer a sigh so weightily, I’m surprized the surrounding walls still stand.
Uncertain as to whether Samantha is already sleeping, I extend my arm to the bedside table to reclaim my cell and compose a quick message to her:
My bed is empty and cold without you. I miss you. I love you. Xxx
Five minutes later, my handset beeps and the white backlight flashes.
*** Received Wednesday 21
st
November 2012 @ 11:45 p.m. ***
I am there with you, look under my pillow. I love you. Xxx
Look under her pillow?
Bemused, I do exactly as she said and prop the pillow up. I’m welcomed with a pair of black, lace panties resting peacefully on my mocha-colored sheets. I smile deliriously and idly wonder when she found the time to conceal them, before seizing them in my left hand, and typing another message to her:
You never fail to surprise me, beautiful. Xxx
A few more minutes pass, and I am notified again of a receiving text.
*** Received Wednesday 21
st
November 2012 @ 11:53 p.m. ***
Smell my pillow, I hope it will help. Go to sleep and tomorrow will come faster.
A watched pot never boils. Goodnight, Hayden. I love you. Xxx
Again, I comply with her instructions and raise her pillow to my nose. The sweet, succulent scent of her perfume spirals up my nostrils; the combination of marshmallows, white chocolate and roses; the scent that has consumed me since the very first day, a scent that is my home.
I turn the bedside lamp off then position the pillow lengthways. I cuddle it against my body, as I would Samantha if she was here. Inhaling greatly, I close my eyelids. With images of sparkling, blue eyes and thick, wavy, dark auburn locks concealed by a white veil, strolling down a walkway between theater-positioned chairs, anchoring me towards a deep, peaceful slumber.
“Hayden, so glad you could make it, Happy Thanksgiving,” Jessie greets me with a warm welcome and side-steps, allowing me space to enter. Her shiny, burgundy pants hug her figure and highlight the green hue of her eyes. You would presume that they were leather at a quick glance. And the simplicity of the off-white, short sleeved T-shirt adds a stylish, yet casualness to the outfit.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Jess. Thanks for having me.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, and seizes the bottle of Zinfandel and the lilac box harboring my back-up dessert.
I am barely through the apartment when Samantha springs towards me, shrieking. Catching me unprepared, she leaps into my arms like a gymnast bounding off a springboard before The Vault.
“My God, I have missed you,” she murmurs, encircling her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.
Pressing my hands against her mid-back, I bury my face in her wavy locks, inhaling the sweet aroma of her coconut shampoo. “I missed you, too, beautiful.” My hands slip down the remainder of her back, her ass, and the back of her thighs, before I set her down on her feet, and kiss her with uncontained passion.
“I swear you two are both mentally synced,” Jessie begins as Samantha laces her fingers in mine and leads me to the breakfast counter. “It’s Thanksgiving, and you’re both in black.”
Samantha and I scrutinize each other. With her modeling tight, black leggings and a plunging, black wrap-like top, which showcases her cleavage and a pair of black, patent, heeled pumps, and me wearing a silk shirt, black denim pants and a black jacket––the only flash of color separating our outfits, is the silver of my belt buckle.
“I think we look rather bad-ass,” Samantha teases, bumping her shoulder against my upper-arm, and offering a mischievous grin.
“If you are both embodying Bonnie and Clyde of 2012,” Jessie continues to mash the potatoes, “Then yes, you have made your statement.”
Samantha and I exchanged flirtatious glances and gestures from the moment I walked in the apartment. With our bodies softly and temptingly brushing and grazing against one another in the kitchen as we gather the trimmings in their allocated dishes to place on the dining table, down to the salacious grins and glimmering eyes as we read each other’s unspoken lustful musings and body language, fully aware that we are mentally divesting one another’s clothing. The exhilaration of the deviousness of eye fucking each other surreptitiously enhanced the dense cloud of sexual tension that lay suspended over us.
As we take our places at the table, Samantha sweeps her long, tousled hair across her left shoulder, magnetizing me with her sweet, candy-like scent, and a view of her slender, pale neck. I inhale deeply and combat every desire I have to feast on her flesh and leave Thanksgiving dinner until later, as I discern the pulsation of life flowing through her––knowing that…she is mine, her flesh, her charisma, her love…her heart that beats simultaneously with the throbbing in her neck. Her entirety is mine.
Turning to face me, she peeks up under immaculate, fanned-out lashes; her eye makeup a thick, smoky-gray, her glowing complexion and pale-rose lip tint, what did I do to become so lucky to have my life graced by her beauty? Her locks hang over her one shoulder, adding an element of mystery. The left-side of her mouth curls upward, displaying a grin that is both arrogant, but so highly sexual.
She knows what she is doing to me. I am her prey, shadowed and awaiting in the bushes for my predator to pounce and capture me. And the sooner, the better.
“Let’s say thanks. I’ll go first,” Jessie proposes. “I am thankful, for life and the obstacles that are put in our way throughout it. Only then, do we muster the hidden determination to fight for what we truly want.” Samantha extends her left arm over the table and takes hold of Jessie’s hand. She beams with bountiful affection, as she grazes her thumb over her knuckles.
“I am thankful, for such amazing people in my life. I am thankful for the opportunity to start a new beginning…” Samantha gazes at me. Her expressive blue eyes sparkling like diamonds, the fingers of her right hand, locked in mine and hidden under the table upon my thigh. “To experience, absorb and appreciate the true meaning of what it feels like, to have someone to share your life with, who loves and appreciates you, the same way as you love and appreciate them; for their smile and their voice to bring light to even the crappiest of days.”
I am choked by the sentiment of her words. I swallow hard, forcing the mass in the back of my throat to dissipate.
