Damn. Damn crap help damn damn damn. She stood staring at her reflection in the unforgivingly well-lit mirror, at a loss even for a story to tell herself.
Joe. Joe was fine—he was greeting Dr. Halcort even before Gabe had picked up Penny. He was fine.
Thing was, she resented him for forcing the same conversation on the way to the party: Why not bring him back to Atlanta for Christmas with her family? He was happy to meet the entire clan. It would not be overwhelming to him. Reason after rationale after argument why it made sense from his point of view, up to and repeatedly including the fact she’d spent Thanksgiving with him and his kids. But in essence it was the same as any other meal the five of them shared over the past months, once he introduced them to her. It wasn't even at his house—they’d gone out to early dinner, they'd watched football, they eaten pie and candied popcorn in front of a movie on his couch. Sure, they were dressed up, and it was a Thursday, and she'd gone online afterwards to order some presents for her neighbors. But it wasn’t like bringing Joe to her brother’s house. Ben had offered to put them both up. He’d suggested meeting Joe via video chat.
It was too much. The good of Joe was they were both busy; he even more than she, on the days he had custody. They had fun when they got together and then they were apart, and it was all easy. Nothing to stress about. And then the holidays happened, and Thanksgiving, well, that was just a Thursday. Wendy's party, odds were he’d have been invited regardless, after months of sharing come-and-go meals in the hospital cafeteria with their mutual friends. It was more like the college dining hall than any place else; people pulled up a chair at whichever table had a couple of familiar faces, and after a time those faces got connected with personalities and shared experiences and it was natural to offer the other half of your banana nut muffin to them because you knew they liked it, but never bought one for themselves.
Sharing muffins—and sometimes fancy meals out, or takeout in bed—didn’t mean she wanted to parade him in front of her family. Even the littlest Lee was in a relationship now, and that was fine. They were happy, and not as smug as they could be, and more power to love the whole world over. But sitting all paired up with Joe just to balance out the couples was ridiculous. They weren’t in love. They were never going to be in love.
Shit.
She was pale and her face was freaked and she could not keep hiding in this bathroom of sin and mutual masturbation. Re-locking the door, thanking whatever mischievous elf kept other party-goers from knocking, she set about the most determined fixing of her appearance in her life. She was always being scolded for being too superficial about appearances, about her own, about judging others. About sending cute clothes to the nieces, and taking them for mani-pedis and treating them like the girly girls she knew they sometimes wanted to be.
And she got it, she wasn’t an idiot. Societal expectations and objectification and photoshopping and the holding up of a ideal that reframed beauty as a white-centric narrative. All of that, and also this: she never showed up with her hair just combed out. The guest bathroom had no hairspray, no flatiron, no sculpting gel. She’d hoisted herself by her own facade, and using the old hairbrush she’d dug out of the vanity cabinet wasn’t making her feel any more competent or presentable. At least she had her bag with her, and could add color to her cheeks and lips.
Joe would be wondering where she was. He was a smart man. Smart, and kind, and a good dad. All great reasons to date him. All good reasons to respect him enough to keep her berry-red lips off Gabe. They’d never discussed exclusivity, but it was taken for granted, especially once he’d let her meet the kids. Even more so once he started lobbying to meet her family.
They’d never discussed love. But he was generous, and kind, and might have mentioned it, if she’d given him an opening once in a while, instead of a steady stream of the torn apart smaller halves of her muffins.
Time to go find him. She hoped he was outside, insulated from the sight of her furtive emergence from the hallway. She could cull him from the crowd, maybe find privacy somewhere other than in the recesses beside Gabe’s house. She hoped he wouldn’t be able to read the guilt on her face. It wasn’t right; she’d done a crap, unforgivable thing, and she’d been in and out of too many relationships to be unaware of the line looming over her as she and Gabe just stood there talking about the baby’s outfit.
Breaking it off with Joe was overdue. The increasing pressure of his Christmas planning made that clear enough to both of them. And he was loving, and kind. But what he wanted was not what she wanted, and if she’d said that to him even an hour before, he would likely have kissed her cheek and offered to return the gifts she’s left under his tree for his kids. Instead she’d done this crap, unforgivable thing, and she wasn’t going to tell him about it—another crap, unforgivable thing—because the breakup was between the two of them, and had nothing to do with Gabe.
