Stay(9)

“Of course. I’m happy to run your errands. I have nothing else to do.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, darling. It’s unbecoming.”

I tilt my tumbler side to side, watching the amber scotch move around the glass. All afternoon I’ve been sidetracked by long blonde hair, bright blue eyes. She still wears it in waves over her shoulders… like she just spent the day at the beach. It’s very unprofessional.

Her small nose turns up at the end. I’d forgotten. She didn’t smile at me—no surprise, but when her son came out, her entire face lit up. That small dimple just below the corner of her mouth appeared.

I remember that night so long ago when I kissed her. When I fucked her in that tiny bathroom. Unease tightens my neck. Sinking my cock into her tight little pussy is a memory I’ve never been able to shake. Seeing her today only stirred it up again.

She held onto me and kissed me with such… purity. It’s a stupid thought. I’m no romantic. She’s just still so damn beautiful. What the fuck is Emmy Barton doing working at a dry cleaner?

“You know, I really enjoy these dinners. Such stimulating conversation.” Rebecca is looking straight at me, and I sit up in my chair.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing of any importance, obviously. I just hope I’m not putting you to sleep droning on about my life.”

“I’m sorry, Bex. Something unexpected came up today, and I’ve been a bit distracted—”

“Is that so? Nothing unexpected ever happens around here.” She sips her wine. “Thank God.”

I take a bite of my perfectly cooked steak. “Delicious.” After a moment, I figure why not. “Emmy Barton works at Miss Con-Cleaneality.” My aunt frowns, so I elaborate. “Edward Barton’s daughter.”

Her face breaks into a smile. “Edward Barton was such a good man. He did so much pro bono legal work. I think he represented the man fixing my roof.”

She looks overhead before lowering her blue eyes to mine. It’s a family trait shared between her, my father, and passed down to me.

“Worried about your contractor’s past legal woes?” I watch as she cuts a slice of her steak.

“Oh, I give everyone who works for me a thorough background check. It’s always fascinating what comes up.” She smiles, taking a bite.

A heavy crystal goblet of Barolo is beside her plate. I have one as well, but I haven’t graduated from my scotch.

“Edward Barton was a rare man.” I clear my throat. “He had character. He wasn’t obsessed with money or appearances.”

Perhaps he should have been. I vaguely remember my father saying something about his ratio of pro bono to paid legal work, and not knowing how he made ends meet. Perhaps that’s why Emmy works at a dry cleaner now.

She’d said she wanted a job at Sotheby’s or in London.

“Whatever happened to Emily?” My aunt spears a roasted Brussels sprout with her fork. “I remember she married one of the boys from your school… Edmund? Bertrand? Bart?”

“Burt Dickerson?” My voice rises slightly, and my aunt gives me a triumphant smile.

“Yes, that’s the one. Do you know him?”

Shifting in my seat, I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is how could she marry that asshole? Instead, “He was in my class.”

“Too bad about that. You just never know.” She slowly cuts another piece of meat and slips it into her mouth.

I’ll take her bait. “Too bad about what?”

My aunt’s face pinches with a frown. “Seems Bart slept with half the Upper East Side.”

“Burt.”

“Of course. Anyway, last I heard she was left penniless and living in the East Village. It’s just too bad.”

“Which is where I found her at your fancy dry cleaner.”

“Isn’t that something?” She’s grinning, and I swear this old woman. Ever since my father died, she’s been playing these little games with me. I wouldn’t put it past her to have sent me there on purpose to bump into Emmy.

“I do enjoy our dinners.” She leans back in her chair, holding her goblet of wine. “I’ll be so sad when they come to an end.”

“Why would they come to an end?”

“Well, I don’t expect you to have dinner with me when you have a family of your own. But perhaps you’ll invite me over sometime.”

My aunt lifts a crystal bell beside her plate, and two servers enter to remove our plates. A fluffy little white dog scampers into the room behind them.

“Will you be having any coffee, ma’am?” One of the servers waits at her chair.

Rebecca looks toward me, but I shake my head. “That’ll be all Jonathan, thank you.”

She rises slowly, holding her little dog. I stand as well.

“Tell me goodnight now, dear.” She walks slowly to the foyer at the front door, and I follow at her side. “Don’t forget to pick up my dress when it’s ready.”

I don’t laugh. I suppose in her eyes, I’m still a kid. “I meant to ask you, do you prefer metal or plastic zippers?”

She pauses in the oversized wood-paneled entryway, turning to face me. “That question feels inappropriate.”