Plans? Who, Me?

He drops me off at school every morning with the children. Kisses go all around to the boys, and there is usually a quick discussion about household logistics. This morning, however, he asked me if I had plans this evening.

Plans? I don’t have plans in the evening! So I told him no, that I was free. I spent the day wondering what was up.

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So, tonight, he made a very lovely dinner and opened some of his brother’s wine. His brother bottles his own wine, since he has a small vineyard back in France. The wine was actually quite awful – I was too embarrassed to say so in case I just have no taste for wine. But he tasted and said, “Garrgh!” with a very comical cartoon face! so we poured that one out, and opened something else. Dinner was beautiful, with some kind of bean casserole along with some kind of very tender, thin-sliced roast beef that he told me the name of but I didn’t write it down. I will say it had this crust over it, like pie crust, very flaky and yummy. Men who cook well are hot.

Afterwards, he again started asking me about my plans, and asked about what I had said a few weeks ago.

He asked me if I was still happy here, and I answered that I was.

“And this life,” he asked me, “will sustain you for quite a while?”

This life: chasing boys up the stairs, teaching little minds, discovering the universe and wiping noses. That life I turned away from: chasing grades, chasing a career, trying to get one break after another, discovering that most of an acting career, isn’t is all about acting; an acting career is all about waiting and being told ‘no’. Do I want to be told ‘no’ again? Or do I want to stay in the heart of this man, and his family?

Will this life sustain me? I’m blooming! Oh, yes, I thought, going into a trance….

“Oh, yes,” I murmured to myself more than to him.

“Are you quite certain?” he said. I snapped back from wherever I was.

“Yes, I am, quite certain,” I said, simply, wondering where this was leading.

“I only ask because, as I am sure you are aware, I have come to depend on you for so much, and perhaps I have a hard time describing to you how I feel about you.” He looked away, and then he said, very quietly, “My feelings are not easily shared, right now.”

“Monsieur, I understand completely.” I held his hand.

“Just because I may have a difficult time expressing my feelings, does not mean I do not have such feelings,” he said, and it took some time for him to get that much out.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” I said, still holding his hand.

“I am certain that I do need to explain,” he replied. “I want you to know that I have very strong feelings for you. I have become very attached to you, and I would like this relationship to be on very solid footing.”

I waited, listening.

“I have told you that I had sought grief counseling, as you recall after Maggie….” He paused.

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Of course one of the things they tell you is not to make any major life decisions for a period of at least one year: don’t sell the house and move. Don’t change careers. Avoid … romantic relationships. This is sensible, and can help the grieving process by not–”

I interrupted him, rolling my eyes. “Ya, ya, ya. I know all that. We’ve been over all that.” I put his hand up to my face, and kissed it. “What is it, exactly, that you’re trying to say without having to say it?”

“I have not been able to treat you as well as you should be treated, and I am sorry for it,” he said, all at once.

“What are you talking about?” I said quickly. “You have been wonderful. Apology accepted.But you really haven’t been so bad. What is it you are really trying to say?”

“Bien,” he continued, “I am not the sort of man who would have a woman live here, under my roof and under my care, enjoying her affections, unless I have hope of something further.”

“Something further,” I repeated. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Something long-term,” he replied in a voice just above a whisper.

“Again, accepted,” I said gently.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re accepting,” he said, smiling.

“Well, then you don’t know what you’re offering, or to whom you’re offering it,” I replied. “Let me ask you this: how do you really feel about me?”

He smiled, and said, “It is my own failing that you would have to ask.”

“And since I have to ask, what is your answer?” I could feel my yearning heart, beating in my throat.

“I love you, and I hope that you remain,” he answered.

I felt as though I would burst. I could feel my face get red, my eyes starting to get teary, and I’m sure I was trembling. “And I love you,” I said. “More than you’ll ever know. And I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“I want to ask you something more,” he said, “but I find that I am not able to do it.”

“Ask me when you are able,” I replied. My eyes started flowing and suddenly I was weeping, at first trying not to let him see my tears, but it was hopeless. I kissed him anyway and I felt my heart, my mind and my body turn to complete mush. Mush and goo, and it was soaking my face and my panties, and I needed him so badly.

“Do you,” I said, between kisses, “have any idea,” another few kisses, “how much I want you,” kisses, “right now, at this very minute?”

“I do have some idea,” he smiled.

I pulled back just a bit. “You’re, um, not going to turn me down, are you?” I looked at him.

“No,” he said, “I think that would not be a good or kind thing to do.”

“No,” I said firmly, “it would not.” I sat back, expectantly.

“You’re very demanding,” he said, smiling and took a sip from his wine glass. How can he, I thought, just sit there and sip wine after I almost hump his leg?

“Demanding? I’m a brat,” I countered, then I smiled. “Can you handle me?” I was teasing him, but he was teasing me, too; so I figured, all’s fair.

“Bien, I am sure I don’t know,” he said, laughing. “I don’t think that you’re a brat, at all. You’re very responsible, and you’re quite well-behaved—”

“In public,” I agreed. “But in private, when it’s just you and me,” I lowered my voice, “and when I really,” then I leaned over to him and I lowered my voice to a whisper, “need you inside me,” I finally said, kissing his ear, “that’s when I’m hard to handle.” My hand traveled up his thigh. I kissed his mouth, and his hands went to my waist. I sat on his lap, and put my legs on either side of him. I felt like I was electrically charged.