Page 8 of Retrofit Analysis

When the pink massager connects with my clit, it certainly feels like I’m being electrocuted. But definitely not in a bad way. “Oh my,” I say, out loud this time. I move the toy to the side, just above my clit. That feels better. Better than better. I moan. I start to circle the toy, not touching my clit directly but hovering around it until, suddenly and with a rush that causes me to scream, I come.

I come and I come, my legs twitching and water splashing out of the tub onto the floor. Panting and groaning, I come until I drop the massager into the water, and I laugh as I root around trying to find it to shut it off. “Holy shit,” I say. I drain the tub and sit in it, staring.

I should have been doing that every day, I decide. “No better time to start,” I tell myself.

I dry off and slip into my pajamas. I shoot Jake a text to say I love him and can’t wait for him to come home tomorrow. I climb into bed with a smile on my face, realizing it’s true. Who knew orgasms made everything so much better? A lot of people knew, apparently, based on the package insert for the “facial massager.” I throw the box and the instructions away and fall asleep, content and eager to start the next day.

Seven

Kellen

I wasn’t going to have the family over on a weeknight. I really wasn’t. There’s the new documentary coming out tonight, that I’ll have to save for tomorrow, which means I’ll have to adjust all my social media notifications since I’ll miss the chat and get spoilers if I log in tomorrow. But when my nephew Liam called to say his pregnant girlfriend was craving my special marinade, who was I to say no to that.

I leave the office a bit early to get the meat going and set about preparing for the rush of relatives. With Liam and Zack both partnered off, that means I’m cooking for eight. I smile, pulling two folding chairs up from the basement. Soon I’ll have to stash a high chair here for the baby. I love the idea of a tiny baby Brady at my table. I hope Liam and Maddie will let me babysit for them sometimes.

I’m lost in daydreams about having another baby around when my phone rings. Liam. “What’s up, son?”

I can barely hear him above the rain. I hadn’t noticed the sky, but we are in the middle of one of those late summer storms that comes on quick and fierce. He shouts, “Can you meet us outside with an umbrella? I don’t want Maddie to catch a chill.”

I hear her in the background in the car, scolding Liam. “Catch a chill? What are you, 80 years old? You do realize the baby is submerged in water, right?”

I chuckle. “I’ll meet you out front with my golf umbrella. How far are you?”

I turn the burner off under the sauce for the veggies and look outside to see Liam pulling up. I head out through the garage door, grabbing my largest umbrella. As Liam pulls to a stop, I meet them at the passenger door with a smile. Madison rolls her eyes, but then struggles to hoist herself out of the low vehicle, so I lean in to offer a strong tug so she can get to her feet more easily. She blows her hair up out of her face. “Thanks, Kellen.”

“Any time, sweetheart. Here, you take this.” I pull up the hood on my rain coat. Liam walks around to the back, grabbing a bag of chips. I’m about to see if I can help him, when I spy something going on across the street.

“You don’t understand!” Jake wails, pacing back and forth in the rain in the driveway while his mother stands in the garage, shivering. She looks concerned. “It has to be a back yard barbecue,” he shrieks. I see him stomping back and forth, muttering in the rain.

“Won’t you please come inside and talk about this, Jake?” Elizabeth looks so distraught. Jake is really stomping his feet now, tugging on his hair.

I jog across the street. “Anything I can do for you two?” Jake whips his head to stare at me, his eyes wild.

Elizabeth sighs. I duck under the garage door to stand by her, dripping on the concrete floor. “Thank you, Kellen, but we’re fine,” she says, tightly.

“Nothing is fine!” Jake hollers, then starts smacking his forehead.

“He’s just upset,” Elizabeth says.

“Son,” I say, stepping back out in the rain and touching his shoulder. The movement startles him and he looks at me again. “Can you tell me what’s got you so upset?”

“I am not your son.”

“That’s true,” I tell him. “I just call young men that. I can’t help myself. I don’t have any sons.”

“Oh.” Jake looks at me, blinking the rain out of his face. “I need to have a backyard barbecue. It needs to be today. And Mom says we can’t because it’s raining, but it needs to be today.”

I nod. Elizabeth shouts over the storm, explaining that his autism therapist suggested a backyard barbecue as an example of a social activity they might try to help feel more comfortable in their new neighborhood. “His next session is tomorrow and he was supposed to complete an exercise for homework,” she says. To Jake, she yells, “The barbecue was an example, sweetie.”

He shakes his head, looking upset again.

“Hey, what about this,” I tell them. I keep a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I’ve got a covered deck out back. I’m about to toss some chicken on the grill anyway. What if you and your mother come eat with us, on the deck? Would that do?”

“Is the grill a barbecue? In Canada, it’s common for people to refer to gas grills as ‘barbecues,’” he says, looking hopeful.

I nod. “I can set out barbecue sauce, too, if that helps?” Jake nods and, without further ado, walks across the street toward my house and in through my garage door. I can’t help the chuckle that sneaks out, until I look at Beth, who has tears in her eyes.

“Hey,” I say. “Please don’t cry on my account.”