Page 11 of Plenty Of…

“But he took advantage of you, Avril.” I can tell he really wants to believe that, but I can’t have him believe a lie. “No, he didn’t. I’m ashamed to admit that I was relentless, I wouldn’t take no for an answer, and then…you know the rest.” He searches my gaze for the lie, the way I did with Forbes just last night, and when he doesn’t find it, it’s disappointment I see in his eyes, eyes that look so much like mine. His brows furrow, and he stands, looking at me like I’m a complete stranger. I want to reach for his hand, but he’s already stepping away from the bed. “I can’t condone this,” he tells me, not looking at Forbes. “I just, I can’t. After how he left…” Dad huffs, shakes his head again, and walks out. Without any explanation as to how he knew, my mind is swirling with more questions. “Can I go home?” I ask the nurse.

“You can’t be alone,” she tells me, a gentle smile on her face.

“She won’t be,” Forbes says, and I almost laugh because he still looks so ridiculous. “I’ll take her.”

“Is that a tampon in your nose?” I blurt out. The nurse ducks her head to hide her snicker, but I’m amused. As if only now remembering it’s there, he takes it out and disposes of it in the yellow Hazchem bin on the floor. “It was the only thing that would stop the bleeding,” he gripes.

“But you didn’t put up a fight.” That much I remember. “You allowed him to hit you.”

Forbes approaches me, and shrugs. “Figured it was long overdue, I deserved it after what I put you through.”

I want to continue this conversation, but, “Will you take me home? Please?”

He nods once, and when the nurse is satisfied that I can stand, and walk, she hands me over to Forbes while prattling of instructions. I thank her for taking care of me, apologize for whatever nonsense my father and Forbes might have said or done while I was unconscious, and allow Forbes to help me out of the emergency room. He hails a cab, and I’m already dozing off again by the time we get back to my apartment building. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s get you to bed.” There’s a witty retort dancing on the tip of my tongue, but my body feels heavy, and so does my head. I wince when I lift my arm, and touch my the back of my head, the bump is substantial. Forbes helps me change into pajamas, and get under the covers, and then he brings me some Tylenol with a glass of water. “Sleep,” he says, kissing my forehead. And I’m out. I’m not sure for how long, but it’s late afternoon by the time I wake. I’m alone in bed, and it takes a few minutes to recall what happened. What a mess. I slide my feet out from under my duvet, and place them on the floor, testing my balance. Seems okay. When I wander into the open-plan living space, I find Forbes sitting on the couch, laptop open on his thighs, a glass of scotch on the side table, and glasses on his face. He must have gone to his hotel to fetch his things because he’s in fresh clothes, and there are two leather suitcases beside my door. I take him in, and find the whole glasses thing quite endearing. And sexy. It makes him look distinguished, even more so when he takes a sip of the amber liquid beside him. If I thought he was sexy ten years ago, he’s downright sinful at forty-six. And I know an older man isn’t every woman’s preference, but there’s something to be said for maturity, and stability. Knowing who and what you are, what you want out of life. Forbes certainly isn’t floundering, or trying to discover who he is. He already knows, and I find that incredibly attractive.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, not bothering to look up. I smile, and slowly make my way towards him. Then, he does look up, and moves his laptop to the couch so that he can pull me to his lap.

“How are you feeling?” He removes his glasses, and gives me a once over.

“Okay.” My voice is a little groggy from sleep. “Did you leave?”

“I did, I had to change and collect my things from the hotel.”

“So you’re camping here, then?” I tease. Even so, I’m somewhat relieved because we have a lot to talk about, and I think he feels the same.

“If that’s okay with you,” he touches my cheek. “I’d like to.”

I nibble on my bottom lip, and nod. “You can stay, but I need food, and we need to talk. I don’t like how things have been left between me and Ralph. Or you and Ralph, for that matter.”

Forbes sighs. “I know, I don’t like it either. But we’ll order some take-out, and then we can talk, okay?”

“Can we have sex after we’ve had our talk?” It’s a joke, meant to lighten the mood, but Forbes takes it too seriously. “You’re not supposed to do anything too strenuous for the next forty-eight hours, Avril.”

