“Airplane. Airplane people. Airplane holding a sponge.”
“Airplane with hands, hands? Okay, hands. Airplane hands. Sponge hands.”
“Sponge hands! Airplane sponge. Bird sponge. Bird! Okay, bird. Hand bird.”
“SpongeBob HandBird. Stop pointing at the airplane, we know it’s not an airplane!”
“Time’s up.”
“Dammit!”
Sophia sat down in a huff, throwing her Sharpie across the room. Neil stuck his hand straight up in the air and caught it as she huffed, “I can’t believe you guys couldn’t get that! It was so obvious that it was—”
“Ah-ah-ah, don’t say another word. We get a chance to steal,” Simon said from his place on the couch.
It was girls against guys, and the guys were currently kicking our ass. They were up forty points. Stupid boys.
“Go ahead, you’ll never get it. Don’t worry, they’ll never get it,” Sophia assured us, sipping her cocktail and winking at Zach over the rim.
“Now just give us a minute. We have thirty seconds to examine the picture and see if we can guess what you were trying to draw,” Ryan said, standing up and going over to the board where Sophia had been drawing.
“We know how the game is played!” Mimi yelled from her perch on the back of the couch. She was Drunky Mimi tonight; her cocktail station had served her well. And overserved her—she was Loud Drunky Mimi. “You don’t have to say that each time you try to steal!”
As Simon and Ryan puzzled over the drawing while Mimi counted down from thirty, Zach flirted with Sophia. And by flirting, I mean licked the rim of his glass. All the way around. He looked like a giraffe.
Shuddering, I looked at Sophia, who wasn’t even watching. She was watching Neil, who was watching Missy, who was adjusting her bra. I knew this because it was hanging half out of her shirt.
Ryan and Simon continued to argue over the picture while Zach giraffed, and I just held my head. Disaster.
“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” Mimi shouted, staring at her watch.
“It’s not New Year’s—just give us a few more seconds, we can get this!” Ryan shouted back, looking back and forth from the picture to Simon.
“Shit, I don’t know, is it, is it—shit!” Simon yelled, bouncing from one foot to the other.
“Six! Five! Four! Three!” Mimi continued. Missy crossed her legs. Neil stared at her legs. Zach burped, but continued licking. Sophia steamed.
“Two!”
“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” Neil stated, his gaze on Sophia.
“One! Ha, you didn’t— Wait, what?” Mimi asked, looking at Neil, then Sophia. Simon and Ryan looked hopeful.
“That’s right.” Sophia scowled, wincing when Simon and Ryan erupted into cheers.
“No way, no way! No fair, I had almost said one! I had almost said one!” Mimi cried, jumping across the room and landing on Ryan’s back, pummeling him with her fists. Zach burped again. Missy took her hair out of her ponytail, and everyone with a penis stopped to watch.
“That’s it,” Sophia snapped, and stormed into the kitchen.
“I’m calling time-out!” I yelled as I left the room to follow her.
“Time-out from what?” Zach asked, and I just shook my head.
Sophia was angrily taking things out of the fridge, then putting them back again. “I can’t believe he got that!”
“I can’t believe we didn’t. How embarrassing!” I answered, holding the fridge door open for her as a rotisserie chicken made its way out.
“No kidding! I mean, come on, how are we losing to these guys?” she asked, rifling through the condiment door and coming up with a bottle of Sriracha.
“We’re losing because we’re not concentrating. We need to get our heads in the game.” I watched as she put away a jar of pickles and grabbed a jug of milk.
“Pfft, maybe you’re not concentrating because you’re drooling over my b’ball player.” She smirked, removing a plastic container of leftover peas.
“I’m sure that’s it,” I remarked, trying to keep the incredulous out of my voice. Without question, Tall Zach was great looking, but what a drip.
“What am I looking for?” she asked, holding a container of sour cream in one hand and a cucumber in the other.
“You got me,” I answered, spying Neil coming around the corner. “But thanks for cleaning out the fridge.”
As Sophia stuck her head back in, Neil came into the kitchen.
“Funny how I knew exactly what you were trying to draw, huh, Soph?” he started, and she froze. I knew she froze because the sour cream dropped to the floor. I sidestepped away as she shut the door, pointing her cucumber at him.
“Don’t give me you knew exactly what I was trying to draw. You must have seen the card.”
