June, Reimagined (69)
“Mustard? Mayonnaise? Orange juice?” Lennox asked. “What are you in the mood for? Maybe a wee bit of all three?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Lennox retrieved a pressurized can of whipped cream. He popped off the top, June wiggling against him. “Oh, I would, Peanut. And I’d enjoy it. Now open wide.”
He held her closely, inching the can closer and closer to her tightly closed lips. She needed to get away from him, or she might do something she’d regret, something foolish, like kissing him.
“Fine!” June blurted out. “You can make me breakfast!”
Lennox eased his grip enough for June to shake out of his embrace and catch her breath. Casually, Lennox tipped the can of whipped cream and gloatingly ate a mouthful.
“Barbarian,” June groaned.
“Come on, Peanut.” He lifted the can to her. “You know you want some.”
June backed away. “I’m not falling for that.”
“You don’t trust me?” Lennox grabbed June’s arm and pulled her close to him again. Then he whispered, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
God, he was making this more and more torturous. June was losing her resolve. She let him hold her again. Let him tip her face up toward his. Never in her life had she wanted to kiss someone as badly as she did right now.
Lennox ran his thumb along June’s lower lip, making her freeze. He looked down at her mouth. If he took her right then and there, June decided, she would let herself be devoured and deal with the consequences later.
“Did you miss me, Peanut?”
June wanted to look away, wanted to tell him that, no, she hadn’t missed him. She didn’t wake up wishing she were in his house, in his bed. She didn’t listen for the familiar sound of Max’s paws on the wood floor, or the whistle of the kettle, or Lennox’s low, frustrated growl. She didn’t dream about his hands, his hips, his mouth.
Tears pooled in June’s eyes, against her will. She missed Lennox like a drowning person misses air. And now that he was back, the longing only intensified, the craving now more ravenous. Maybe she had been wrong all this time. Maybe he hadn’t chosen Isobel. Maybe Lennox had come back for June. Maybe this was finally their moment. June laid her head on Lennox’s chest and felt his beating heart. He was here after all.
“Did you hear that?” Lennox whispered.
June heard wailing from Ian’s bedroom. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly there was space between her and Lennox, a gaping hole that grew wider and wider the louder Ian got.
“There’s a bottle in the fridge,” June said and turned to retrieve it.
“I’ll do it.”
“You’ve done enough. I can do it.” She looked around at the messy kitchen, ingredients everywhere.
“I’ll feed the wee bairn,” Lennox said. “You clean the kitchen.”
Too tired to fight, June gave Lennox the bottle. He disappeared into Ian’s room, and the crying stopped almost immediately. By the time the kitchen was back to its original condition, June’s hair was almost dry, and it was nearly one in the morning. She borrowed another one of Sophie’s shirts and checked in on Lennox and Ian. Little Ian was fast asleep in his crib, and Lennox was asleep in the rocking chair, empty bottle on the nightstand. June couldn’t bring herself to wake him up.
She made up a bed on the couch in the living room, and as she rearranged pillows, Lennox’s phone vibrated on the coffee table. At one in the morning, it could only be Amelia with an emergency or one of the people at Fire and Rescue. June flipped the phone open.
“It’s me. I know it’s late, but I’m just calling to say I love you, and we can do this. Don’t be afraid—”
June looked at the caller ID: Isobel. She snapped the phone closed, her breath caught in her throat, and threw it down on the table as if it burned her skin. She curled into a ball on the couch, knees tucked for protection. How could she have been so naive? All of her maybes were just fantasy. Lennox didn’t want her. He never would.
June slept, the words I love you etched in her dreams.
TWENTY-SEVEN
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Dues
Hi honey—
I got a bill for your sorority dues. I haven’t paid it yet. Are you planning on staying in Tri Gamma? You know, in my day at Michigan State, only communists joined fraternities. But then again, all of us hippies eventually turned into yuppies and voted for Reagan. I guess we all change, no matter how much we think we won’t.
Anyway, let me know what you want me to do.
We had Mom’s new friend, Hortense, over for dinner a few weeks ago. She said I needed a hobby, so I signed up for a painting class. I’m not sure the teacher appreciated my technique of throwing paint at the canvas, but it felt good. I brought my first creation home, and your mom said it looked like an abstract painting of a chicken with its butt on fire. She hung it over the fireplace in the living room. Now, every time we walk past Chicken with Its Butt on Fire, we laugh.
Yesterday, I snuck out at lunch and went to the art studio for two hours. I went back to the office with paint under my nails. I felt like Clark Kent hiding Superman. But don’t tell anyone your stuffy old dad is moonlighting as an artist. I kind of like having this secret. Who knows, maybe in ten years, if I keep at it, I’ll actually be good.