Chapter Twenty - Quin
I catch them in a quiet moment. I came up the stairs, the elevator being used or broken. But either way, I was impatient to get home so I took the stairs, and I catch them.
Adley is wandering down the hallway in a baby walker, a bright red plastic block in her mouth, drool running down her chin. I stoop to look her in the eyes—those blue, blue eyes—and she smiles at me. I’m just about to pick her up and hold her close, really feel the connection, when I hear whispers coming from the bedroom.
“Be right back,” I whisper down to Adley. When I get to the door Rochelle is standing in front of a massive framed, full-length mirror propped against the wall. Bric is standing behind her, almost possessively, as he adjusts her hair. I think he was just zipping up her dress. He leans down into her neck and whispers something I don’t catch. Rochelle laughs, closing her eyes like she’s enjoying the moment.
They are beautiful people.
“That dress,” I say, walking into the bedroom. “I almost want to rip it off you.”
“Do it,” Bric growls.
It comes out way too serious to be a joke, and both Rochelle and I laugh. “Do not touch this dress until after dinner, Mr. Foster. I like it way too much to take it off now.”
I come up next to them, put my arm around Rochelle’s waist, and pull her close to me. Bric reciprocates, his arm sliding past mine, and pulls us both close to him.
We stare at each other in the mirror.
We are beautiful people.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out my phone. “Hold still a sec,” I say, bringing up the camera. There is no flash and no shutter click as I take the picture. But we all feel the way the moment was just captured.
“We make a nice… thriple.” Rochelle chuckles. “That’s a real word, by the way. I saw it on a Showtime series last year.”
“They have a thriple on Showtime?” Bric asks.
“Mmm-hmm,” Rochelle says. “But it’s not nearly as hot as the one in this room.”
“Stay home and let me fuck you,” Bric moans.
“Later,” I say. “We need this night.”
He knows it’s true. I have a lot of things to say to Rochelle and I need to do that away from Adley and away from Bric. Away from this house. This family, I guess. It’s something between us, and only us.
“Are you ready?” I ask Rochelle. Bric backs away, shaking his head like it’s a damn shame. It probably is. But we’ll be back, and he knows that.
He leaves Rochelle and I alone and a few seconds later we hear Adley squeal as Bric greets her in the hallway.
“Should I be nervous?” Rochelle asks me in the mirror.
I turn, get her coat off the bed, and then hold it open so she can slip her arms inside.
I lean into her ear, the same way Bric was just a few moments ago, and whisper, “No.”
This settles her.
She knows I have something to say, but she also knows I won’t lie to her. Would never lie to her. So she trusts me.
That’s all I’m hoping for at the end of this night. Just a little more trust. On my part, not hers.
We need this night.
I take one more look at us in the mirror, decide this requires another picture, and pull my phone out again. I want to look at both those pictures right now. Compare them. Weigh the merits and pitfalls of each scenario in my head. But it’s premature and we have a night planned anyway, so instead I say, “Ready?”
Bric is sitting on the couch holding Adley in his arms. She’s slapping his cheeks as he makes funny faces. “She’s got bottles in the fridge, Bric,” Rochelle says, slipping into mom mode. “She should only want one, but we might be late. Feed her, give her a bath, and then put her down in about an hour. There’s a jar of baby food on the counter if you want to give that a try.” She laughs, picturing it, I think. “But it’s not necessary. She likes the bottle at night. Call me if you have any questions.”
“I got this,” Bric says through lips being pinched together by Adley’s little fingers. “Go away now. We’re having fun without you already.”
Rochelle lets out a long sigh as I call for the elevator. Whatever was holding it up a few minutes ago has passed, because it comes immediately. We step in and watch the doors close.
Bric and Adley disappear.
“This is the first time, isn’t it?” I ask.
Rochelle nods. “First time leaving her behind. I have a little pain in my heart, Quin. Hold my hand.”
I smile, but take her hand. When the doors open, I lead her to the Suburban and open her door. It’s not classy, and she practically has to climb into it, it’s so high off the ground, but it’s me. It’s us. We’ve done so many fun things with this fucking truck.
