Worth the Fight (Accidentally on Purpose) (10 page)

After Lucas had his breakfast, I turned on the television, playing one of the many episodes of Sesame Street we had on the DVR. As he settled on the floor in front of the television, I opened the door and grabbed my newspaper out of the hallway. I settled on the couch with the paper. Lucas would talk to me every now and then and I would answer. This went on for quite a while before I looked up and caught Emmy staring at me. I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

“Good morning, number three,” I teased.

She muttered something that sounded like a greeting and rushed her ass into the kitchen. Lucas followed after his mother a moment later and I followed after him.

“Cup?” he asked Emmy.

He gazed up at her and the way she looked back down at him with unconditional love made me smile.

“You want your cup?” she asked.

“Ya,” he said and started patting the whale’s head. “Cup.”

I got Lucas some juice in a sippy cup, but he didn’t waste any time hanging about. He wandered back into the living room and seconds later shouted “Emmo!”

“Elmo,” Emmy and I said together.

“You want some breakfast?” Emmy asked me as she leaned against the stove. She was so cute in her Penn State shorts and t-shirt, and her hair mussed from sleep.

“Sure. I could use some food,” I answered. “I tried L
ucas's cereal, but it wasn't for me.” I made the same face I think I made when I first tasted the cereal. To my delight, Emmy laughed.

“Oh my god it’s that sound again,” I teased.

She rolled her eyes and tried to make a straight face as she turned away from me. She opened a cabinet door and stood on her toes in an attempt to reach a box of baking mix.

“What sound?” she asked as she stretched to reach. “Why do you put things way up on the third shelf where I can't reach?”

“Because it's funny watching you reach for it.” I stepped up behind her, close enough to feel the heat of her body on mine. I felt her freeze, but she didn’t say anything or try to move away. I reached for the box and slowly brought it down before her.

“Thanks,” she said and snatched it from me. She turned her face away from me, but not before I saw the redness that had settled in her cheeks.

That made me happy, to see that I had made her blush, but then I remembered that I didn’t want to fuck this up. Bending her over the counter wasn’t going to help anything. I stepped away from her as she began to gather her ingredients.

“I'm going into the office after breakfast,” I said. “I have to be in court first thing tomorrow morning and I want to make sure I am well prepared.”

“Okay.” She smiled, but hardly realized she was doing it. I don’t know what exactly changed within her yesterday, but I rather liked it.

“You had a good day yesterday,” I said.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “My mom only irritated me a little bit.”

“About what?”

“What do you think?” she asked me with a knowing look.

I knew, but I wanted to hear her say it. I overheard Sam questioning Emmy about her sex life and Emmy’s irritation. She was very vague to her mother, but Sam knew her daughter well enough to answer her own questions. Though I was pretty sure she wasn’t having sex with anyone, I found myself curious to know.

“I don't know,” I lied. “It can't be your hair or your clothes. You looked amazing yesterday.”

Her face turned a brighter shade of red. Flashes of her face turning this very shade at the height of her orgasm invaded my mind. With that floating around in my brain, I shouldn’t have pressed on with the conversation, but now the need to know if anyone else was making her come overtook any co
mmon sense.

She thanked me for the compliment.

“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think hard on the matter. “Oh. Your sex life.”

“Bingo,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She really feels that it's one of those use it or lose it things, which made me wonder about her and my dad and that's when I decided to have a drink.”

“Yeah, no one wants to think of their parents getting it on,” I grinned. “No one wants to know that their parents are having a quickie. Stuffing the old wrinkled salami. Having afternoon delight.” I continued with every sexual innuendo I could think of while Emmy covered her ears and begged me to stop.

“Okay, okay, I'm done,” I chuckled.

“My god, that was horrible,” she said, shaking her head.

I still had a chance to abandon the path I was about to follow, but I didn’t.

“Now I'm curious,” I said, tilting my head to study her.

“About what?” Her eyes widened. “My parents? Gross!”

“No, dummy. About you.”

“What about me?” she asked, failing at playing dumb.

“Are you, you know, on the verge of 'losing it' from not using it?”

She tried to look insulted by such a question, but she looked terrified at answering it, which was an answer in of i
tself.

“I don't have time!” she shouted after some sputtering.

“There's always time,” I said, trying not to grin. She wasn’t having sex with anyone, or if she was, not often. I pretty much knew where she was at all times, but there were a few late trips to the grocery store, and a few days where Lucas was with Lena and Em wasn’t at work. It was possible she was squeezing it in somewhere, no innuendo intended.

“I am either with Lucas or at the office,” she argued. “Like you have so much time on your hands for sex.”

I poked my head out to check on Lucas. When I turned back, I saw Emmy’s eyes on my chest and arms. I almost flexed just to be a showoff.

“I have made time,” I said without thinking.

“When?” she asked, holding a spatula in her hand and cocking her pretty little head to one side.

Telling her when I made time for sex was going to make me look like such a dickweed. I felt so guilty now for leaving her and Lucas in the night to go be with Claire.

“It doesn't matter when,” I said, looking away from her.

“Why not?”

“We don't need to discuss it anymore.” I turned away from her in an attempt to cut off the conversation, but Emmy wasn’t finished. She threw a big wooden spoon, nailing me in the back of the head.

“Luke, that's not fair! You started this conversation!”

“I know, but now I don't want to talk about it,” I said, picking the spoon up off of the floor.

“Why not?”

“Because…” I sighed. “My answers will make me look...dishonest.” I rubbed the back of my head where she had nailed me – no innuendo intended.

She looked at me for a long moment as if she was trying to figure me out. Suddenly, she pointed a spatula at me. For a second I thought she was going to slap me with it.

