Page 51 of Letting Go at 40

Oh God. I might have cried the phrase out loud, but I don’t know as all I concentrate on is what he said. How hard he is and how long he’d be. And how wet I am and how wide my legs are spread. And how quickly he’d thrust into me, filling me.

I tip over the edge. Legs clamping together. Fingers stilling. My head is thrown back as I moan into the phone.

“Fuck, yes. Anna. Fuck. I’m coming too.”

My lids open again, but in my mind’s eye Mason is over me, entering me, going off inside me.

And as wrong as I want to tell myself this moment is, I haven’t felt this right in a long time.

Alive while replete.

Sexy but exhausted.

Minutes pass as I catch my breath and listen to Mason breathing heavily through the phone.

“Many more birthdays, sweetheart.” His whispery voice is both rugged and sated.

My vision is watery. “Thank you, Mason.” Whether my gratitude is for the wishes or the orgasm, I can’t be certain.

“And Anna.” There’s weight in my name as his voice deepens, becomes louder and firm. “There’s no fucking way I’m pretending this never happened.”

Then he hangs up.

+ + +

The evening of my birthday plays out as I predicted. The kids are all gone. I’ve decided to take a bath despite the early hour and skip dinner. I don’t want to think about this day. My head hasn’t been able to focus anyway after last night. The things Mason said. The things I did.

The doorbell rings, startling me as I’m turning for the hallway to my bedroom. I’m not expecting anyone, and I didn’t order anything. Still, I check through the side panel window and open the front door on a rush.

“You ordered a pizza, ma’am?” The male voice is a horrible imitation of a Southern accent.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, caught between the most beautiful pizza delivery man before me in a suit and the emotion of him standing there with a box marked Lou Malnetti’s.

“What are you doing here?” Laughter fills my voice as I stare at Mason on the stoop.

“Heard it’s your birthday.” He winks at me. “Special delivery.” He holds up a plastic bag with The Cheesecake Factory written on it.

“Tell me you didn’t drive to Chicago?” The round trip would be something like four hours from here and Mason lives three hours north of me on top of that.

“I didn’t drive to Chicago.” He shrugs, not offering any further explanation as he steps inside.

I follow him as he heads into the kitchen and sets the box and bag on the countertop.

“You should have what you want on your birthday.”

Dinner. Cake. Sex? Our eyes hold, and I wonder if he’s reading my thoughts. The things he said to me last night. The things I did to myself. I can feel the rush of red up my chest and along my throat.

Mason pulls a box wrapped in bright pink with a large black bow out of The Cheesecake Factory bag.

“You should open this later. On your own.”

I tilt my head, before reading the card attached. Celebrate every day.

“Thank you,” I whisper, staring at the bright package before looking up at him. “For everything.”

“Anything for you.” He smiles then quickly rounds the island to start my oven. Looking back at me, he takes in my attire. I’m still in my teacher dress minus shoes. “What were you about to do?”

“Take a bath, but you’re here now . . .”