I go around to my side, get in, and start it up. Rochelle is biting her finger, like leaving Adley behind really is causing her pain.
“Are you OK?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “I’m not worried about Bric. It just… it feels weird leaving her behind. She’s been my little sidekick for six months, you know?”
“We’re coming back, Rochelle. We can even come back early if you like. But I do have something special planned for after dinner.”
“What?” she asks.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Give me a hint,” she begs.
There is a recognizable brightness in her hazel eyes. Something that has been mostly missing since she came back. Something I’ve missed as well.
So I give in. “Well,” I say, backing the ’Burban out of the parking space. “You’ve never been to my house. Bric brought you here back when you first met. But I never took you home. I’ve always regretted that.”
“We’re going to your house?” she asks, a quiver of excitement in her voice.
“After,” I say, as if this explains everything.
I have taken Rochelle out to many nice restaurants since we started… dating. All over the city. In fact, it was something we did for fun. We’d scour the Westword, looking for new restaurants, and we even had a list ready to go on the refrigerator, held up by a vintage Pepsi magnet she found in an antique store once. If we ever got bored, we’d just look at the list and choose one that had not been marked off yet.
Tonight’s pick was all on me. I don’t have that list anymore. She left it stuck to the fridge when she disappeared last year and I took nothing out of that apartment, even though Bric told me I should. So the list is gone. That whole life is gone, I realize. Everything we’re doing now is new.
I like that. A lot. I like that it’s a do-over, of sorts. A way to look at what went wrong and fix it. Make things better.
I think it’s going well. It was hard for the first few days, but after I went up there Sunday night and found Bric has filled in for me, I felt better knowing he was there. He picks up my slack. He smooths over my wrinkles. He compensates for my shortcomings. And he set up this date. He said it was for a selfish reason. He wants to take Rochelle to a party on Thursday night and to make it fair, he gave us a night out alone.
But it was not selfish. It was very generous. I like that about Bric. And Smith too. Even though most people don’t see him as selfless, Smith is the definition of the word. He’s a giver. And Bric is his partner in crime in that endeavor.
We end up at Sallie’s. It sounds like a diner, but it’s not. It’s a very fancy Italian restaurant down in Englewood. An unassuming place down on South Broadway. A good twenty-minute drive at this time of night, but Rochelle talks excitedly the whole time. She tells me about her day. Something I’ve missed a lot over the past year.
“We took a walk to see if Chella’s neighborhood really wasn’t walking-accessible the way you said it was,” she says.
“So is it?” I ask, getting off the freeway and turning left. It’s snowing, which I think is good luck.
“You know, it’s so close, but so far. That stupid train station takes up the whole north side of the block. So we had to walk all the way around and…”
Long story short, I was correct. In order to get over to Little Raven Street from Wynkoop, you have to go out of your way. They got as far as Coors Field and turned back.
I want to be magnanimous and say, You can just drive over there. She has guest parking. But I take the win and say, “I’m never wrong.”
She agrees with a sigh, just as I pull into Sallie’s parking lot and find a space.
The only thing you can see inside Sallie’s are small orbs of light from the crystal chandeliers. The place is made of dark tinted glass. During the day, it’s just another building made of glass, but at night it’s inviting and mysterious. The way houses are at night when you drive by and get a glimpse of someone else’s life through a lit-up window.
As soon as we walk in, the host, dressed up in black and white, invites us to sit in the elegant, but comfy couches and offers up champagne. They do this even if your table is ready. It’s called greeting time. If it’s not too busy, and it’s not tonight, the champagne comes within two minutes and three minutes later, the waiter will appear to escort your party to the table. Just enough time to take a sip and enjoy the atmosphere properly without feeling rushed.
This is exactly how it happens tonight.
We sit and settle, looking over the slim piece of fine paper with tonight’s menu on it.
Once we decide, and order, Rochelle picks up her champagne and asks, “What was your day like?”
It has been so fucking long since anyone asked me this question. Not even Chella has asked me this question. Sure, she asked about me. What did you do all day? Did anything interesting happen? How are you feeling, Quin?