“I won’t. I’ll just lie there, and you can do all the work. Simple. I don’t have any symptoms of a concussion, and I’m positive an orgasm will help relieve pain.” I have no scientific evidence to back that up, but I do know I don’t have a concussion. My speech is fine, motor function too, and there’s no delay in any of my responses, speech or otherwise. It’s just a big bump to my head. I watch a myriad of emotions play out over Forbes’ face, and then let out a giggle, only to hiss because laughing hurts my head.

“You should have seen your face,” I mumble, rubbing my goose egg like I’m expecting it to hatch. “But I am hungry, and we do need to talk.”

Forbes reaches for his phone, orders some food for us, and only moves me from his lap when the doorbell rings with our delivery. We eat in companionable silence, and he watches me like a hawke. As tired as I am, having his gaze on me does things to my insides, and every time I catch him staring, I blush like an idiot. He makes quick work of washing the dishes, and cleaning up before getting us situated on the couch. It’s dark out now, the city lights muted by the spattering of snow falling outside. Forbes places my legs of his lap, and surprises me when he says, “You’re surprisingly calm after what happened this morning.”

I shrug. “Headache aside, I think I’m still trying to make sense of things. You showing up again after all this time, finding out my dad knew about us all those years ago, his disapproval of us now — not that there’s an us to speak of — and how Celeste knew but never said anything to you.”

His expression is contemplative, observant. “There can be an us, if you want there to be.”

I smile. “Of everything I just told you, that’s what you latch onto?”

“I guess I can explain,” he clears his throat, rests an arm across the back of the couch, and holds my legs with his free hand. “Celeste and I were already having problems when you and I, uh, got involved.” I find the way he cringes at that kind of cute, like he can’t bring himself to call it what it was. I couldn’t for months afterwards either, but now I know it was an affair. He was married, I was a kid, and we had no business being together in any capacity at all. But here we are. “She was desperate to have a child, but I don’t think we loved each other anymore by that point. By all accounts, neither of us showed any medical reasons for not being able to conceive, but month after month she’d come to me and say she got her period. We both saw doctors, we were both healthy, but she never fell pregnant, and when she did, she was already sleeping with another man. Someone I was considering going into business with for a hotel and spa, but obviously, that never materialized. Last I heard, they were living in New England, and have three kids now, and a puppy. But it wasn’t long after your eighteenth birthday, after I ended what you and I were doing, that Celeste admitted everything to me. I filed for divorce, made sure she got enough to sustain herself, and when it was all signed, I left the country. As for your dad, I suspected he knew because he never returned my calls after Celeste and I divorced, never so much as read an email, but I didn’t know it was because Celeste had told him about you and me.” Even after all this time, my heart hurts for this man, but something is niggling at me. However, he confuses my frown for one of discomfort and not confusion. “Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?”

“I’m fine, Forbes. I’m just a little confused about something, did you ever see a negative pregnancy test? I mean, most married men come to know their wive’s cycles, and how they behave when it’s that time of the month, but you never questioned anything?”

It’s his turn to frown. “No, but I think it was easier than facing our farce of a marriage so I just accepted it. I came to my own conclusions when she got pregnant almost immediately after she started having an affair, figured it was me who couldn’t get her knocked up and never bothered to question it. I wanted it to be over.”

I decide to pin the topic for another time. I don’t want to talk about Celeste.

“You said we can be an us, if I wanted. Is that what you want?” Something akin to hope blossoms in my chest, stifling some of my doubts.

“I want to know you as you are now, Avril. I see the parts of you that caught my attention when you were eighteen, the parts of you that exist because I hurt you so deeply, but I also see a woman, and not, for all intents and purposes, a child. I want to know who you are now.”

If I’m completely honest with myself, I want that too, but I need him to know, “I was a mess when you left me, Forbes. Dad went mad, and now I understand why, but he wasn’t wrong when he said he had to watch me fall apart over and over again. It took me eight months to start feeling normal again, and that was with a lot of help.”