“How could I have seen the card? You were holding it the entire time.”
“Well, maybe you turned away from Titty McBoobs over there to look.”
“Oh please, you think that—”
I walked away just as Simon came around the corner, and I quickly turned him back from where he came.
“I wouldn’t go in there right now. Sophia’s got a cucumber and she knows how to use it.”
He snorted.
“Wait, that came out wrong. They’re in there talking,” I said, tugging him along.
We both winced as their voices rose.
“Well, they’re talking loudly—but they’re talking.” I sighed.
• • •
In the end, Game Night totally sucked. Mimi almost passed out, still grumbling about being cheated out of SpongeBob HandBird. Ryan spent the rest of the night memorizing the Pictionary rulebook for next time, while Simon and I cleaned sour cream off the kitchen floor and picked cucumber seeds out from between the tiles.
“She squeezed the seeds right out, with her hand! It wasn’t even peeled!” he kept saying, amazed and more than a little scared.
And Frick and Frack? Made out with Tall and Tits. Actually made out with their dates in front of each other. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wanted to look away, I felt like I should look away, but I couldn’t. Simon and I stood there, covered in seeds, watching the make-out contest. Sophia was pushed up against the wall, so then Tits got pushed up against a wall. Neil got an impromptu lap dance; so did Tall.
“It’s like we’re at some kind of swingers’ party,” Simon whispered when a shoe flew by, kicked off by a Playboy bunny.
“Or WrestleMania,” I whispered back when another shoe flew the other way. Don’t think Sophia didn’t notice Shoeless Tits.
When the groaning finally drowned out Mimi’s muttering, it was time to stick a fork in the entire evening. And then never speak of that fork again.
Glaring at each other, Neil and Sophia walked out together, hot dates in tow. Ryan carried Mimi out to the hillevator, telling us he’d come back the next day to pick up their things. “I’ve got to get her home before she pukes,” he said, shaking his head. “No more drink stations.”
As they rode up the hill, I could hear snippets floating back from Neil and Sophia, arguing all the way to the cars.
We headed back inside, looking at the drawing board. Which was now decorated with phallic imagery, courtesy of Tall Zach.
Simon began, “I love our friends, but—”
“How the hell are they our friends?” I finished, and he nodded.
Laughing ruefully, he flipped back to the picture that ended the game. “A bird in the hand. How did we not get this?”
“Because she drew an airplane with sponges—that’s why.” I sighed. “Wanna go to bed?”
“Hell yes,” he answered. As we headed to the bedroom, he helped me unzip my dress. “She still loves him, doesn’t she?”
“Of course she does,” I answered. I let my dress fall to the floor, and I climbed into bed in my bra and panties. I watched through tired eyes as Simon undressed.
“Did you set the alarm?” I asked.
“It’s Sunday. Why do we need to set the alarm?” he asked, turning back his covers.
“I have to work for a few hours in the morning. Monica’s meeting me at the coffee shop down the street.”
“Babe.” He shook his head before turning out the light. After he set the alarm. “You’re working too hard.”
“Lots to do. If I work tomorrow, I’ll have some time this week during the evening. It’ll be fine. You sleep in, and by the time you’re up, I’ll be almost home. We can go for a drive.”
“It’s not that. I just think you’re working too much; you need to slow down a bit,” he grumbled, pulling me across the bed and into his side.
“Things will slow down after the holidays, you’ll see. Besides, I’m in charge right now—kind of don’t have a choice,” I reminded him.
“I know, I just— I know,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
I kissed his chest. “It’ll ease up, I swear in the name of SpongeBob HandBird.”
A moment later, the bed was shaking from laughter. And a few minutes later, the bed was shaking for a different reason.
Eh, sleep is overrated. Being turned over by a Wallbanger? Priceless.
• • •
The week of Thanksgiving started out okay. The morning after the Pictionary party, I left a sleeping Simon behind while I headed over to work for a few hours, came home, and then ate naked turnovers with Simon in bed. Or, ate turnovers in bed with Simon, naked? Whatever, that was the high point of the week.
Without a family to speak of, Simon had always kept himself busy over Thanksgiving as well as Christmas. This year, I’d been hoping he’d take my family up on their offer of spending Thanksgiving together, but he wasn’t quite ready for that.
