Page 105 of That Reunited Feeling

Screw being a PA. Dust off the singing stuff. You’re fucking amazing. Totally still got it!

And bet you had some mighty fine Rock Star Sex afterwards. *microphone emoji* *guitar emoji* *drum kit emoji* *eggplant emoji* *sweat emoji*

While I appreciate the support, this is entirely not the point right now.

As I shove the phone back into my pocket and take the first step up to the door, it buzzes again.

RACHEL (06:42 PM):

In other good news - get packing! Guesthouse will be ready in a week! We told them to finish it first, so you’ll be moved in before we are!

I stop with one foot on the second step, inwardly gasping as my insides lurch and my brain splits in two.

Half of it does a backflip of joy that we finally get to go to California, start a fresh life, and have a shot at fixing Dylan’s ears. The other half bursts into wailing sobs of despair at the thought of leaving Tom just as we’ve found each other in the most breathtaking way.

Shit.

Not only was last night’s orgasm the most mind-melting, fireworks-shooting-out-of-every-orifice experience of my life, but he totally looked after me this morning and got me home as fast as he could at his own expense. And he organized it perfectly. And was so caring and attentive on the flight back.

For the first time in my life, it felt like there was someone I could actually rely on.

Fuck.

Fucking fucking fucking fuck.

If I wasn’t this close to the front door, I’d scream so loud my lungs might burst.

But I need to set aside this particularly ironic trick the universe has played for a moment and deal with the mess my son’s made.

The big round iron door knocker is cold in my hand as I lift it and drop it twice against the door.

A few seconds later, the door squeaks open and Maggie’s smiling face appears. “Come in, come in.” She beckons me into the welcoming warmth.

“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” I say, wiping my feet on the doormat. “So sorry.”

“Never you mind.” She rubs my upper arm and leads me toward the kitchen. “We’re in the snug. Come on through.”

“But you were so kind to look after him while I was gone, and then this is how your generosity is repaid,” I continue, following her. “I can’t apologize enou?—”

Tom’s sitting on the sofa by the fire, his socked feet resting on the edge of the coffee table, shirt sleeves pushed up to reveal his strong forearms and their light dusting of hair.

He stops tapping on his phone and looks up with a concerned smile, that always-misbehaving hank of hair falling across his face. “Everything okay?”

This is no time for lustful thoughts. “Yes. Well, I mean no. Obviously it’s terrible that Maggie had to deal with all this.”

“Oh, I was called to the school more times than you can imagine for this one,” she says, ruffling Tom’s hair like he’s ten. “So it was nothing.”

“But afire?” I don’t recall Tom ever setting fire to anything. “I mean, afire. That’sbad.”

“Dylan seemed genuinely remorseful to me,” Maggie says. “And at least he didn’t get anything pierced.” She tugs at Tom’s ear, exactly at the spot where the scar is. “A fire you can put out. A burned chair you can replace. This guy came home bleeding from a hole in his ear. I was terrified he was going to get a horrible infection or something.”

“Yeah, I was so bad they sent me away,” Tom says.

“Will you please stop saying we sent you away?” Maggie bats his shoulder playfully with the back of her hand. “We only sent you for the summer. You wanted to stay. And Bob and Linda were excited to have you. I wish you’d all stop saying we sent you away.”

She turns to leave. “I’m going upstairs to watch TV with Jim.” She pats my arm as she passes. “And don’t you give it one more thought.”

If only that were possible.

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