Gabe. Who was on the patio. Who turned those beautiful shoulders away. Protecting them both from colliding gazes. The shirt was so paint-strewn and ridiculous on the front, but the reverse stretched almost pristine white across the expanse of his back. She would tease him about rolling around in paint to even it out. If she spoke to him again. He would prefer if she never teased him again, she suspected. He was sensitive about so much. Better to stay away. Even if she didn’t have to find Joe before anything else.
In the end, they found each other. He’d put his coat on, and was holding hers, and she was searching back through the kitchen in case he was stuck in there. They went out to the porch, and she stopped. A step later, so did he. The pea coat looked quite dapper on him, with his hands sunk into the deep pockets and the broad lapel resting snug and solid against his collar. She’d miss him, and the thought lowered her self-esteem even further. She crossed her arms against an interior chill that echoed the one in the frosty air.
She didn’t tell him about Gabe. He didn’t seem surprised she was ending it, but he didn’t kiss her cheek. He offered to walk her home and when she said she’d stay a bit longer at the party, his eyes narrowed and he looked off down the dark street. Her tongue tripped over every word of explanation she bit back. She gave herself credit for shutting up and letting him think as badly of her as he needed—as she deserved—which sunk her opinion of herself even lower.
“Merry Christmas, Chloe,” he said. She used his kindness to dig her personal hole a little deeper.
As he walked off, islands of streetlight keeping him flickering in and out of view, she sat on the stoop and listened to the crowd in Wendy and Mac’s. Joe maybe thought she was heading back in, maybe thought she and Gabe would cross back over the line of propriety. But she wasn’t. She could hear his laughter above the crowd, smell the combined scents that meant festivity to her now: his gumbo and the evergreen garland surrounding Wendy's door.
She slipped onto a porch rocker, sitting so long that the iciness of the wood warmed beneath her, as the music and chatter went on out of her view. A few people came and went, but without particularly noticing her. She didn’t say a word to any of them. No one sought her out. And if Gabe wondered if she’d left with Joe, okay. That was okay. He saw her arrive with Joe, before dirty talking, before dry humping, before engaging in the fierce farce of sex, all sight and no touch.
It wasn’t the first time she’d masturbated to the idea of Gabriel Babineaux, even during the active, heady phase of her relationship with Joe. But she wasn’t fool enough, even in her more charitable moments, to claim the bathroom incident was on that same scale. Nor would he think so himself.
The musicians hauled equipment down the driveway and began loading up their van. Mac and his friend Manny followed the new drummer, offering to help in that half-hearted way that sounded to her like they’d planned to be a half-minute too late for heavy lifting. Slamming doors and jokes and handshakes and backslaps, then a genial, “Hold up there,” and footsteps crunching on the oyster-shell drive.
Gabe passed a coiled cord through the van window, precipitating an accusing cry and a burst of jeers from within the vehicle. He said something low and a hand emerged to shake his, then he took a step back and tapped the side panel twice. It pulled out, the headlights sweeping the bare lawn, the walkway. The porch. Her perch.
She watched the red taillights recede, unwilling to match the sight of his approach to the creak of his steps across the porch’s floorboards. He hissed as his ass hit the other rocker, and she smiled to herself. Not even a sweatshirt to buffer him from the cold wood, but he didn’t leap up to head in to the warm house.
She had to turn her head. It wasn’t reasonable to inflict a crick in her neck, just to avoid him. And all this unflinching honesty she was forcing on herself compelled her to admit that if she’d wanted to avoid him, she would be back in her own house by now.
“Where y’at?”
She sighed. “Fine? I suppose. You?”
The Christmas lights on the porch rail didn’t do a thing to illuminate his expression. His voice was rueful. “Yep.”
The frosty air and her stinging eyes were a bad combination. “I’m going to head home soon. I just needed to sit a while.”
He nodded. His shadow spread dark and tall across the light from the window, rocking gentle and slow.
“Joe’s gone.” She winced. Why was her voice so loud, so rushed?
Why didn’t he reply?