But only Rochelle says it precisely this way.
“My day was filled with thoughts of you.”
She smiles. Blushes, even. Because that was always my opening answer. It’s like old times. Good times. Predictable times. When we knew where we stood and how things would play out.
I don’t think we know either of those things right now. But it doesn’t matter. We’re starting over.
I tell her. It’s nothing interesting, just work stuff. But she responds with interest and drills me when she thinks I’m leaving out details.
There is no lull in our conversation. She has always been a talker with me. She tells me all sorts of things. Asks me all kinds of questions. We eat, still talking, and finish, never running out of things to say.
Bric texts us a picture of sleeping Adley and we admire her. Talk about things that only new parents can relate to.
Even when we get back in to the truck and drive towards downtown, we talk.
It’s just little things. Unimportant things, but things that intimate people find fascinating about their partner. There are no life-altering revelations. No excuses for past behavior. Nothing that might upset the order of the evening.
When I pull up to the valet of my building Rochelle looks up with wide eyes. “You live in the SkyClub?”
“I do,” I say, just as the valets appear, opening our doors. I hand off the keys, tip the kid, and meet Rochelle on the other side of the truck.
We walk through the lobby and get on the higher-floor elevator using my access card.
“This is pretty fancy, Quin,” Rochelle says.
We both watch the digital numbers ping off as we ascend to the penthouse, and when the doors open, I wave her forward into the condo.
“Wow,” she says, automatically walking towards the fourteen-foot, floor-to-ceiling windows. I have never had a visitor up here, aside from my mother—and she doesn’t count—but I imagine this is everyone’s first reaction. It was mine, for sure. “Holy… I love this.”
I walk over to her and take off her coat. I drape it over a dining room chair and then take mine off as well. “This isn’t the surprise, but since it’s your first time here and all, I’ll give you the tour.” I turn us around so we’re facing the great room and pan my hands. “Voilà.” Rochelle giggles. Because a tour isn’t really necessary. It’s just a giant room with fourteen-foot ceilings that holds the ultra-modern kitchen, the dining room space, and the living room. I have ten pieces of furniture in this massive room, and four of those pieces are barstools pushed up against the kitchen island. “It really needs a woman’s touch,” I joke.
Rochelle hangs on my arm and laughs. “Well, I love it.”
“The bedroom is next.”
“Is that where my surprise is?” she asks, as we walk down the hallway.
“Just wait.”
The guest bedroom has the same wow factor. Or lack of it. The windows and the view of the buildings outside are the only thing worth noting. I have nothing in there at all. No guests stay here.
The master bedroom does have a bed, since I do—did—sleep here. And a long dresser where I empty my pockets every night. Other than that, there’s not much else to say about it. Elias Bricman, I am not. But again, the windows are the only thing people see. The view is the only thing they care about. Especially at night.
Tonight, though. There is one extra thing in my bedroom. A gift on the bed with Rochelle’s name on it.
“What is this?” she asks, picking up the box and shaking it.
“I missed last Christmas. I wish I could say this is what I had planned on giving you, but I’d be lying. I had a trip planned.”
She pouts her lip.
“I was going to take you somewhere far. Not a place we can drive to in twelve hours.” Which was our limit since we never had more than three days in a row together.
“Where?” she asks, putting down the box and turning to face me. “Where would I have been last Christmas if I had stayed put?”
I shrug. “It was going to be your choice. Wherever you wanted. I was going to ask you if you wanted to leave the game with me.”
She pouts again.
“I was going to make you put your finger on a globe and choose a place. Two weeks alone. Fourteen days in a row. No Bric, no Smith, no Club, no rules.”
“And I fucked it all up.”
It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s in the past now. And anyway, I didn’t bring you here to make you feel bad. I brought you here to make you feel better. Open the present and I’ll show you.”
She walks over to the bed and sits down. Places the white box in her lap and pulls on the red ribbon. Lifts the lid. Opens up the tissue paper. Pulls out…
“A bathing suit?” She gives me a weird look. “Are we going on vacation tonight?”
