Love's Awakening (12 page)

Oliver, your father loved you so, so much. I wish I could convey how much. He wasn’t some villain. But of course you know that.

Do you want my wedding ring and my engagement ring? Sell them or something. Get some cash. I don’t want them. Don’t know what to do with them. Well, I know what I want to do with them. Flush them down the toilet. But that’s a lot of money going down the crapper. Maybe I will save them for Caleb if you don’t want them.

You’re going to ask if your father and I are done for sure, so here’s the answer. Yes, we are. We were over a good while before Caleb was born. Doesn’t mean I don’t love David. I always will in a way. He was my husband. I hope he wakes up and gets his second chance, but I’m not interested in being part of it. I’m not taking him back in any scenario. I’ll be there to help your father if he wants, but it won’t be as his wife. He hurt me too much.

You know what, Oliver. I can’t call your father ‘her.’ I just can’t. Not if he didn’t have the guts to come to me and tell me. Because otherwise, saying her, she or hers feels fraudulent.

Are we going to tell your grandparents that your father was transgender? Maybe that would only complicate things for them. And maybe someone should still idealize David.

But maybe they should know.

It rained when I left the rose at your mother’s grave. Fat, fast raindrops, but I had an umbrella. I sat and chatted a bit with her. Told her you and I were getting along better and that she has a damn fine son.

- Celia

*****

Two weeks later, Shirley settled on a rehabilitation facility and began preparations for David’s transfer. For Celia, the word Pinewood conjured scents of a Disney lovefest. Pine trees, clear, babbling brooks, fresh air, butterflies, dancing deer, Snow White shitting roses and rainbows. Lurking behind the Disneyfication was reality.

Pinewood was where patients went to drool and whittle away time. Pinewood was where relatives visited every day at first and then later, once a week, if the patient was lucky. Pinewood was as guilt-free a place as any to abandon people to their deaths. However, David would not need to worry about abandonment, thanks to his mother. The choice had come down to either the Shepherd Center in Atlanta or Pinewood. Pinewood won because of its proximity. Certainly not because of its costs. It cost about a third more than the Shepherd Center, but Shirley did not want David to be cared for at home. “My son needs to be where nurses and doctors can help at a moment’s notice,” Shirley stressed.

And so David’s last night at the hospital had arrived. Tomorrow, Disney World! Pinewood! At least there would not be lines for the rides.

Later that week, Richard and Shirley would move into a rental condo down the street from Pinewood. Celia had a hard time believing they had lived with her about four months.
Wow.
In some ways, she felt like they had moved in yesterday. In other ways, they were old roommates. Once they were out, Celia planned to start packing some of David’s things. Definitely his items in the bedroom.

She decided to stay with David the last night at the hospital, although she was not sure why. Maybe to have a conversation, however one-sided. A conversation about forgiveness. About moving on. Divorce. David’s future, or lack thereof.

“So, David,” she said. “About us. We’re over, were over before the wreck, but you knew that.”

Nothing.

“What do you want, David? What do you want, Karen Alice Hall? Do you want to die? Should I push to let you go now?”

Nothing.

Celia tried to sleep on the lumpy cot. She must have succeeded for at least a bit, because she awoke with a start. She checked her cellphone. Eleven-thirty, so the night yawned before her.
Great.
She went to the window. She drew the curtains back and pulled the blinds up. The moon scowled down, and a sense of foolishness overtook Celia. She had been stupid to expect some sort of closure, some sort of meteor shower that spelled out L-E-T M-E D-I-E or I A-M A-L-I-V-E.

A whisper: “Hey.”

Celia whirled around. Oliver, bathed in the moon’s rays.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” her stepson said. “Sorry.”

Thump
thump
thump.
“Oliver. Hey. It’s okay.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Oliver said. “Figured I’d come here. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed after I saw you, but…” Oliver shrugged. “I fell asleep right away in the chair. The hard, un-fucking-comfortable chair.”

