Page 55 of Living at 40

The final day was strange. There was no other way to describe it as I lay in bed trying, and failing, at reading a book. The men had disappeared in the morning, and all Anna knew was their destination was a mystery. I had to work, so I didn’t have an afternoon in the sunshine like the rest of them. Dinner was somber. Ben didn’t want it that way, but his friends tiptoed around the elephant in the room. I sensed a giraffe, a panda, and a purple spotted dragon might be in there as well, as each man seemed to have something weighing heavily on his mind. After helping Anna with the dishes, I excused myself, not in the mood to witness a final sunset with the rest of them. They are the friends—Ben, Zack, Mason, and Logan—and even Anna. I am the outsider. Just Ben’s little sister.

As my bedroom door opens on a rush and then shuts on a soft click, I sit upright, startled by the sudden intrusion.

Across the room, Logan and I meet eyes as his back presses against the door, and my breath hitches. We haven’t spoken directly since sometime yesterday. On my bedroom floor last night, he didn’t speak as we did what we did. He didn’t say anything to me at dinner other than “pass the potatoes, please.” But, there’s apology, panic, and something else written in his current expression, and as he crosses the room in three large steps, I climb up to my knees, meeting him at the end of my bed, and we embrace one another. My arms wrap around his neck, drawing his face into the crook of mine while he circles me with his arms like a vise grip, holding me plastered to him. Unable to release one another, we tumble back to the bed, ignoring jabs to the back and a soft choking sound. We continue to hold tight.

Logan’s weight blankets me, and I refuse to let him move. With his nose at the side of my neck, he’s breathing heavily, inhaling my summery scent. Without words, he moves down my body, nestling himself between my legs which spread to accommodate his broad shoulders. He stops short under my breasts, lowering his forehead for my stomach and pausing. Turning his cheek to my belly, he closes his eyes, and I reach for his dark hair, combing through the soft locks. His hand comes to my tummy, and he spreads his fingers as he flattens his palm. Shifting only enough to press his lips to my rumbling stomach, he kisses me once near my belly button and then returns his cheek to my abs. We stay like this for a long time. Long enough that Logan’s weight grows heavier, and he dozes over me—his ear to my belly, his hand on my side.

At first, I can’t sleep, so I just continue to stroke over his hair, wondering why this sweet man came into my life now and accepting the sad fact that he’s leaving. I’m not opposed to long-distance relationships, nor is separation by miles an issue with cell phones, internet, and video chats, but it’s not the life I want to lead, and it wasn’t the deal between us. The goal was to get pregnant and nothing more. He already has a child. He has a home and a job hours away from here. This was about me and included me not involving him. My heart feels so differently.

I want him to stay with me. I want to be good to him. Last night was an anomaly. He was hurting, confused, frustrated even with the idea that Ben is dying. It’s a lot to take in, especially when we’ve spent these two weeks trying to create a life—a baby—a little person for me to love.

Slowly, I drift off to sleep, but it’s more a heavy doze, the kind that leaves you conscious of your surroundings but unable to move in reaction to anything you hear. However, when Logan shifts over me, pushing up my cotton cami and pressing kisses to my skin, I’m alert while drowsy. His mouth continues to move over my belly, sucking at the loose flesh before lowering and sliding my boxer shorts over my hips.

“What are you doing?” I softly question in a raspy voice.

“One more time for good luck,” he mutters into my stomach as he shoves my shorts to my knees. We’ll do it extra times just for good measure and once more for good luck. I swallow around a sudden lump in my throat. One more chance to root if the seed isn’t already planted. My dad would love the gardening metaphor but maybe not the process of this plan. I’m sleeping with a man in hopes he’ll get me pregnant, but he won’t stick around to raise the baby. And I can’t fault him. This is what I asked.