I nod, smiling. “Yup. Right here, right now, I’m taking you somewhere else.” I place both hands on her shoulders and turn her gently around so she’s got her back to me. I unclasp the thin diamond belt at her waist and place it on the dresser. She pulls her hair aside, revealing the back of her neck to me, and I remove the choker. She takes off the earrings as I unzip her dress and let it fall over her hips and puddle at the floor.
Her panties follow and she stands there naked. Little goosebumps rise up her arms and she shivers.
Her shoes come off and she is three inches shorter.
I reach for the white bikini and turn Rochelle so she’s facing me. “Put your hand right here,” I say, motioning to my shoulder as I kneel down.
She smiles, blushes. But obeys. Her warm hand presses down on my shoulder and then she steps into the bikini bottoms and I pull them up.
“I’d take you outside naked, but… the city, right? People and their telescopes. This is not the tallest building in Denver.”
“I’m OK with this,” she says, chewing her lip.
It’s a nervous habit. Tells me lots of things right now. She’s turned on. She’s happy. She’s exited, but unsure of what’s happening.
I lean in and kiss her, wiping all that away. I play with her breasts and twist her nipple. Just a little. Just a tiny bit.
When I pull away she’s breathing harder.
“Turn around,” I say, twirling my finger in the air.
She obeys.
I pick up the bikini top and drape it over her front, tying the strings together around her neck. I reach around to play with her breasts one more time. Kiss her neck. Breathe words into her ear. “I think this will be better than last year’s trip would have been.”
“I think so too,” she whispers back.
I let go, allow her to adjust the top, and then tie the strings together behind her back. She turns to face me. Unsure of herself.
Rochelle Bastille has no reason to be unsure of herself in front of me. She is perfect.
“Take off my clothes,” I say.
She steps forward one pace, and unknots my tie, pulling it through my collar with a slick sound that turns me on so bad, I’m ready to bend her over and say fuck the romance.
But I behave because she’s slipping my suit coat down my shoulders, then pulling my crisp white shirt out of my pants. She starts unbuttoning it from the bottom and works her way up. Her hands make a small flutter of air that drives me crazy and makes me hard.
She slips that down my arms, lays it on the bed, and unbuckles my belt. Just like I stopped to play with her, she stops to play with me too. Her hand cups my hard dick through my pants. She leans in, kisses me exactly the way I kissed her.
She squeezes me, caresses my balls, and then unbuttons, unzips, and pulls me out.
When she looks up at me for permission—or maybe just a warning of what she’s about to do—I shake my head. “Not yet,” I say. “Take them off.”
She pushes my pants down, taking my boxer briefs with them, and I step out, kick off my shoes and pull off my socks. They end up in the pile with the rest of our clothes.
Now I’m the one facing her for consideration.
She sighs. Places her hands on my chest. Sighs again.
I reach over to the dresser, open up a drawer, and take out my swim trunks. I don’t let her dress me, but I do let her watch closely as I pull them up, tuck my dick away, and then take her hand.
“Come on,” I say. “It’s this way.”
We walk to the glass terrace door together. I open it up, and we step out in to the snow, barefoot.
“Holy shit, it’s cold,” Rochelle says, crossing her arms in front of her chest and rubbing her upper arms.
“It won’t be for long,” I say, leading her towards the left. My condo is a corner SkyBox and has a wraparound terrace. The terrace is much bigger than the actual condo. There’s only a few inches of snow on the ground, but the bottoms of my feet are burning by the time we round the corner and the pool comes into view.
The blue water shimmers from the gold underwater lights.
“Holy shit, Quin,” she says, a laugh in her voice.
I have to admit, it’s magical right now. The water is hot. Not the hot tub, the entire fucking pool. It’s taken me three days to get it to this temperature, but it’s worth whatever that cost will be at the end of the month. Because the snow has piled up around the edges. Steam is coming up off the water, creating a mist. And the city lights are a dancing reflection of gold, and red, and blue on the water’s rolling surface.
“You said you missed the hot springs. And, well, I’ll be honest here, Rochelle, I don’t want you getting any ideas. If you need a hot spring to settle down, I’ll make one for you.”