“Did I wake you up?”

Oliver shrugged. “No biggie.”

Celia poured herself and Oliver small glasses of water. The moon or a cloud shifted, leaving Oliver half in shadow. He was eerie, like a shape shifter.

“How’s work?” Celia asked. “We haven’t talked in a while.”
You
never
replied
to
my
letter.
Or,
you
haven’t
replied…yet.

“Work’s good.”

“How about school? You in summer school?”

“Summer school is over. But yeah, school is decent.”

Oliver obviously was not in a talkative mood, and Celia’s shoulders ached. The day ahead weighed on her. Tottering mounds of paperwork, the monitoring. The worrying. The wondering. “Well, off I go,” Celia said brightly. “You need your time with your father.”

“You stay. You belong in that cot. I don’t.”

“I don’t belong in the cot, Oliver. I’m here to try to figure some answers. Make sure what your father would’ve wanted. Make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

“Still—”

“I’m leaving,” Celia said firmly. “The cot is yours. Okay?”

“Fine,” Oliver mumbled.

“Let’s do something soon, though, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Celia slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Are Grandma and Granddad at the townhouse with Caleb?”

“Yep.”

Oliver stuck his hands into his pockets. “Do you want the keys to my place? You can stay there and get a good night’s sleep. A night to yourself.”

“I look that bad, huh?”

Oliver grinned. “No, no. See, it’s the least I can do for kicking you out.” He slid two keys off his key ring. “The orange one is for the front door. Blue one for my unit.”

In
other
words,
will
you
stay
with
me
tonight?
Was that Oliver’s true question? No, of course it was not. But Celia found herself whispering: “Come with me, Oliver.”

Oliver searched Celia’s face, and Celia wondered if the acknowledgement, understanding and desire on Oliver’s expression reflected her own. Celia saw fear too, causing her chest to squeeze. “Never mind,” she muttered. “I’m going home. Good seeing you again.”

“Celia?”

“What?”
Could
my
voice
be
any
more
choked?

“Dad never—and you’ve never mentioned your father. What’s up with him?”

Celia’s heart warmed.
Oliver
doesn’t
want
me
to
go.
“I never knew who he was.”

“That sucks.”

“Mmm. My mother used to be an alcoholic. She blacked out a lot. Slept around a lot. Remembered very little.”

“Oh.”

Celia laughed, trying to break the awkwardness. “Maybe I’m a long-lost princess. I’m heir to the throne of an obscure European country. Her Royal Highness Celia Hall. You know what? Your father is the princess now. If only the kiss of love would wake him—her—up.”

“Have you tried?”

“Tried what? Kissing him awake? No.”

“You going to?”

“No.”

Oliver went to his father and lowered his lips to David’s forehead. This big, strong, muscular young man was like a porcelain doll, delicate and fragile, half in moonlight, half in shadow. Celia’s heartbeat sped up. She imagined Oliver was kissing her instead of David, and her arms prickled. She knew why the son was kissing his father—because the son was about to make love to his father’s wife. The kiss was pre-emptive forgiveness. The kiss was so Oliver could say: “True love didn’t work. Dad really is dead.”

Excuses. Justifications for taking Celia as his own.

Celia’s neck longed for Oliver’s mouth.
Could
we
have
a
fling
and
come
out
of
it
okay,
with
no
hurt
feelings?
Without
anyone
finding
out?
Without
falling
in
love?
What
if
David
wakes
up?
And
and
and
and...

“Wake up, Dad,” Oliver said. “We miss you.”

“Come with me,” Celia repeated in a whisper. “Just to talk. We could catch up.”

Oliver exhaled a heavy sigh. “Yeah, yeah. All right. Talking. Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter
Eleven

Oliver got to his apartment first and stayed in his car to wait for Celia.
Great
going,
Oliver.
He should have left the hospital the moment he entered David’s room and realized Celia was asleep in the cot. And Oliver
had
left. Kind of. He got as far as the elevator banks before returning to the room. He’d told himself he was being silly. There was no reason to flee Celia. Celia and Oliver were adults.