The thing was, he wasn’t the one who’d brought a date to the party. Fine, they both wanted each other. Fine, they’d gone into that bathroom aware of the dynamics. Fine, he’d initiated as much as she had.
But he’d asked if she was serious about Joe, and instead of answering, instead of walking away, she’d locked the door. She’d used her desire for Gabe to clarify the need to end things. It was cowardly, and dishonorable, and unfair to both men. Unfair to herself, if she wanted to be pouty about it, because how could Gabe go and fill the emptiness she was feeling now, knowing what she’d done? Knowing how she was prone to behave? Not knowing if she would follow every attractive man into the nearest closed room so she could watch him get hard and harder as she bared her flesh to him. Watch his arousal and memorize the speed and force and intensity of his hand as if she’d get a chance to wrap her own around his erection some day.
She stood. The chair squeaked in protest, rocking back and forth in a mocking way that just made her angrier. Emptier, and angrier.
“Hey, where you heading?”
She wrapped her arms across her waist. “You’re cold. You should go inside.”
“I’m not so chilled as all that,” he said, and damn him for sounding so calm and a little amused. She was not in the mood for him to be amused.
“Well, good for you. I’m heading home. Good night.”
He cut her off at the stoop. “Chloe. You going to insult me like that? Come to this party and not even taste my gumbo? I made boudin balls, too. Near about wore my fingers raw chopping and deveining and stirring, all so you’d enjoy a bite or two.”
Ridiculous. He was entirely too cheerful. Had been with the band members, had been with the chatter in the yard, had been when kissing her breasts all quiet and reverent and happy. There was no reason to be cheerful. “I’m not very hungry, I guess.”
“You’re not?”
She folded her arms tighter. Shook her head.
“Wendy said you love my gumbo. It was all I thought about while mixing up my roux this year.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Wendy is a gossip.”
“Well, you’ve known her five or six years now, cher. No call to get thorny about it all of a sudden.”
“And she’s the one who’s devoted to your gumbo. The year you weren’t here because of your dad, she wouldn’t even try the catered one.”
“Course not. She knew it wouldn’t hold a candle.” He grinned. “And she knew I had a batch in my freezer she could get at once everyone left.”
The man made it impossible to gauge how much worse he now thought of her.
She was at a loss. “How are your folks and them? Your brother?” Ridiculous questions.
“Good. Going out to see them in a few days. How about you? Headed home for Christmas?”
“Like always.”
Head tilting had no business coming across so sexy. It widened the gulf inside her. “Why is that?”
“Why is what?” She ought to find a way to sound less cracked open.
“Why is it you always go up there? Wendy never mentions family visiting you down here. Just that one party when Mac took pictures. Doesn’t your family know the universal rule: everyone comes to visit the person who lives in New Orleans?”
Making her comfortable, then salting her raw nerves. A dirty trick, but at least she could gauge his scorn now. “They all have families. It’s easiest for me to go to them.” She’d said it over and again, stretching back to when she’s first left Atlanta for her residency at LSU. That feeling of being cut off from them all was what lead her to head back to Georgia for her fellowship. That, and the fact the job was there. It suited her, being close to Ben and everyone, but Hurricane Katrina was a gut-punch to a place she loved, and when Wendy gave her the chance to return as a neonatal specialist and help keep Pediatrics a strong department for the residents of the city, she gave notice before even mentioning it to her family.
They’d made jokes about her choosing good times over her family, never mind that not everyone lived within an hour’s drive of Mom and Dad to start with, and never mind that after the hurricane, New Orleans had to strive again and again and again before regained its association with beads and bourbon. The good times were just as much a facade as they had ever been, but the cracks were more visible now. She was proud to be on Wendy’s team, proud of their success. Sometimes she said as much to her family, and they nodded along like they agreed. Or like they were humoring her. But Gabe was right: they didn’t make a point of visiting.
He didn’t look as if he was relishing how he’d pointed out her place in the pecking order. He sounded honest when he said, “You can skip out on them and tag along with me. Just an hour’s drive each way, no airport security.”
He meant to make her laugh, she thought. Show a man your tits and he acts nice for a couple of hours, no matter how the situation came about. “Well, that’s kind of you, Gabriel, but it still means me packing up a suitcase and walking away from my little place.”