She turns to face me. Her feet have to be frozen. Mine are. But she doesn’t seem to care. She just looks up at me, frowning. “I love you,” she says.
I give her a lopsided smile which reflects my conflicted feelings about hearing those words again. Especially on a rooftop terrace surrounded by magical lights. I don’t hesitate this time. “I love you too. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. I wanted to, Rochelle. I already knew I was in love with you, but I didn’t think I was enough.”
She swallows hard and then we both realize our feet really are freezing. So I take her hand, lead her down towards the steps, and we sink into the faux hot springs together.
She glides across the water and then turns around. The serious mood is tempered with the new sensations of the hot water mixed with the cold air. “This is better than the springs. I couldn’t go in the hot ones. Adley is too young for that kind of temperature. So this is way, way better than anything I had while I was away.”
I am relieved. And happy that my plan worked.
I swim towards her, a laziness in my movements. “Tell me all about your days away. Tell me about your pregnancy. The birth. What was it like? Were you scared? Did you want to call me?”
She treads water for a few seconds, like she’s wondering how much to share. It can’t have been fun. I’m sure Adley’s birth was a happy moment, but all the unhappy conditions she found herself in probably ruined it.
I feel one hundred percent responsible for that. Even though I wasn’t the one who left, I’m the one who made her leave. I wasn’t enough for her back then. I failed. Miserably. And I caused an entire year of pain, for both of us, because I refused to give her what she needed. Three easy words. Three true words. For the past week, I have asked myself how much different life would be if I had just said those three short words.
For a few moments, I wonder if she’ll say anything, ever again. I wonder if she has finally realized what a fuck-up I am. If she’ll walk out of this pool, put her clothes back on, and then walk out of my life. For good, this time.
But she doesn’t do any of that. She takes a deep breath and the words pour out of her like a waterfall. Like a dam bursting. Like she has so much to say and I’m the only one who could possibly listen.
We sit on the steps, mostly submerged to keep the cold at bay. We hold hands as she talks. She ends up in my lap, just our heads peeking out of the pretend hot springs. She tells me about her time in Pagosa Springs. The people she met, the resort. The tourist trap shopping. Which makes me smiles because that is so… her. So something she would do. No one else would do that. Just Rochelle.
She says her birth was easy. She was only in labor four hours. She almost had Adley in the waiting room. They had to rush her to delivery and before she knew it, it was over.
She cried for three weeks. But only when Adley was sleeping. And it was hormonal, she insists. It faded away and then she felt like it never was.
I tell her about my year too. The blank year. A year of emptiness and regret. I don’t bring up Chella. She’s already figured out that I like Chella. Not love her like I do Rochelle, but we are friends. I leave all that out because it doesn’t matter anymore. Rochelle is back, we are together, and this time it will be different. I will not fail.
I talk about work, mostly. The projects I’ve started. New clients and stuff. Business has been good.
But I have more to say than that. This is why I wanted her to myself tonight. “I failed you,” I say.
“You didn’t,” she insists. But it’s a lie and we both know it.
“I failed you because I didn’t believe in me, Rochelle. I didn’t think I was enough for you.”
“Why would you say that? You’re all I want, Quin. I can’t even express in words how much I want you. All to myself. I like Bric. Love him, probably. But I came back for you.”
“You did?” I ask. “I thought you were just passing through?”
“I was,” she says quickly. “But secretly, I stopped for you, Quin.” She takes a moment to smile at me. It feels real. So real. “I didn’t need to stop in Denver. I didn’t need to call Chella and tell her I was in town. I could’ve kept driving and stopped in Fort Collins for the night. It’s only an hour away. But I did stop. I knew I had to see you and I knew Chella would not be able to keep my secret.”
“Hmm.” I think about that for a second. “I’m very glad you stopped. Because I can’t imagine life without you again. Or Adley. I really can’t, Rochelle. And I just wanted one night alone with you to explain this. I’m sorry I didn’t forgive you right away. It felt necessary at the time, but now I just feel bad. So I’m sorry for that.”