“I am thankful, for the new doors that have opened. I am thankful, for perseverance, if it wasn’t for that, I would never have walked through the doors alone and come out the other side with a true love,”––I gaze amorous at Samantha and squeeze her hand, before glancing over the table at Jessie––“and a true friend.”
“Hear, hear,” both women raise their glasses.
“Oh, and also, I am thankful for Mr. and Mrs Holden at the Havana Bakery, for coming to my rescue in my time of crisis.”
Through the enlivened and spirited humor, we clink our wine glasses together. After a generous sip, Jessie asks us to do the honors of carving the turkey. I’m surprised at her gesture, and lightly dispute the offer, but she is quite intimidating when she is adamant. I idly contemplate being thankful that Jessie is in fact on our side and pushed us together, instead of apart.
Samantha and I stand side-by-side. She pierces the bird with the carving fork, and I begin to carve at the succulent, white meat, screened by a golden, crispy skin. While leaning over the surface in unison to place the sliced turkey on one of the large, black, squared plates, it slips and free-falls to the desired surface instead.
“What is it with you and dropping food onto cooling racks and plates?” Samantha teases.
“At least it ends up on the correct surface, and not in my cleavage,” I retort playfully.
Mouth agape and eyes-wide, Samantha feigns offense. “How many times do I have to tell you, it is ill-mannered for a gentleman to point out their partners’ lack of etiquette?”
A snigger from Jessie’s direction has both of our attention targeted at the petite brunet. Her elbow propped up on the white linen, tablecloth, her chin resting on the heel of her hand, and a humorous grin sketched all over her profile.
“What?” Samantha challenges.
Shaking her head, she murmurs, “I love you guys, you bounce off each other like an old married couple.” She points between us with a manicured, index finger.
Samantha looks up at me with telling eyes as I snake my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. Arching my brow, I silently ask if she is sure.
She nods.
“What’s going on?”
I retrieve the black leather box from my inner breast pocket of my jacket that hangs on the back of the chocolate leather dinning chair, and pass it to Samantha.
“Jessie, we love you. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be standing here now.”
“No, Sammy, we never do gifts––” Jess vigorously shakes her head.
“I know, but this is…” she glances up at me. “Special.”
Handing Jessie the black box, she pushes the lid open with her thumb. Sucking in a deep breath, her eyes wide and vibrant, while studying the silver, dolphin-linked watch, wrapped snug around a black, satin pillow.
“Oh, my God, you guys,” she breaths, removing the display pillow from the box.
“Look on the back.”
Jessie slips the watch from the cushion. Obeying Samantha’s instruction, she flips it over, and stares at the smooth, shiny metal on the back of the onyx face:
To J, thanks for everything, love always, S&H
Swiftly pushing herself up from her place-setting, she embraces us both; Samantha in her right arm, and I in left. “I love you,” she mutters, and plants a kiss on our cheeks in turn, before returning to her seat and slipping the wristwatch in place.
The lively sounds of laughter and merriment drown out any unwelcomed thoughts or awkward silences. I take in the sounds, the displays of affection and gratitude that shrouds us in the apartment. Sipping at the wine, and caressing Samantha’s hand under the table, I contemplate the timeline of my year. Certain events being a catalyst for each additional emotion that followed. Pain, grief, anger, hurt, sorrows, disappointment, anguish…curiosity, desire, longing, hope, passion, and love. Standing at a crossroad unsure of which path to take until one person unintentionally showed me the way, and guided my path in the still of the night, like a guardian firefly.
How do I feel know? That’s easy. I feel wholehearted and content. I feel as though my life has meaning again. I feel as though I belong.
SIXTEEN
-------------------------
SAMANTHA
Between work, spending time with Hayden, making time to spend with Jessie––even if it is only takeout and a movie––as well as urging her to take the next step with Matt, the music store manager that she has spent many months admiring from afar, and gift shopping, the weeks running up to Christmas melds into one, and disappears before I even have a chance to get remotely in the Holiday spirit.
Hayden invited me to spend Christmas Day with him and his family. Alas, when I failed to accept his offer without hesitation, he began to over think the situation and came to his own, paranoid conclusions. That night was the first time in nearly two weeks, that he fought through another nightmare of me being unfaithful and perfidious.
However, unlike his past active methods of being secretive about his dreams, no matter how hurtful or ridiculous they may sound, he divulged his insecurities to me. He sought deeply for the power to unlock that impenetrable door, and allowed me to walk through and comfort him, reassure him. And it helped not only him, but me also. Seeing that I can ease the subconscious doubts, and encourage him to be direct and candid, without him drowning in apprehension of how I may react.
Realizing that my hesitancy over the matter is what involuntarily activated the wrecking ball that is Hayden’s insubordinate thoughts, and therefore triggering his nightmare, I thought it was only appropriate to concede to his invitation. He did spend Thanksgiving with us after all. Although, I still feel awkward, perturbed and guilty at the notion of breaking mine and Jessie’s Holiday tradition.
“Okay, now no shaking this one, okay, Jess.” I hold up a smallish box, wrapped in red, metallic gift-wrap, before placing it under our Christmas tree, which stands in front of our skyline apartment, bay-window.
“I am not a barbarian, Sammy. I don’t shake
everything
you put under the tree.” She tampers with the thread on one of the silver baubles, before slipping it onto an empty branch.
Sensing my glare, she pauses, her fingertips still caressing the branch of the tree. Feigning obscurity, she mutters, “What?”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Of course not,” I retort dryly, sinking into my heels as I kneel at the tree side, and heave a sigh.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” She peeks down at me, her expression one of unrestrained concern.
Retrieving one of the extravagant, embellished baubles that Jessie decided would be a good investment; I roll the cold, hollow sphere in my hands.