WYATT
Heading over to the airport, Mother and I spoke more about Circe, James, and China. We talked about what we should do for the week that we’d all be sequestered together, and we talked about the future. It was nice, because she explained more about what I should expect. There was no yelling, no blame, and no fits by either of us.
The airport was packed to the gills when we arrived, but what would you expect for a Sunday evening? I’d parked the car in short-term waiting, as Mother decided to stay with the car while I walked inside to meet Circe. She was giving me space to tell her that she’d joined us, and I appreciated it.
Knowing what terminal to expect her in, I’m here flashing a gigantic bundle of white roses, like any full-blooded, heartsick idiot. With the biggest grin and gorgeous set of flowers, I wait. I wanted to see the color rise in her cheeks. I wanted her coming off the plane with a grin, and more importantly, I need her happy to see me.
I thought my mother and I would never have a conversation like we did today. I thought I’d never feel a connection to her, and I thought for sure we’d never, ever, have a moment of clarity between us. Circe needs to see it. My mother and I getting along is a feat of epic proportions. I almost think of it as an anomaly that will never happen again.
Waiting at the row of other expectant friends, family, and airport drivers, I smile as I see her appear through the double doors. Lugging that cuter than cute, tiny Louis behind her, she’s the only thing I see. She wouldn’t let me buy her a big one for her birthday last month because it seemed ostentatious to her. After a while, I relented, and purchased the smallest traveler I could find. Spoiling her was what I’d had in mind when I returned home from India, and after dealing with the funeral. Really, I wanted to buy her a matching set, the whole kit and caboodle, but I was cautious. I know her past, and that she’s tried to be more than a material woman, so I yielded. She reminded me that her style wasn’t what drew me to her at first. That horrid and disgusting jean jacket, the slouchy T-shirt that fell off her gorgeous frame like a tarp, and those hideous jeans that hid every ounce of her beauty was like hiding expensive taste in a dark lit shack. I saw the woman beneath then, just as I do now.
One look at her striding with grace and poise, and I have a hard time hiding my hardening cock. As she steps out of the throng of passengers milling through the doors, I’m quickly drawn to her. Those sea green eyes still penetrate me like lasers, seeing right through to my soul, past all the bullshit and bravado. Her flowing cascade of strawberry blonde hair frames her exquisite face, making many a man in the arrivals turn and stare.
Sorry, she’s mine, boys. Go get your own.
Today, she’s wearing an off-white T-shirt dress that hangs just low enough to be modest, but high enough to be erotic. With brilliant blue heels accenting her lovely legs, it makes her the girl that everyone turns to look at as she passes through the bustling airport. She has no idea how stunning she is. Truly, she’s a classic looking woman that could stop traffic like Marilyn or Gretta Garbo. And she’s mine.
Soon, I’m making her mine for good. I know it may seem awfully fast, and simply crazy, but I have that in spades. I can pull off crazy with the best of them. Knowing what I want in my life for good, she’s it.
I’d told my brother of my plans. Looking towards popping the question, I’ve kept the two-carat rough cut diamond solitaire with me, just in case the romance suits me, and we’re in a good enough place to make it happen. Spontaneity is key.
As long as she says yes, who cares if I flub it all up.
“Hi, handsome. Who are you?” Do I ever get sick of hearing her butchered American accent? That gravelly, chopped-up sound that’s not quite foreign, and not quite Cali gets me hard instantly.
Placing the flowers in front of my khakis, hiding my hard-on from any gawking passersby, we walk through the crowd as our banter reminds me of how much I missed her.
“Hi yourself, Siren. What brings a girl like you here?” I kiss her deeply, causing the growth in my pants to increase. Tucking it to the side, hiding it as best I can, I smile when she’s breathless.
“My boyfriend should be here any minute, and he gets very jealous.” She grins wickedly, bending down to place her coat that she was carrying across her travel bag.
Extending her hand, stroking the front of my chinos, she knows exactly what to do to turn me into putty in her hands. Nothing like a charge of public exposure. It’s like crank to me. I’d love nothing more than to pull her into a broom closet for a quick moment, but Mother is outside, waiting in short-term.
“I’d love nothing more than to bend you over and fucking make you scream, but we have someone waiting.”
“How’s your mother?” She asks with a grin. It’s slightly forced as her face falls. I know exactly what she’s thinking. I’m disappointed and gleeful all at once too. The joy she had for seeing me slowly seeps away. “So, why would your mother want to join you to get me?”
About five hours ago, I’d have said the same fucking thing. Now, though, I’m glad, and this could be progress in our future relationship. “It was a good day. Let’s take it a step at a time, Siren. It’s a work in progress.” I take her bag from her, pulling it behind me as she follows me out of the terminal.
“So let me get this straight. You and your mother had a day of talking and laughing?” Falling behind me, she stops. “How much did it take to drug her into submission? Normally a hatchet, flame thrower, or bazooka is the only thing stopping you two from murder, from what you’ve said. Even a hardened motorcycle gang wouldn’t stop you two from killing each other.”
I laugh deeply. I can’t blame her because it’s true. Dad, or one of the team, had drugged us almost weekly over the past six months. I’d hated it, but it was better than one of us coming to blows. “Really, it’s all good, Siren.”
And then, it wasn’t.