“Some of your late nights at the office were booty calls!”

Oh shit. Why did she have to be so damn smart?

“Some, but not all,” I answered, unable to meet her eyes.

“Oh my god!” She laughed, but it sounded off. It was as if she was laughing and smiling with the barrel of a pistol le
veled at her head. “And when was the last time you got some?”

“If I answer, you have to answer the same question,” I said when I should have just answered her question and walked away.

Emmy looked away from me and concentrated on flipping pancakes. Her mouth had formed into a straight, tight line and her body had stiffened some. Did she really want to know about the last time I had sex? I felt trapped now. If I didn’t answer, she would be distrusting. If I did answer, she would be distrusting. But I guess it was always better to go with the truth…

“Two weeks,” I said at the exact same time Emmy said “Don’t answer.”

I don’t even think she realized it, but as my words slipped past hers and into her ears, she froze. Her hand froze in midair, with a pancake still on the spatula, waiting to be put back on the griddle. Her mouth was slightly ajar and her eyes were unmoving. It went without saying that my admission had hurt Emmy. Well, she could hurt me right back, because I needed to know when she was last with someone. If it was as recent as my own experience, it would definitely hurt me, and I would definitely deserve it.

“Now, your turn,” I said as if I had not known I had hurt her.

I watched with patience as she stacked a plate high with pancakes and bit her lip as she considered my question. I doubt she really had to think that hard about it, but she was just as reluctant as I was to speak about it. In my mind that meant that she felt just as guilty as I felt and she didn’t want to admit out loud that she had lied about a destination so some asshole could put his hands all over her.

I felt my hands ball into fists. I hope she wouldn’t tell me who it was, because I felt ready to knock his teeth in.

“Almost a year and a half,” she said quietly as color rose in her cheeks once again.

I gaped at her. It’s not at all what I expected to hear, and admittedly, I was glad that it wasn’t what I expected to hear, but I had a hard time believing someone as sexually carnal as Emmy went a full year and a half without sex.

“You're kidding me,” I said.

“Nope.”

She wouldn’t look at me. I wanted her to look at me. I was going to make her look at me, but Lucas yelled for me. Emmy turned her back on me, busy with some task at the counter. Reluctantly, I left her and went into the living room with Lucas. Five minutes later Em walked out of the kitchen carrying one plate loaded with pancakes and scrambled eggs and a tall glass of OJ. She still didn’t look at me before heading towards the bedroom.

“Aren’t you eating?” I asked her.

She spoke to me over her shoulder but kept moving. “I want to take a shower before you leave.”

The bedroom door closed and I stood there staring at it for several moments before finally walking away.

Lucas sat on my lap as I ate my breakfast, taking it upon himself to put his little hands in my eggs or to take a piece of pancake. We conversed as much as a father could converse with his one year old son, taking very little effort on my part and freeing up space in my mind to think about the conversation that just transpired.

Emmy had not had sex for over a year and half – since she was pregnant with Lucas. Thinking about whom she had sex with while pregnant with my son made my stomach churn, but I quickly pushed that thought out of my head. It had been so long for her, and I doubted she was holding back just because she was someone’s mother now. The Emmy I used to know was a sexual live wire. She emanated intense, tangible sensuality that not only wrapped sturdily around my manhood, but it bol
dly invaded my brain and spread like stimulated tendrils down my spine, into my chest and spread throughout my body, limb to limb, from the hair follicles on my head down to the very tips of my toes. A current seemed to ripple through her whole body under my caresses, kisses, and when I invaded her body with my erection. No matter my current state of mind, she shared that energy with me, made it grow with in me until lights exploded in my eyes like a transformer blowing from a power surge against the dark night. Regardless of where she was in her life, the one thing Emmy was always sure of was her sexuality and how to use it. Her confidence in herself as an overall person at times wavered during those hard times, but her confidence in her sexuality remained ever present and always positively charged. Any man who met that Emmy would be helpless if she wanted him.

But there hasn’t been a man.

And this wasn’t the same Emmy.

This Emmy tucked away her sexuality, closed it up in some vault and locked it tight and misplaced the key. She was still sexy, but not through any fault of her own. This Emmy was wilted, all of the zap gone out of her. She had no faith in her ability to satisfy a man and blocked herself off from enjoying anything even remotely satisfying for herself. Her well had run dry and she was in no hurry to replenish it. Her confidence was gone. Her desire was gone. Anyone looking at her could see that she was gorgeous, but was I the only one who looked past that and saw that the hollowness inside of her that used to be bursting with sensuality? If she was already damaged before she came to Chicago, I had to hold myself accountable for ad
ding the ice that finally snuffed out the flame she once had.

Emmy wasn’t getting laid (thankfully) because she didn’t feel good enough. She didn’t feel desired. It was obvious in the way she dressed in modest clothing – not that she ever dressed like a slut before, but she used to dress with precise care, kno
wing how to look like a sexual being without looking like a floozy. She used to always be aware of that sexual energy, but now it was gone.

Lucas began to doze off in my lap even while his fingers were still sticky with maple syrup. I carried him into the po
wder room and rinsed off his face and hands before taking him into the bedroom and tucking him in his crib. He sat up and grinned at me as he tried to fight off his sleepiness. He very much looked like me, but that smile that sprinkled fairy dust on my heart and made me feel like I was flying was all his mother’s.

“Dad-ee,” he said.

“Lu-cas,” I countered.

He snickered, grabbed the edge of his favorite blanket and lay his head down next to the stuffed whale. His eyes closed only moments later and I was thankful he went down so easily this time. Usually he is a handful to get to sleep. Lucas is always afraid he’ll miss something and fights sleep hard.