So, Oliver had settled into the chair, rested his eyes and...wham.

Celia was spending the night. Not with David, but with Oliver. He was ready to get the agony out of his system. He and Celia needed to fuck, to get the fucking over with, preferably tonight.

Oliver drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Where was Celia?

*****

Thoughts swirled through Celia as she drove. When she got home—and she was going home, she was not going to Oliver’s, no way—she would…what? Rattle around the darkened living room while Richard slept? Break out the home movies again, see David in his full glory at the beach, skiing, at their wedding? Pray Caleb would not cry? Masturbate? Celia’s throat ached. Her pussy hummed hotly. If she masturbated, she would not come easily. Because she would be thinking about Oliver.

Oliver waiting for her. Oliver abandoned. By Celia. Oliver who would never write her a letter again.

Come
off
it.
Nothing
will
happen.
She and Oliver would talk. And go to sleep. All there was to it. Certainly there would not be sex. Celia had to remember that her pussy was a thicket of weeds. She had not trimmed since David’s crash. No way was Oliver going anywhere near that area. Or her breasts.

*****

Oliver flicked on the lights to his bedroom, and Celia’s gaze fell upon the bed. Queen size. Black covers. On the nightstand was a lamp. Also lotion and a box of tissues: single-guy staples. Celia smothered a smile; she wouldn’t embarrass Oliver.

Oliver proffered a pair of sweat pants and a Holstein-sized T-shirt.
Not
my
size
anymore
, Celia almost said.

“You change here,” Oliver said. “I’ll change in the bathroom.”

When Oliver emerged from the bathroom, Celia knew getting to sleep would be a problem. Huge problem.
Damn
you,
Oliver.
Sexy, hot Oliver, his dark hair rumpled, sexy, hot Oliver wearing smiley face boxer shorts and a tight white wife beater. That chest. These powerful legs.
Is
he
torturing
me
on
purpose?

Celia set her phone alarm. “I’m getting up at six. We’re moving your father at eight. You going?”

“I guess, but maybe not at six unless—do you want me to keep you company? Why so early?”

“So everything goes smoothly. I’ll probably have paperwork to sign before he’s released from the hospital. Your grandmother’s coming, so she can keep me company. You sleep in.”

Oliver’s eyelashes fluttered. “No, I’ll go with you. He’s my father. I should be there.”

Oliver turned off the main light. He tapped on the touch lamp, and he and Celia got into bed. Gingerly, awkwardly.

Celia laughed a choking laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we friends?”

“I don’t know. Are we?”

“I think so,” Celia said. “We wouldn’t write each other letters if we weren’t.”

“Fine, we’re friends.”

Celia sighed. This wasn’t unfolding as she hoped. “I like sleeping naked,” she said. “When your grandparents move out Friday, I’m going to close the blinds and have myself and Caleb a naked party.”

“Did you and Dad sleep naked?”

“Not usually.”

“You think because he didn’t like his body? Sleeping naked reminded him that he had a penis?”

“Could be,” Celia said.

“This is a weird conversation.” Oliver tapped off the lamp. “Good night.”

After Celia’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she studied the dim outlines of Oliver, amazed by his closeness. The smell of him. She wanted to trace the edges of Oliver’s face, his nose, his lips.

“Are you awake?” Oliver asked.

Celia cupped his cheek. “Yes. You want something quick?”

“I…okay.”

“I miss this,” Celia said. “Being in bed with a man.”

“Happy to oblige,” Oliver replied sarcastically.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I could get this with other people. Other men. That’s not why I’m here. You’re—you’re…never mind.”

“You should date. See lots of people. Have fun.”

“Do you like dating? I’m not crazy about it. It’s artificial. Stilted.”

“Stilted like us right now? Yeah?”