Eric, Jody Kaye [well read books TXT] 📗

I’ve taken the day off to drive Gin to her checkup at the obstetrician’s office.

“It’s called an IUD,” she explains her options to me in the waiting area. “They last like three or four years. It puts us back on track, closer to the original plan?” Ginny regards me somewhat uncertain, fearful of talking to me about birth control options when her failings were so blatant this spring. “We’d have to decide to have it taken out earlier if we changed our minds.”

“Why hadn’t you considered it sooner?”

“The doctor says they’re more for women who’ve already had a baby. There’s other stuff, too. I mean, besides the pill.”

Which Ginny proved was pretty ineffective if you didn’t take it.

“Is this what you want?” Up until this conversation, sex hasn’t been mentioned in so long I’m half hard. We’ve both been exhausted and wrapped up in the baby, I hadn’t realized sex was missing. 

A nurse calls Gin back to be seen by her doctor. My foot makes a gentle rocking motion, keeping the baby asleep in his carrier while she’s gone.

The other nurses ask how old Corey is and flash coy grins when I respond, “Six weeks.” Dolt that I am, it takes me half the time we’re waiting to recognize they have precisely the same thought in their heads. This guy can’t wait to get laid.

By the time I drop Ginny at Kingsbrier to ask my mother to watch Corey, it’s the exact opposite. I’m wondering how well Viagra works. I wasn’t this nervous when Gin and I lost our virginity together or the first time I snuck her into the house.

With any luck, Momma will think I’m taking Gin on a simple date. It’s bad enough the baby proves we’ve had sex. Fuck. Going out tonight makes our intentions obvious. My mother is going to think I’m a pervert.

I u-turn, heading to town to buy a bouquet before heading back to the apartment. Inside, I search for a glass pitcher and fill it with water, arranging the roses. I hope Ginny doesn’t realize they’re not in a real vase and console myself that at least it’s not a cheap plastic cup. Crumpling the cellophane into a ball, I toss it in the trash only to dig it back out, trying to flatten it. 

It might have been a better idea to present to Ginny the flowers in the neat and tidy way I purchased them from the florist. I’m going about this all wrong. Valentine’s Day is a few weeks off and it seems we’re light years from tonight being anything close to romantic.

I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and double-check there aren’t any stains on my button-down shirt or the plain white T that’s showing under it. I’m wearing something casual, but not so casual I look like a schlep.

My mind races to the ring at Christmas. I’m unready for that. Although, we have a kid, so what am I waiting on?

I sit, stand, and pace the small space. Knocking into the table, and jostling the roses, I right the pitcher as Ginny opens the front door.

“Hi.” She sets her purse down.

“Hey.”

I’m awkward, trying to help her take off her coat, and wind up in the way. It drops to the floor twice before I can get it hung on the peg the right way without the thin jacket falling. She’s got on a skirt and a pretty new shirt she’d gotten after Corey was born and nothing fit.

“Is the baby okay?” Did my mother figure it out?

“He’s fine.” Of course, she knows. “Miss Rose says it’s no problem and she’ll take Corey again if we go out for Valentine’s.” She points to the mix of apricot-colored roses, dahlias, viburnum berries, and orchids. “Flowers?” 

“They’re for you. The baby gets so many presents I figured you’d like something special.”

“That’s lovely and unexpected. Thank you.” My girlfriend presses her sweet lips to mine.

My left hand curls up into her long hair, the other starts out at Gin’s waist, roaming to grab her behind, pulling her to me. The kiss deepens. Ginny clutches my shirt, but pulls away when I start to maul her.

“Eric, you need to slow down.”

I chuckle at my stupidity for pushing too fast since it isn’t doing much for me either. 

It isn’t as if we have to make curfew or we’ve got a limited amount of time together. No one has a set time to be home because this is home. So if making love to Ginny doesn’t happen tonight, what’s the big deal?

I touch Ginny’s dimple, taking the time to look at her. She rarely wears make-up anymore. She’s beautiful without it and the blush pinking her cheeks takes my breath away.

“I’m nervous,” I admit, inhaling.

“It’s only me. What’s could go wrong?” She bites her lip, letting out a tiny huff reminding me we’ve already endured the worst-case scenario.

“I think you’re amazing.”

“You told me that the day before you invited me out for the first time.”

My Adam’s apple bobs reflexively. I can’t believe the details she remembers. For me, Ginny had been the whole package. Telling her she was beautiful didn’t seem to cover brilliant, kind, gentle, or any other word that defined her.

“I felt silly. I was a dumb schoolgirl, trying to act like I hadn’t fallen for a Kingsbrier.” she admits her anxiety.

“I walked away that afternoon kicking myself because I couldn’t get the words out. Took me all night and the whole next day to work up the courage to ask you to go to the Grille with me before the football game.”

“I’m glad you finally did.”

“So am I.”

It hadn’t been anything stupendous, just burgers and fries before my brothers’ first Friday night under the lights of our junior year. We stood in the stands, cheering alongside my sisters, and celebrated the home team’s victory with friends behind the barn.

One and all gradually dissipated, leaving no one but us quints, Ginny, and Drew behind. We kicked dirt over the remains of the fire and stomped it down to smother the embers. Each of us played a part in making it look like the area hadn’t been touched. Later, I drove Ginny home, hoping she’d had a good enough evening to agree to see me again.

When I kissed Ginny for the first time, I knew it was different. I couldn’t fathom not being able to spend every Friday night with her, eating greasy burgers, drinking and dancing under the stars with my arms wrapped around her.

“Want to go to the Grille tonight?” I ask.

She deserves better, but perhaps I can entice the waitress to give us the table we sat at when we started out.

“I’d love to.”