“I’m serious here.” He looped his fingers through hers, tugged a little to get her to unbend. His hands were cool and rough. “If you don’t want to come out for Christmas, you’re welcome any other time you like. New Year’s. MLK Day. The spring equinox. You name it, Chloe.”
“What is wrong with you?”
He squeezed, and damn if her hand wasn’t aligning with his, palm to palm. “What’s wrong with you? Why so quick to dismiss me? Why so sure I’m offering out of thin blue air?”
“You had too many beers. It’s endorphins and alcohol. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m on call this weekend.”
“You’re on call every year for this party. I noticed that, how you volunteer in place of Wendy.”
“Well, she and Mac put a lot of work into this holiday extravaganza of theirs.”
“Yep.”
“And so do you.”
“They could do nothing without me. I am essential to the process.”
He was making her smile feel real. He would regret all this once he slept on it.
She stepped back. He followed, fingers like corrosive magnets to the steel of her resolve. “No gumbo, then?”
“I’m going home.”
“Are you taking me with you?”
That stopped her. Stopped her breath, stopped her heart, stopped everything except the oozing certainty of her ignobility. “I don’t understand what’s happening. What’s wrong with you? You can’t see how I messed up tonight?”
“How’d you mess up, Chloe?”
She flung a hand toward the house. He caught it on its return trajectory. “You were there, Gabe.”
He moved closer. “Something I have no intention of forgetting.”
“I was with Joe.” Her words faltered and broke, but he was near enough to pick them up.
“That’s okay. You were with me first.”
She jerked, but his arms had banded around her. Turned out her was the one with a metallic core, and she the attracted magnet. Her voice faltered. “That was two years ago.”
“I remember.” His tone caressed each second of that memory.
“Well?”
His lips against her ear. “Well, what?”
She shivered, and he rubbed her arms like he wasn’t the one in shirtsleeves. “You make no sense.”
He kissed her neck.
“It’s obvious I need to be away from you.” The wavering pissed her off, so she added, “And Joe.”
“Mmm. Got to say I agree with you about that last point.”
“He’s very kind.”
“Good for Joe.”
The man was infuriating. “So, what? You just want to come to my house? And have sex? And—” She was searching for things to say that would let him know how big a fool he was. “And fuck me and trust I won’t cheat on you like I just did with him? All because we had a nice time seven hundred and thirty days ago?”
“Mm-hmm. And I like that you’ve been counting the days, darling. Though by rights you ought to tally the number of nights, instead.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Okay.”
“And I wasn’t counting. I just did a little basic math. Anyone with half a brain could have done the same.”
His next kiss was to her lips, and it was hard. And over too soon. “Now, see, the thing you don’t know, darling, is I stopped letting your barbs strike home for me. I don’t deny that I can be a patch of prickles my own self, in particular when it comes to my work, but I’ve got no reason to trust your judgment about that.”
Only fair for her to wrap her coat-clad arms around him, to keep him warm. Since he insisted on having this conversation outdoors in December. A trumpet rang out as “Christmas in New Orleans” drifted from the back of the house. “I’m no good as an art critic?”
“You have no scope, sweet darling. You can’t begin to see what I see, or know why I do what I do. Don’t go fighting me about it. I already told you I’m not letting your opinions hit home anymore. No less your little comments about math, or my manners, or my shirt, or anything else, so there’s absolutely no need to go trying any of that.”
She deflated. She kissed him. It still left her empty. “So now you want me to leave without any gumbo?”
He smiled and his voice was pure crème brûlée. “After I left you all rosy and disheveled in the bathroom, I packed a container of gumbo for us. You want me to fetch it now before we leave, or will we come back for it tomorrow?”
Really, he may as well wear her coat, if his words set her shivering this much anyway. “As long as Wendy keeps her greedy hands off it, I guess you’d better pass by my place now.”
“That’s my woman.”
“I’ll make you see reason once we get there.”
“You can sure try it, darling.” He went and smacked her ass. Lightly, sure, but the nerve. Every damn touch reinforced how she wanted him to fill her up. With his self, with his smile, with his nonsense and charm.
She gave up. He was impossible, and she was stuck with him. “Let’s go.”