As I shake the bitter thoughts away, my fingers return to combing through his hair. He quickly removes my shorts and underwear before pressing his nose through the coarse hair at the apex of my legs. His tongue comes forward, cautious as he caresses me with tender strokes. He swirls around me, lapping everywhere but where I need as if memorizing me with the trace of his tongue. Finally, he narrows in on the bud, sucking hard before paying it homage. The torture is too much, and I shatter in a gentle release like waves slowly retreating to the lake. It’s not a crash or a rush, but a stretch of sensation, crackling and bubbling like the water leaves the sand as it returns to the larger body of liquid. I’m liquid when he finishes, feeling weightless and undone. We’ve been together so often, in so many ways in the past two weeks, and each time I think it can’t be different, it is.

We’ve had sex. We’ve made out. We’ve fucked.

But this night, we’re making love as he enters me in a slow dive before dragging back to my entrance, teasing me, testing me. Repeating the motion over and over again, he takes his time to fill me. My back arches, and I lift my head to meet his mouth with mine. My hands scan the scope of his body, not wanting to miss an inch as I cover the plains of his back and the firm hills of his ass. My palms coast over his shoulders and biceps and down to his wrists. His hands rest beside my body, but he entwines our fingers, lifting them above my head. His body stretches over mine, and we move as one in the most sensual dance I’ve ever danced. With tender thrusts and swaying surges, I follow his lead.

“Autumn,” he whispers. “The scent of leaves. The color of change.” He strains a second. “An ending to something I don’t want to end.” His mouth crashes to mine before I can respond, and I swallow around the invasion of his tongue and the lump in my throat. Our bodies begin to stutter, colliding faster, breaking the slow beat to pick up the pace. His hands clutch at mine, and I respond as if holding on for dear life.

“Will you get there?” he asks, hinting that he needs to release my hands in order to touch me. He’ll slip his fingers between us and rub where I need his touch, but I don’t want him to let go. I don’t want to release him.

I shake my head on the pillow. “Come for me,” I whisper to his lips only an inch from mine, and he stills his body while he pulses inside me. Once. Twice. Three times he jolts, and I’m so full. It’s more than the depth of him joined within me. It’s more than the idea of what could be happening inside me. It’s my heart that’s near bursting, and I don’t want to lose this moment. So, I squeeze his hands tighter, and we pause time as he remains over me until he’s gone soft and slips outward.

And if ever I thought a conclusion has occurred, it’s this moment. He climbs down the length of my body, pressing kisses to my breasts, my belly, and one last spot between my legs before scooting off the edge of the bed. Slowly, he tugs his shorts back on before picking up his T-shirt.

“Thank you,” he whispers to me, holding my eyes for only a second before turning for my bedroom door and leaving me alone for the rest of the night.

+ + +

While my body should feel beautiful from the way Logan handled our final act, my heart is black. Breakfast is a chaos of rushed eggs and forced waffles, and I take orders for every request to keep my hands busy and my mind absent. As dishes are cleaned, commands are given to start packing cars and picking up loose items lying here and there. My mother arrives to say goodbye to the boys as she continues to call the forty-year-old men who are friends.

Before I know it, it’s almost eleven, and we stand in the driveway among Zack’s car and Logan’s SUV. Mason stands nearby with his hands in his shorts.

“Why aren’t you ready?” Logan asks of him, and Mason turns his head to glance at Ben before facing both Zack and Logan.

“I’ve decided I’m staying.” His announcement is like a wrecking ball colliding with the house.

“What?” Logan snaps.

“What?” Anna adds, turning to face Ben from her position tucked under his arm.

“Why?” Zack asks.

“I’m the only one single. Ben’s eventually going to need help. I can offer strength for things his boys shouldn’t do, and Anna can’t muster.”

My thoughts race to things like bathing my brother and lifting his body.

“Are you calling me weak?” Anna barks, her tone expresses her shock mixed with a touch of irritation.

“You’re the strongest woman we know,” Ben says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and I try not to let the comment sting. “But Mason has offered and . . . we’ll talk.”

The dismissal tells the rest of us it’s not up for discussion, and Ben doesn’t wish to explain further. Did he ask Mason to stay? If he did, I don’t understand. I thought he wanted time for his family.