“I’m not sorry,” she says. “You made me feel what you felt. I needed that. I needed to know how deeply I hurt you so I’ll never do it again.” Rochelle places both her hands on my cheeks and stares into my soul. She closes her eyes and kisses me. I kiss her back. It’s a romantic kiss. One that says so much more than words. “I love you,” she whispers. “I want you, and only you. But if you want Bric, then I want Bric too.”
I wonder how much I should tell her. If I tell her why I play the game, then she’ll know what a fuck-up I am. She’ll see through me. She’ll see everything.
I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. Soon, but not yet. She’s holding her past close too, so I let it slip away and just smile at her.
“I want you both,” I say. “For now. Just for now.”
There is silence. Or as much silence as possible, considering we’re in the middle of the city.
“I’ll keep the hot spring open all winter if you promise to come here with me, and only me, at least once a week.”
“Deal,” she says, smiling. “One day a week we can be alone. Try it out, right? See if it’s what we want?”
I nod. “I’d like that, Rochelle. I really would.”
“Then I’m happy with where we’re at right now. I’m fine with Bric. And Adley loves him.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “She does.”
“She loves you too,” Rochelle says, leaning in to kiss me again. “And you’re going to be the perfect father.”
I doubt that. But I don’t say anything because we’ve got something good going here. It’s a great night and all I want is to take her inside and love her. Have her all to myself for just a little bit longer.
We run inside, Rochelle squealing like a happy child, as the heat from the pool dissipates from our bodies in a matter of seconds. We drip water all over the living room floor as I hastily untie her bikini top and she tugs on my trunks. I flick a light on the wall and a fire whooshes into existence in the fireplace. I lead her over to the rug in front of it and lay her down.
Open her legs.
Eat her pussy.
Her hands tug on my hair.
She begs for more. She wants me inside her. She wants me on top of her.
But she ends up on top of me. Sitting up on my hips, rocking back and forth as she closes her eyes, her half-wet hair swinging back and forth, dragging across my chest. And we come together in all the ways. We climax, and meld, and become a couple again.
It’s perfect.
And it scares the shit out of me.
When we get back to the condo it’s after two in the morning. There is one light on in the sitting area and one light on in the kitchen, but it’s only an under-counter light, so it’s just a low glow. The rest of the house is dark and silent.
“What’s this?” Rochelle laughs, picking up a folded piece of paper propped up on the kitchen island. It says, Watch me. Underneath it is a tablet.
We take it to the couch and sink into the cushions, so close together, she’s almost in my lap.
Rochelle wakes the tablet and a still shot of a video comes up. It’s Bric and Adley, both smiling.
She presses the play button.
“Say hi to Mommy and Quin,” Bric says to the camera. He’s holding up one of Adley’s chubby hands, making her wave. “We wanted to show you what we did tonight.”
There is a ten-minute video chronicling their night together. Bric and Adley eating dinner. He’s got a piece of pizza in one hand, Adley cradled in his arm with the other. She’s drinking her bottle.
Then it’s bath time. She’s splashing in the super-deep tub in the master bedroom as Bric laughs and plays some kind of game with a rubber duck and a red block. He’s even using imaginative-play voices. Dumbass.
Then it’s story time. Which is interrupted by stinky diaper time. And even though Bric complains to the camera the whole time he deals with that unexpected detour, he handles it like a pro.
The last shot is of Adley sleeping in her new crib. Bric whispers, “She loves me,” into the camera. And then I hear him mumble, “I can’t wait for Christmas,” as he turns the camera off.
“That’s so adorable,” Rochelle says, kicking her feet up on the couch and laying her head in my lap. I play with her hair. We still smell like the pool, our night still fresh in my mind as she drifts off muttering, “I don’t think I really know Elias Bricman. I don’t think I know him at all.”
We get sleepy but we’re too tired to move. Finally, I pick her up, carry her in to the bedroom, undress us both, and we crawl in next to Bric.
He only wakes up long enough to hike a possessive leg over Rochelle’s hip and pull her close to his chest.
I let him have her now. I had her all night and while I might be a failure at a lot of things when it comes to relationships, I do know how to share.
So I share.