Perfectly Adequate(41)

“Dorothy Mayhem, you are full of surprises.” I curl her hair behind her ear on one side. Apparently foreplay and seduction are not her game. Or maybe it’s a thing of the past. Jesus … am I really that old and clueless about dating and sexual trends?

“Told you I was good at sex.” She smirks.

“Easy, champ. I wouldn’t call forty calories good. I give points for stamina. We’re going to need a redo under better circumstances with more time to really burn some calories.”

“Daddy?” Two little feet slap the stairs in a slow rhythm.

I straighten my shirt and my erection as Dorothy tries to absorb some of the heat from her cheeks with her palms pressed to them. Then I quickly unlock the bedroom door. The last thing I need is Roman telling my mom that the bedroom door is locked.

“Daddy! Where are you?” Roman runs straight into my legs, making me wobble a bit to keep my balance.

“I’m right here, buddy. Are you ready to go home?”

“Dorfee! Your knees are beeding.”

I turn just as she leans down to reattach the Band-Aids. Then my gaze darts to the bed and the two bloody smudges on the off-white quilt. My face twists into a grimace as Dorothy’s gaze follows mine.

“Oops …” She looks back at me, mirroring my grimace.

“I was just getting Dorothy new Band-Aids. They came off because they were too small.” Giving Roman a quick shrug and oh-well face, I pull two new Band-Aids out of the first aid kit.

“Sit.” I wink at Dorothy.

“Ruff!” She barks and grins at Roman while taking a seat on the bench again.

“Uh … interesting position choice, given your recent knee injuries,” I mutter under my breath as I replace the Band-Aids, more upset with myself for completely forgetting about her knees once sex became the topic.

“Does my doctor son not know how to put on a Band-Aid?” Mom’s voice creeps closer as Roman climbs onto the bed and starts jumping.

“Down, Roman. Now … please.”

Please, child! Get off the bed before …

“No little monkeys jumping on my bed.” Mom heads toward the bed.

“I’ve got him!” Before I manage to replace the second Band-Aid, I stand, plucking Roman from the bed and turning to face my mom, hoping to block her view of the bloody smudges.

Dorothy finishes the second Band-Aid.

“We couldn’t imagine what was taking you two so long.”

Roman squirms out of my arms and runs toward the stairs.

“Sorry. We were talking … that’s all.” I smile my very best oh-shit-I’m-in-trouble smile.

Dorothy stands and Mom inspects her. “Dear, you have blood smeared all over your knees. Didn’t Eli clean your knees first?” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head.

Dorothy remains statuesque, eyes wide.

“Sit, Dorothy. I’ll get a wet washcloth.” Mom points to the bench at the end of the bed.

“Don’t speak. Okay?” I whisper after Mom leaves the bedroom.

Dorothy nods stiffly.

I move the gray throw blanket up the bed to cover the blood smudges and quickly turn back toward the door when Mom comes in with a wet washcloth. She squats down in front of Dorothy and cleans the dried blood around the Band-Aids.

“There. Much better.” Mom stands straight, smiling at Dorothy. Her smile fades when she sees the throw blanket situated in the middle of the bed.

“Thanks, Mom. I need to use the restroom. Can you take Dorothy downstairs? Maybe package up some of those leftovers for her. She loves leftovers.”

“Sure …” She steps toward the bed.

“What are you doing?” I block her attempt to move toward the bed.

Mom narrows her eyes at me. Yes, I’m acting incredibly weird—extremely paranoid. “I’m just fixing the blanket on the bed.”

“I thought you were going to get Dorothy leftovers.” I plant my fists on my hips to widen my body like a gate she can’t pass.

“Yes, Eli. I just want to straighten the—”

“Mom! Dorothy doesn’t have all day.”

The room falls silent.

Mom’s head jerks backward as Dorothy grimaces, trapping her lower lip between her teeth, wringing out her hands in front of her.

“Elijah Alexander, what is wrong with you, child?”

“Nothing,” I say as calmly as possible. “You just … go. I’ll fix the blanket and use the restroom. You get Dorothy some leftovers.”

“What is under that blanket?” She crosses her arms over her chest?

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re acting like you used to act when you broke something and didn’t want me to find out. You might be a grown man now, but you still lie to your mom like a ten-year-old boy. What is under that blanket? Did Roman get it dirty with his bare feet?”

“Yes. Just let me have it cleaned. I don’t want you to worry about—”

“No!” Dorothy yells before cupping her hand over her mouth.

My mom turns toward her while I shake my head so hard it makes my neck hurt. Dorothy’s eyes ping-pong between us. I silently plead with her.

“No … what, dear?”

“It wasn’t Roman,” she mumbles from behind her hand.