Dolly All the Time(70)
The week of the Starlight Gala, Stewart has to go to San Francisco for the Kramer project. While he’s away I miss him a dangerous amount. We text as we’re falling asleep and as soon as we wake up. He texts me photos of the view from his San Francisco office and says he wishes I was there. I slide my phone into my back pocket and smile what I know is a ridiculously radiant smile to the next customer. “How can I help you? The wild salmon just came in.”
On Thursday night we’re eating chicken cutlets in the kitchen, the four of us. Stewart’s going to be home tomorrow.
“Crazy at the store today,” my dad says.
“It was nuts,” I say.
“What’s going to be nuts is the Starlight Gala on Saturday,” he says. “Last time we did this we needed six people to help us get everything there. We’ve got you plus two friends?” he asks Gus.
“Yep, my crew’s in,” Gus says. His crew. Everything about this summer has been great for him. Both the comfort of people who have known him his whole life and the excitement of new friends.
Christopher forks his entire cutlet and takes a bite in the way that’s infuriated me for decades. He gives me a smile that tells me he might have done it on purpose.
All this, and Stewart’s coming home tomorrow. Stewart, who wants to take us to a ball game in the fall.
Chapter 31
I wake up on Friday to a text from Stewart: Skipped my morning meetings, will land by noon. Come for dinner tonight? Just us
Giddy. It’s not a word I’ve ever used to describe myself, but it’s the one that pops into my head. This dizzy, bubbly feeling that washes over me as I stare at the words “just us.”
Me: I can be there by five
I get off work at four, but I want to come home, shower, and show up like a normal woman. Maybe re-shave my legs.
Stewart: Perfect, can’t wait to see you
Me: Same
There has never been a longer day. Someone took this particular I Get to See Stewart Friday and added eight hours to it. Tomorrow is the Starlight Gala and my dad is in a frenzy. I try to plug in to his frenzy to make the day pass more quickly, but it doesn’t work. When it’s finally four, I take a too-hot shower and decide to wear the blue-and-white ikat dress again.
The gates are open to welcome me in, and I park by the front doors. I ring the bell. It’s absurd, this bell, like the gongs of church bells at eight o’clock.
He opens the door and his smile matches my own. “Hi,” he says. He’s in a crisp white shirt and khaki pants, no shoes.
“Hi,” I say, and take a step inside. It’s overwhelming, this foyer, with its double high ceilings and wide, wide marble staircase. Also, the way my stomach dips all on its own accord taking him in. He takes a step toward me and pulls me to him. I wrap my arms around his neck. The relief I feel in this moment, as if I’ve come out of the cold and someone’s wrapped me in cashmere. He kisses me and it’s different. It’s more somehow, more tender and heavier with feeling. I have a brief thought that we could both start to cry.
“I missed you so much,” he says, and my smile cracks open. He kisses me again and I rest my hands on his chest, feeling both his heartbeat and the muscles under his shirt. I am taking this kiss someplace that might not be totally appropriate for the family foyer. I stop and let out a breath, embarrassed. “Would you like to see my room?” he asks, grinning.
“I would,” I say.
He leads me by the hand upstairs. We walk down a long corridor to a second landing. This landing has floor-to-ceiling windows facing the bay. He opens a door to an antique four-poster bed dressed in white linen, two armchairs in green-and-white ticking facing the water view. Off to the right is a small alcove with a desk and a view of the tip of Whitfield.
Stewart closes the door and pulls me close. His hands strong on my back and the warmth of his chest on my cheek are the things of my daydreams this past week. He says, “In a day, like a regular day with meetings and travel, I have a hard time thinking about anything but you.”
I look up at him. “Oh?” That’s all I can get out, because my body is responding like it’s heard volumes of meaning behind his sentence.
I unbutton his shirt, from the top. I keep my eyes on the buttons as I go, and I can feel him watching me.
“I wanted to know if you felt the same way,” he says. I pull my dress over my head, drop it onto the floor, and climb onto his bed. He smiles and climbs onto the bed on top of me, the feel of his bare chest on mine is enough to undo me. I run my hands down his back, and he rests on my chest, watching me. I love him, I realize. He’s telling me that he missed me, but I actually love him. I should tell him this isn’t safe for me. I should warn him that I’m in too deep already. He takes both of my hands in his and raises them up over my head. I am caught. He brushes his lips over mine and my hips respond. “Is this a yes?” he whispers.
“Yes.” I say it so fast, the way you’d say “uncle” to get someone to stop twisting your arm.
“About me taking off the rest of your clothes? Or about you feeling the same way?” He squeezes our entwined hands, intensifying the ache between my legs.
I raise my head to kiss him and the warmth of his mouth on mine spreads throughout my body, down to my legs, which are wrapped around his, holding him to me. He pulls away and lets go of one of my hands. He touches my lips and waits. His favorite negotiation tactic. I smile at him.