Page 52 of Due At The Same Time
Sowhatif I wanted to grab him by any one of his silk ties and sink down on his cock until my ass hit his thighs and then grind on him until he shot cum deep inside me?
It was just a momentary madness. It would go away.
But the next day Ambrose was annoyingly competent and helpful. He had always been an excellent cook and we prepared the meal together with well-ordered precision while Harold watched model train repair on YouTube with Julian.
The turkey was just getting fragrant when the doorbell rang.
Since Ambrose was deep in peeling potatoes, I opened it to see Millicent, wrapped up to her throat in luxurious white furs and glaring at me, her thin lips tightened in disgust.
“You!” she said in tones of unadulterated loathing. “I should have known you with your nasty dirty hippie ways was behind Ambrose choosing to do this ridiculous thing ofraisingthis child instead of dropping him off at the nearest orphanage!”
I felt a fierce, hot defensiveness of my ex rush through me.
“Ambrose chose this on his own!” I hissed. “He would never drop Julian off at an orphanage! And you should beproudof what a good job he’s doing with his brother. He’s changed every diaper. Fixed every baby bottle.”
“Me? Proud? Of amanfixing abottle?” she asked in horror. “That’s a job for the nanny if I ever heard of one. It’s all yourfault, Indi. Before he met you, he would never have done such a thing. Before you introduced all this silly lovey-dovey crap he was focused on the things that would make Mother proud: money and intellectual prowess. I wish you’d never—”
“Wrong!” Ambrose interrupted, striding up behind me in the hall. “Loving Indi was the smartest thing I ever did. Anything she changed in me was for the better. Mother, you need an Attitude Adjustment. You can turn around and take that skunk fur with you and don’t bother calling me again until your Attitude has been Adjusted and you are ready to apologize to Indi and Dad.”
As he slammed the door, Harold popped the window open.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” he squeaked out. “Now that I’m in the habit I plan toreallyget to sowing my wild oats at 75.”
“Sorry,” Ambrose said to me, in an embarrassed tone that was new to him. “I apologize for my toxic family.”
“It’s—fine,” I said in a strangled tone as Harold went to flex in the mirror and Julian napped in his little rocker.
“No, it was wrong of me to not see it before,” he said.
I did not reply, and we finished preparing the Thanksgiving meal.
“Let’s celebrate Astrid being in jail by you giving me another chance,” Ambrose said. “Look at how I can mash these potatoes. I even promise I’ll try to be nice to Finn.”
“Why should I trust you?” I asked, pulling a loaf of crusty homemade bread out of the oven. “What’s the guarantee that you wouldn’t just run around with your dick out the next time you got stressed?”
“Indi, look at my face,” Ambrose said, leaning toward me so that I felt all that coiled-up passion edging me. “Is this the face of a man who is thriving? Are these the under-eye bags of a man happy and satisfied with his choices? You are looking at afucking broken shell of a man. A middle-aged archaeologist full of bitter regret and heartburn every time he thinks about his mistakes. And the fact that the love of my life has been getting pleasured by the world’s most famous Irish bastard.”
“Hmm,” I said non-committally.
After dinner I went on a long walk, ate some pineapple and then drank raspberry leaf tea, all in hopes of going into labor.
But aside from a few Braxton-Hicks contractions. . .nothing.
I was going mad with these hormones! I needed to get this babyout.
For supper the next day, we sat down to a meal of the absolutely spiciest Indian food I could get. Phaal curry, andhra chilli chicken, pork vindaloo, bags full of samosas.
Nothing.
By this time I was 40 weeks and 5 days and my baby girl seemed like she was in no hurry.
At 40 weeks and 6 days, I was sitting on the couch after breakfast wondering what my feet looked like when Ambrose made a suggestion.
“You want to get this baby out, don’t you?” he asked. “Dad just went to town for his morning ice cream cone and Julian is asleep in the other room. Let me help.”
“I’m not having sex with you,” I said, without conviction because inside my body was absolutely craving him.
“Well, what about. . . that other thing?” he asked, resting his arms on the back of the couch. The way his forearms flexed with the movement was extremely unfortunate for my peace of mind. “That isn’tsex. It’s just. . .helping you jumpstart your labor.”
