Page 38 of Flying

Rippingthe sheets off the mattress, the toys flop over to the side. Grabbing my rolling suitcase I drop the laundry in before tossing thesheets in too. I block the door with the suitcase so I can’t forget this task now. Next, I take the slew of toys off the floor and into the bathroom. By dropping them on the in-shower shelf it’ll be a reminder to clean them and put them away before he arrives.

I’m always behind on these kinds of tasks because once it gets dropped in the middle, I go move on to something else and forget. I pop over to the kitchenette to toss anything that cannot be salvaged into the trash. As much as I value my semi-permanent lifestyle and using only what I need, I’m also terrible without good motivators. It feels like I’m always rushing. At least this one is on the ADHD lists I’ve started to review, it’s anexecutive dysfunction: task initiation, time blindness. All these terms are just fancy ways of sayingit was never about being lazy.

First step is to throw out stuff that has too much mold to salvage. Flicking the faucet handle to the hottest setting I wait for the stream to get closer to scalding. I rinse out what can be saved before tossing it into the mini-countertop dishwasher, silently thanking the previous tenant for leaving it behind.

Suitcase in hand, I walk to the laundry room.It’s not locked, thank goodness!

I sit watching the machines swirl soapy water while listening to the audiobook from Nessa’s latest pick for her book club. It’s fun and a little spicy so time passes easily. I’m able to power through multiple loads because nobody else does laundry alone on Christmas Day, making finishing up and hauling it back upstairs not too challenging.

Unpacking the now-clean clothes I hear the husky male narration hit a micro-trope I find hilariously gendered. The men tell their friend before his big date with the female protagonist to rub one out and avoid being tense.It’s always the men who suggest it, do it, make cracks about being a ‘two-pump-chump’ or unable to focus. As if we don’t also get too excited before… someone like your childhood male best friend is going to be sharing a full sized bed with us.I release an audible groan in frustration, these are the last thoughts I should be having.

Dropping the fresh hand towels over the bathroom rack puts my toys in my line of sight. With that visual cue my brain reminds me:object permanence: forgetting things that aren’t in your face. Another executive function. Right. I’m supposed to clean and store them.

Better not forget this task, it’s too important. Too much potential for embarrassment. I swap over audio to my bluetooth speaker and figure I’ll wash them and myself at the same time, might as well get everything clean in one shot. This will not be the shower though: no shaving, nothing that cues myself that I could impulse jump him.That will work, right?Lathering up with a silicone-safe antibacterial product wash, for sanitary purposes, I scrub each device and thoroughly rinse them.

The whole day has my pulse going a million miles per hour. With the narration taking a turn further into the spicy parts of their physical intimacy, that pulse has started to settle lower in my belly.You know what, maybe his friend's advice isn’t a sexist trope I’m excluded from. It’s certainly not a bad call knowing River will be in my bed tomorrow night.

I sit a bit awkwardly against the shower floor, choose the water safe wand toy, and power it on. Water droplets sluicing downward warm my body and add prickles of sensation I can’t anticipate in my own head. One thing I’ve learned since the mechanical sex life I had early on with Grant was that my brain and body crave variety. Sex was originally like cheat code orgasm video games: click A-B-X-B-X and finish. Once I had that first anonymous hook up in the fraternity bedroom, I knew it could be different. Something fun, something unexpected each time. With the audiobook narration behind me, I force myself to focus on what I hear and feel. To settle into my body and ignore my brain's non-stop commentary. Simply allow the tension to swell within me.

Except, my brain refuses to cooperate. One fleeting thought of Grant and… ugh.No. No thinking about Grant! Focus, Lily. Focus on the gravely nature of the narrator’s deep voice. He’s in the shower too, he’s got his palm against cold tiles, do you feel the cold on your back, Lil?

Okay, I’m almost present again… I swear, does anyone else have to redirect their brains to stay focused on something as good as this? Maybe I should ask Dorothea next… no… shower, cold tiles… okay, his broad chest with a small patch of curly dark hair. Soft and smooth. Like when I accidentally touched River in bed. River’s emotion laden eyes looking right into mine. The way he ran his hands over my hair and consoled me. Oh shit!

“Fuck,” I moan, knowing going with it is my best bet right now. It’s only a flight of fantasy, it's not real. My nipples get even tighter,and the drops of shower spray continue to tease them softly like wet kisses. My body is tingling and my breath hitches.

My mind drifts back to laying in River’s strong arms. The soft bit of hair below his belly button leading down towards his boxer briefs… and lower. I start to imagine what peeling him out of his boxer briefs would be like, when that big cresting wave hits me.

Relief and relaxation course throughout my body and I slam my head back against the wall with a chuckle. Either I just got it out of my system, or this is going to be an interesting few days.

twenty-seven

Lily

December 26th

I circlethe arrivals lots at Denver International Airport, again, checking for River in the distance. My phone vibrates and I glance at the text:

River:

Arrivals is a zoo, can you meet me at departures?

Lily:

You got it!

Flicking on the turn signal,I merge back into the flow of traffic towards departures. Towards River. I’m too nervous. From a distance, I recognize him immediately. He’s in a gray knit hat pulled low on his forehead, a deep blue wool peacoat, jeans peeking out from below the hemline, and a pair of weather-proof work boots. He’s completely handsome without trying. A brown leather duffle sits at his feet and I notice a matching backpack slung over one shoulder.

I signal right and pull over to the curb. Once the car’s in park, I go around back to open the trunk and greet him. I move like a magnet towards him as he moves towards me.

I’m immediately engulfed in a firm hug—the kind that knocks me off my balance and has my feet in the air. Despite the cold air surrounding us, I’m convinced that I’m wearing a ski suit on the equator at noon. My face must be turning all kinds of pink hues but I hope he’ll think it's cold chapping my face. I look up and find him staring down at me.

Back on my feet and meeting each other's gaze tentatively, there is an uncoordinated series of events. First he leans in to kiss my cheek as I turn to talk. He misses my face and lands on the side of my mouth. The near-kiss shocks us apart, and we use the cold as an excuse to get in the car quickly.

There are seatbelt buckling sounds and apologies muttered. I really hope this is not a sign of the week ahead of me. I will absolutely die of sexual frustration and embarrassment all rolled into one. As we exit the airport and pull onto I-70, I pass him the auxiliary cord, “Hey, DJ, surprise me.”

We make the trip singing along to everything from boy bands to classics to Disney. The awkwardness dissipates and leaves two old friends relaxed and playful. Which is why I audibly gasp, a memory locked away deep in the back of my memories pulled out by the drum beat emanating from the speakers.

“Is this—” I start to question before he interrupts.

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