Page 60 of My Dearest Mackenzie

“I have to go to work,” Frances mumbled.

“You do?”

“Yes, I have a before-the-office appointment with one of my customers.”

“I’d like a before-the-office appointment,” I joked, but I really only wanted to see Frances every day…

“You’re seeing me right now,” Frances whispered into my chest, nuzzling closer.

“It’s never enough.”

There were a lot of bold statements like this between us, but no declarations of love or where this was going. Maybe that was on me. I didn’t know.

“Later? I’m going to run with Rachel. She wants to give me the 411. After, dinner? Maybe I’ll cook?”

I couldn’t help the laugh escaping me as Frances rambled.

“What?” she asked, pretending to glare at me. It was all show. Tough, kickboxing Frances couldn’t hurt anyone if she tried—except for the time she hit me.

“I love when you talk dirty, like cooking for me…and I’m glad you have that…with Rachel.” I truly was, knowing Frances didn’t have many people. I didn’t say as much because I wouldn’t dare hurt her feelings.

I’d loved meeting Rachel for drinks in October. We’d gone to a pumpkin espresso martini tasting that was horrible and ended back here at my place for a better round of drinks. Rachel had teased me, asking if I had Manischewitz, and we all laughed. Yet I hadn’t suggested we meet my buddies yet, but I guessed it would happen eventually. Maybe I needed to push the agenda…

That was where my thoughts were as Frances scooted away, and I realized what a fixture she’d become at my apartment and how much I liked it. She started to head toward the back bedroom to get ready, and while I could tell she was in work mode, I thought about when I should tell her that I love her.

“She’s silly in love. I mean, gaga for this guy in a way she never was for her husband,” Frances told me much later that night.

We were in her bed, after she’d cooked us this amazing pasta alla Norma. She was lying on her side, running figure eights on my bare chest.

“Did you like her husband?” I asked, not sure whether exes were a good topic. Frances knew I didn’t have anyone serious to speak of due to my own restrictions, but we hadn’t spoken about her ex since that night during the summer.

“He was fine. Just fine, you know? Not anything great or bad…”

I felt myself nodding. “Why did she marry him, then?”

“I think because everyone was doing it. She felt pressure. It was okay because they just went their separate ways when it was over, split their money, and moved on.”

“No kids, right?” Immediately, I wanted to punch myself for asking.

“No,” Frances answered and looked up at me, running a hand down my cheek. “It’s okay to talk about kids around me. I’m not permanently broken or scarred, other than my honey pot still left over…”

She glanced down at her belly, which I’d caught her doing upon occasion, and this was an area I was ill equipped to handle. I didn’t sense she was fishing for compliments like most women when they said they were “fat.”

“Hey, your body was trying to do something miraculous. It just didn’t work out that time…”

Damn, watching Frances’s face, I knew I messed up.

“Any time. I’m thirty-eight, and I don’t think these things get easier with age. So that was my time.”

“I’m sorry…I’m not saying the right thing.” My palm ran over the area on her lower abdomen she called her honey pot. “I like every inch of you. And this, which isn’t there, is beautiful. You’re beautiful, inside and out, and every part of your story that brought you to me…”

She rested her forehead on my shoulder and spoke softly. “I don’t know where this is going, and I promise you I’m not looking for you to say anything, but I want you to know that I may not be able to have kids. Not maybe, but likely definitely.”

She kissed me, and I kissed her back, trying to convey how I felt with my actions since I couldn’t seem to sort out the words.

It was some kind of cruel joke that at forty-seven I still couldn’t come up with the right way to tell someone I loved them.

Despite not knowing what we were doing with one another, what either of our intentions were, or where this was going, Thanksgiving was one of the best. Simply perfect.

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