Page 16 of Cascade

“Everyone knows? Really?” This is news to me, but every head around the table nods, and I hear a chorus of steady mumbles from a pack of dudes with more ear hair than head hair. Apparently we aren’t quite as discreet as Opal imagines. “Well, I like her and she’s really skittish, so I don’t know what will happen there.”

Levon scratches his chin as he tosses down a card and throws a few chips into the center of the table. “Skittish in a woman typically indicates past trauma.” Levon dabbles in sociology and anthropology when he’s not begging his partner, Mary Pat, to retire from the co-op.

I nod. “Well I’m not going to go airing her business,” I say. “I know each of you appreciates my tight lip when it comes to all your tax files.” I hope that bringing up finances will steer the conversation somewhere else, but no dice.

“Been a long time since we’ve seen you go after the same woman for this long,” says Ed Hastings.

“Well, you’ve got me there, Ed,” I say, tossing down a pair of tens and moving to scrape the pile of chips into my lap.

My brother makes a victorious noise and grabs my shoulder. “Not so fast,” he says, and flashes a trio of nines plus a pair of sixes and suddenly I’m not entirely sure which card game we’re playing, but Hunter grabs all the chips.

I try to steer conversation his way, mentioning how he’ll need that cash in the coming months, but nobody’s biting. Asa tosses down his hand and, gnawing on the end of an unlit cigar, asks me if I plan to bring Opal over for dinner at my parents’ house.

I recoil in horror at the thought. “Hell,” I tell him. “She won’t even let me take her out for coffee. You think I’m going to convince her to come hang out with Ma? Hey, speaking of, Hunter, what’s the dress code for your party thing?”

Finally, I’ve shifted their attention as they debate what “dressy casual” means, or more important, what we think Abigail thinks it means. And then it’s back to bullshit and counting cards, with the Acorns taking our money, my brother not calming down one bit, and Asa making me want to vomit when he tells me he has to cut out early to “service his bride.”

The straight men around the table all grin empathetically as we fold up the chairs and call it a night. I try not to think about my sister and Asa together that way, although the image of her angry and waiting on him longer than necessary frightens me a little bit.

I also can’t get my mind off Opal after the Acorns brought her up earlier. It’s been too long since I heard from her. Too long since I felt the sated heat of her breath on my shoulder while she shudders in my arms. I know she keeps saying it’s just sex, but damn it. It’s sex I want to keep having. Everything is sogoodwith Opal.

As we walk back out to the car, I say, “I’ll tell you what, Hunter—I haven’t moved all day. Why don’t you go drop Asa off and I’ll just walk home. It’s a nice night for it.”

The summer humidity hasn’t set in and, especially if I walk along the creek, the cool air feels refreshing. We all lean into a handshake-back slap type quasi-hug and I head off in the opposite direction of my house. Nobody comments, and I walk toward Opal’s place, whistling along the wooded path.

As I get closer to her house, I see that all the lights are off, and I feel disappointment settle into my chest. I wasn’t just looking forward to screwing around with Opal, although that’s always amazing. I like spending time with her. I like when she teases me and falls asleep in my bed despite her best efforts to leave. I have no idea how to get through the walls she’s built up around herself, but as I inhale the roses planted outside and recognize the scent from her wavy hair, I decide that I’m determined to try to chip away at her defenses.

I pull out my phone to shoot her a text, deciding that’s less intrusive than tapping on her door in the dead of night.You accepting company at this late hour?

No answer. The status stays at “delivered” and doesn’t switch over to “read.” I frown.I thought you were always up…anyway I’m outside if you change your mind.

I wait another few minutes before I give up, walking home to a fridge full of my sister’s beer and my own disappointment.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Opal

THE PAST FEW months have been my most interesting. The first time in my life where I enjoy a dependable, predictable schedule. I go to morning meetings at the college, learning about the algorithm Andrew Moorely is building for our data-collection app to predict and warn us about poor outcomes for our patients.

When I’m on duty, I catch babies or interview postpartum parents.

At night, when I’m off duty, I work hard to figure out if Archer Crawford has any limits when it comes to sex.

So far it would seem he does not.

He’s always in the same mood: happy to see me, eager to please. It doesn’t seem to matter what I suggest, he’s game for it, whether that means a blow job in his desk chair or bending me over my couch until Oscar claws at Archer’s face for getting too close to the cat sofa.

There’s something so freeing about this one thing in my life where nobody has expectations of me. This thing I do that’s just for me and my own pleasure. I guess Archer gets some sort of joy from it, but to be honest I never ask him.

Ordinarily, an episode like that with my father would have me checking the gas lines at my house, changing the batteries in the carbon monoxide reader daily. Making emergency plans and backup plans for my backup safety plans.

Instead, I’m screwing my brains out, letting myself get lost in the moment. Never in my life have I found anything apart from midwifery that lets me still my mind, silence the constant stream of worried thoughts. When a client is in labor, a switch flips inside me. I am just there, present. Ready to act.

I’ve had some close calls. I’ve been in the helicopter with a rural patient when we’ve coaxed a breech baby earthside en route to the best NICU around.

And I pay for those hours of blissful focus with hard days of frantic worry, of crippling anxiety that makes my shoulders ache and my insides swirl. But lately, with Archer, I’ve been somehow able to channel all my adrenaline into rough, rowdy sex.

Sex with no complications. With no discussions or expectations. Just bodies, sliding against each other, releasing all those pleasure chemicals. And then I fall asleep alone in my own bed.

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