He’d met my folks on several occasions, and holy shit on a shingle, I have never seen Simon more nervous than he was the first time. Meeting the parents is a big deal in any relationship, but he’d never been involved with anyone long enough to make this step before. He totally won them over, though. He flirted like hell with my mom, won my dad over by sharing stories of Formula 1 races he’d attended over the years, and now he looked forward to spending time with them when they came to San Francisco. But a turkey dinner in a house filled to bursting with family?
“I just can’t. Maybe next year,” he explained, while I handed him socks I’d folded for him. He dropped them into the suitcase, then headed into his closet to grab some sweaters. “They won’t be mad, will they? I mean, I always work this time of year; it’s just what I do.”
“No no, they get it. And I get it. But I’ve finally got some time off, and just wish we could spend it together,” I said quietly, watching as the sweaters went into the bag. I’d be working like crazy right up until Thursday, but I’d planned on spending the rest of the week at home with my folks.
“I know, babe. You’ve been so busy lately even when I am here, I hardly see you,” he answered, dropping a kiss on my forehead and disappearing back into the closet.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my nose wrinkling a bit.
“It’s not supposed to mean anything,” he said, rolling a few pairs of jeans.
“You hardly see me because I’m busy, Simon. It’s not like you don’t know everything I’m trying to juggle right now.” I frowned, sliding off the bed and standing in front of him.
“Don’t get so defensive, it wasn’t a criticism. I get it; you’re busy. Chill.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. Did he just tell me to—chill?
“Christ, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” He sighed.
I started to snap back, then took a deep breath. Let this one go. I reached out and pulled him toward me by the belt loops, letting my head drop onto his chest. A few seconds later, I felt him sigh and then his arms were around me. I breathed him in, then turned my face up toward his.
“We’ll have lots of time to spend together in Philadelphia.”
His face shuttered. He kissed my forehead again, then turned to zip the suitcase closed. “Tell your folks I said happy Thanksgiving,” he said with a tight smile.
Guess that subject was closed.
He left the following day. He was heading back east, doing a photo shoot on Thanksgiving in Plymouth, the pilgrims and all that. It was to be featured the following year in travel magazines and regional newspapers to boost the local economy. But he was going, and I was staying—and that was the beginning of my shit week.
I came home Monday night after spending the entire weekend in Sausalito, to find that Clive had decided he’d had enough of me being gone. Maybe it was time to consider bringing him over to Sausalito, as creative as he was being with showing me his displeasure. He’d left me presents. Multiple presents. In multiple shoes. I missed him too; I just didn’t show it by shitting in his shoes. The image of what size his shoes might be if he did wear shoes wouldn’t leave my brain, so I spent a conference call with Camden’s people not paying attention and doodling cat shoes all over some documents.
You try explaining to your intern why there were tiny paws in pumps all over a contract that she now had to reprint.
The lowest point came on Wednesday afternoon after I sent everyone home early, and then I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to see my family for Thanksgiving. I’d thought I was on top of things, I thought my in-box was finally cleared out enough to sneak away for two days, when I found an e-mail in spam for a job I’d agreed to months ago. To come in and decorate for a client who was having thirty people over to her Nob Hill home for Thanksgiving dinner, and needed the dining room dressed. And the living room. And an entire autumn-in-New-England scene designed for her conservatory, where drinks might be served but might not, but just in case, could I please make it look like pilgrims might have lived there?
I lost my mind.
I didn’t even close the door, since there was no one left there but me.
I was still wiping the sob snot from my face when I heard Skype ringing on my computer. Dammit.
Crawling around the desk—yes I was on the floor, that’s the best place for a breakdown— I popped up and saw that it was Jillian.
Should I answer? Should I not? She’d know I was upset. Oh hell, let her.
I pulled myself into my chair, answering her call with one last nose blow.
“Do you have a cold?” she asked, the video coming through instantly. I saw myself in the tiny window, red eyes and red face, and I lied.
“I do, how’re you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
“Great! We’re just about to take the train into Venice. I never thought I’d be having Thanksgiving dinner in Venice, can you imagine? It won’t be a true Thanksgiving dinner, but we were thinking maybe we’d have something with chicken. That’ll be close enough, right?” She laughed.
“I’d think so. What can I do for you, Jillian? You just caught me.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be there. When are you leaving for your folks’?”
