Family Ties

I was a bit worried about how I’d pay for it all, but he simply handed me an invoice to sign. It was made out to “Hilliard’s Steakhouse,” and I almost laughed when I realized that Wren had opened a wholesale account under the name of one of her father’s restaurants. No wonder she and Trip made our monthly budget go so far!

We hit the grocery store next, and it was more of a regular shopping trip.

On the way home we picked up Chinese takeout, since we weren’t in the mood to cook and were pretty sure Wren wouldn’t be either.

She was feeling better but not a hundred percent, so dinner was more subdued than the night before. She and Trip called it an early night and went up to bed shortly after. Christy and I opened a bottle of wine and spent a couple of hours on the couch, just reading and occasionally chatting. I finally closed my book and looked at my watch.

“Think I’m going to head up,” I said. “I don’t want to take you for granted, and I don’t want to assume, but…”

“Of course I’ll sleep with you.” She smiled and replayed it in her head. “I like saying that.”

“And I like hearing it.”

We turned out the lights and headed upstairs, where we semi-awkwardly moved around each other in my bedroom. We each had a different nighttime routine and were a bit afraid of disrupting the other’s. I had to stifle a comment when she simply tossed her clothes on the floor. I didn’t quite make a show of putting my own in the hamper, but it wouldn’t have mattered—she was too busy to notice.

She stood in front of the mirror on my dresser and spread out tubes and jars of creams and moisturizers. She spent fifteen minutes systematically covering almost every inch of skin with something. I hid my amusement at the sheer complexity of it all.

“It feels kinda weird standing here without clothes,” she said as she dabbed white cream under her eyes, “but it makes things a lot simpler. I don’t have to avoid my lingerie or wait for my skin to dry before I put on pajamas.”

“I know what you mean,” I teased. “I have the same problem.”

“Funny, ha ha.” She gestured at the array of cosmetics. “I’m doing all this for you, you know. I want to look nice and feel nice and smell nice for you.”

“I’m not complaining,” I said. “I’m just… amazed.”

“Well, you can blame Sabrina. I really didn’t understand proper skincare until I met her.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.”

“Laugh all you like,” she said, “but you’ll thank me in ten years.”

“So… you think we’ll still be together in ten years?”

She blushed but then looked uncertain. “Don’t you?”

I moved behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. They were soft, I had to admit. I looked at her in the mirror. Then I looked at the two of us.

“I still have a lot to tell you,” I said. “About myself.”

“Well, I haven’t run away so far.”

“That’s true. But some of the things might be… pretty hard to get used to.”

“You won’t know till you try me.”

“I have tried you,” I said with a smile. “And I want more.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You still aren’t going to tell me?”

“All in good time.”

She met my eyes in the mirror and nodded. Then she borrowed from her father’s playbook: she visibly adjusted her attitude and smiled.

“At least you haven’t run away either,” she said. “Especially after comments like that last one.”

“What? The ten years thing?”

She nodded.

“No. I… I’ve been thinking the same thing. Not tonight, but in the back of my mind. It’s natural. ‘Is she The One?’”

“I’ve been wondering the same.”

“Have you decided?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It depends on what you have to tell me, I guess.”

“No kidding.”

“And… if I can work up the nerve to do what you want.”

“True. But we don’t have to rush. I mean, we’ve only been a couple for…

what? A month?”

“Yeah, but like you said, we’ve been dancing around it since we first met.”

“True.” I tried to remember when it was, exactly, and she read me

perfectly.

“September 3rd,” she said, “1981.”

My eyebrows tried to do a backflip. “Holy crap! You remember the date?”

“Of course. I’m bad with math, but I remember dates.” She beamed.

“Wren and I were late to Art History and you couldn’t stop staring at us. We thought you were cute. I drew you in my sketchbook that night. I even wrote the date so I’d remember.”

“For real?”

“Mmm hmm. I’ll show you sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

“I drew you a lot between then and now. Well, except for… you know.”

“When I was a jerk?”

“Right.”

“How about now?”

“What do you think? My sketchbook is full of you. And not just for the Replicant.”

“I wish I could draw people like you do.”

“You don’t have to. You drew me as a building.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I had a sudden, whimsical thought. “You should sculpt Mr. Big sometime.”

“Maybe I already have,” she said coyly.

My eyebrows did their acrobat thing.

“I’m kidding. But I’ve thought about it.”

“You have?”

“Of course.” She turned from the dresser and faced me. “I always draw or sculpt the things I like.”

“Good to know.”