She thought for a moment, giggled.
“Honestly? He’s a guy. ‘Comfort food’ comes in medium, large or extra large, do you want extra cheese and how many pieces would you like that cut into?”
“Pizza? That’s it?”
She smiled happily. “There’s a place he likes. I’ll order his favorite for, say, 6:30. You know where the wine is. Set the table and he’ll be delighted.”
+
If not delighted, Paul was at least less self-conscious, more relaxed than he had been this morning. Well, it would have been difficult to have been more tense, right? All the same, while he was pleased with the pizza, Paul didn’t linger at the table. He did insist on his doing the cleanup, given that Devon and I had done ‘the cooking’. We ladies looked at each other, shrugged and settled for Netflix.
The movie had a good ending, slight sniffly tears from both of us. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see that it was after 9:00.
“When does your dad normally go to bed?” I asked.
She looked at the clock. “Soon. Normally by 10, anyway. Why?”
“I’m going back in there, Devon. Unless you kick me out.”
Her eyes instinctively narrowed for a moment, but only a moment. In the end, Daddy needed company and she trusted Samantha. It wasn’t a slam-dunk by any means, but she hadn’t said No.
“I’d wondered, Sam.”
I took a breath, held it a second, let it out.
“I’ve got another four days here, Dev. If he’ll let me, I plan on being in there every night from now on.”
She closed her eyes, obviously trying to make this all work in her head. Who likes to think about their parents having sex? And with her best friend….
After a moment, they opened again. From the wry smile slowly growing in her face, I could see that she was certain now.
“OK.” She pulled me into a strong hug before releasing me. “I’ll be rooting for you, Sam,” she whispered.
I hugged her tightly, turned to go, but she caught my arm. “Wait.”
She put her mouth to my ear, lowered her voice. “A secret for you, Sam.”
I waited. She seemed to be working up her courage.
“I wasn’t supposed to be an only child, you know. But Mom had problems delivering me and the doctors said another pregnancy would be dangerous.”
She continued, whispering even more softly.
“So, Daddy got sent to the vet.”
My eyes popped open at the implications of that. There was no doubt now about Devon’s game, which team she was rooting for.
I pulled her into a deep, hard, loving hug, tried to fight back a happy sniffle, failed.
“Thanks, Devon.”
“Go make Daddy happy.”
“I’ll try.”
I could hear the sound of the en suite shower as I kissed her cheek and headed down the hall.
“Sam?”
I turned, looked at her.
“You hurt my daddy and I’ll bust your ass.” She was smiling, but I knew she meant it.
“Yeah,” I said. “I know that, Devon.”
Her smile became a little brighter. Her hand waved me away, motioned me down the hall.
I ducked into the main bathroom, found Devon’s shower cap, took a very quick shower. I wrapped myself in a towel and rolled my clothes into a ball. The kitchen light was off and I’d already heard Devon go into her room. I went into my room and tossed everything onto the bed.
Down the hall, the sound of water continued.
I found my case and did a quick minimal makeup. I was about done when I remembered a tiny bottle of perfume a boyfriend had given me for my birthday. I’d been impressed, but not that impressed, if you know what I mean. I’d worn it for him until we broke up, which hadn’t taken long in any case. It’d been in my makeup bag ever since.
Minute drops on wrists, behind ears, nape of neck and, blushing slightly, between the Girls. Standard places, right?
I thought so, anyway.
I went to put on my nightie. My hand froze just short of it. I looked at myself in the mirror, pulled my shoulders back, smiled.
No nightie. Not tonight.
I peeked out into the hall again, just to be sure. There was a light on in Devon’s room, but the door was closed. I took a deep breath for courage, stepped out into the hall, shutting my door behind me.
I don’t know what I would have done if Paul had locked his door, but the handle moved quietly under my hand. I was gently closing the door behind me when the sound of the water stopped.
I tossed the throw pillows off the bed, quickly slithered under the duvet, leaving Paul the side he’d been in last night.
I could hear him moving around, then an electric toothbrush, a cabinet door opening and closing. I tried to calm myself, worked on a sweet smile.
The door opened and Paul stepped into the bedroom, nude, his head covered with a towel as he dried his hair.
He got about two steps before noticing me. He gave a small gasp, covered his groin with the damp towel.
“What in hell, Sam?”
“I was enjoying myself when Devon brought coffee this morning, Paul.” I said. “I’m back.”
Having said that, I hoped it sounded better to him than it did to me.
He stepped to the door, caught the knob in his hand.
“Sam, you need to put your clothes on and get back where you belong. Please.”
I waited a moment, pulled the duvet down a handsbreadth, showing bare shoulders. A two-second wait, then a fraction lower, exposing the beginnings of cleavage.
“What clothes?” I whispered.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and came to stand by me. I took the opportunity to admire the broad swimmer’s shoulders, the still-solid six-pack, his strong legs.
He sat down on the bed beside me. I could see him trying to calm himself. His hand reached out, stroked my head gently.
“Sam.” His voice was very gentle. “Sam, you — we — can’t do this. It’s not right.”
I tried to keep it simple.
“Why?”
It was a simple question but, of course, one leaving no simple response.
“Sam…”
I knew what was going through his mind. It was pretty obvious — him being 25 or 30 years older than me, my being Devon’s best friend and her being just across the hallway…
And Jessica. Always, always, always – always his memories of Jessica.
I couldn’t blame him for that.
I leaned my head against his palm, pressed his hand in place against my cheek with my own hand.
When in doubt, go for broke.
“Paul,” I whispered, “I can’t ever be Jessica. I know that.”
His face fell, his chin dropped to his chest. For a second, I thought he was going to break into tears again.
“I wouldn’t want that, either, Paul,” I said, even softer.
I put my other hand under his chin, lifted. His eyes looked so very, very sad.
I pulled him down towards me, kissed his forehead and whispered.
“I can’t be Jessica, Paul, but maybe, just maybe, you’ll let me be Samantha.”
There was a long, long silence.
It was his hands drawing us together that told me I’d won.
My heart sang as he pulled me into a strong, incredibly loving bear hug. I could scarcely breathe and it didn’t matter to me in the slightest. I’d wanted to be in his arms and I was.
The hug became gentler, less needy. I felt the duvet between us, tugged at it, pulled it away, followed it with that silly towel, pulled him back in for a totally bare embrace, our first.
It was our first, too, for this time he was holding Sam, not Jessica. That made a big difference to me.
He released me from the hug, stood in front of me, his hands stroking my hair, ever so gently.