“Um, in a few minutes, just finishing up a few last-minute details,” I answered, struggling to keep my voice from breaking. Mentally, I was going through the stockroom, thinking about how many yards of brown silk I’d need to fashion into a tablecloth.
“Well, good. I just thought I’d check in and see how things were going, wish you a happy Thanksgiving.”
I bit my tongue, wanting to say something but keeping it in check. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Jillian. How’s Benjamin?” I managed to ask.
“He’s great, he sends his love. Where’s Simon this year?”
“Back east, taking pictures in Plymouth. Fucking pilgrims. I mean—you know what I—”
“You okay, kiddo?” she interrupted.
I didn’t need her worrying about anything, so I forced a smile. “Everything’s great here, I’m just trying to finish a few things so I can get down to my folks’.”
“Okay, if you’re sure that’s all—”
“It’s all good here, Jillian. Talk to you later, okay?” I hurried, knowing I couldn’t hold the tears back much longer. We said our good-byes and hung up, just as a fresh wave started.
I couldn’t take another call like that, so I chickened out and texted my mom to let her know the change in plans, promising to call her a little later. I couldn’t speak to her until I’d calmed down; I didn’t want to worry her. She knew how many hours I’d been putting in; she was so proud of me and how well everything was going. Ha.
I texted Simon to let him know that I was no longer going home for Thanksgiving, that I was working on a last-minute project, and that I’d call him later on when I took a break.
A break! Pffft.
He tried calling me back almost immediately, but I let it go to voice mail. I needed to work, not wallow.
I spent the next nine hours working on table settings and centerpieces, and then spent six hours Thanksgiving morning dressing a conservatory to make it look like very wealthy pilgrims had wandered by and decided this would be the place they wanted to have spiced squash soup accented by thyme and chervil.
Thanksgiving night, I was on the couch eating ramen in my pajamas with Clive, watching reruns on Food Network of Ina’s Best Thanksgiving shows. It was like disaster porn; I couldn’t look away. Now that I’d saved the day for another family, I could wallow. And wallow I did.
Which is why my wallow was so surprised when Clive began to pace at the front door, seconds before Simon came in.
I looked at him, covered in November rain, his eyes warm.
“I didn’t want you to spend Thanksgiving alone,” he said, shaking off the rain. “And maybe I don’t either.”
I burst into tears for the second time in twenty-four hours.
He just picked me up off the couch and settled me into his lap, his North Face getting my PJs soaked. He held me, soothing me, running his hands over my back and making little circles on my shoulders.
“You . . . are . . . the best . . . boyfriend . . . ever!” I wailed, wiping my nose on my arm. Clive ran in and out of Simon’s legs, threading himself as close as he could get without appearing too needy. Hell, I was idling at needy, ready to downshift into pitiful.
By the time my sobs tapered off, I was shivering, the chill from the rainy night moving into my bones.
“Come on, sweet girl, let’s get you changed into something warm,” he said. Reluctant to be set down, I clung to him. So he stood with me wrapped around him in front, and walked us back to the bedroom.
“I can’t put into words how happy I am to see you, Simon. I really can’t,” I whispered, arms tight around his neck.
“I missed you too,” he answered, trying to set me down on the bed, but I was fighting him. “Babe, let’s get you into some dry clothes.”
“Kiss me, please,” I asked, pulling him down to me.
He kissed me. And I kissed him back, needing to feel him. I wrapped my arms back around his neck, around his back, under his North Face, needing skin. He rocked against me, needing it too. “Caroline,” he groaned, pulling back to look into my eyes. That made me tear up again, just seeing his face so unexpectedly close to mine.
When you were in a long-distance relationship, of course you made the most of the time you were together. But sometimes, it was the unexpected that really made the difference. The unexpected emotions you were hit with when you saw that face, looked into those eyes, felt those lips. The unexpected reminder of why you fell in love with this person could hit you so powerfully. And this was that time.
I memorized his face, felt every line and every pattern, drew his temple, his nose, his dimple, the bow of his lip, drew it all with my fingertips and memorized it once more.
“I love you, Simon. Love you, love you, love you so much,” I chanted as he laid me down, peeled the clothes from my body and his own, and entered me.
He groaned my name, answering my cries with his own, loving me sweetly. And when my orgasm crashed through me, it was wonderful and secondary to what this was.
He was here with me. Not photographing pilgrims.
