Chocolate sauce drips from the strawberry and onto Melanie's bare thigh as she lounges on the bed, mouth open wide. I tease her with the fruit at first, and she growls and laughs, before moving closer and snatching a bite before I can withdraw it again. I chuckle, and she pulls me into a sweet, strawberry kiss. When it's over, I too have some of her strawberry in my mouth.
"There's chocolate sauce all over your sheets," she laughs, gesturing to the little brown specks and smudges that pattern the white fabric.
"Yeah, I probably should have changed them before we started."
"I'm loving this, by the way. Strawberries in bed, a sexy, naked woman in my arms. What a great welcome home gift," she says, letting out a contented sigh.
"I wanted to do something nice for you, to show you how much I missed you."
She pulls me close again, positions me so that I'm straddling her, and we kiss.
"Did you just say you missed me?"
"Maybe," I say.
"You know, I'm just not that convinced. I mean, we've been naked for over an hour and you still haven't put out."
I laugh as she trails kisses along my neck. This way of speaking, like a frat boy, is all an act. She'll apologize later once we're done, because she doesn't want me to think she's objectifying me. She's so sensitive and considerate. Sometimes I feel as though I'm trying to warp her into something she isn't, just to quench my own thirst for the wild.
Her kisses gradually make their way down my chest. She captures a nipple between her lips, and I throw my head back while she suckles and then moves on to the next one.
She practically throws me down on the bed after she's done with my nipples, and I let out a yelp of laughter, which she stifles by pressing her lips to mine.
"I missed you, too," she breathes, peering down lovingly at me. When she looks at me like that, the hairs on my body rise. What should make any woman weak at the knees, makes my blood run cold. All I can think about is Nikki on top of me, looking at me and telling me she loves me. It doesn't matter who's actually there, who's about to make me climax.
I want to close my eyes, erase that picture for good, and enjoy this wonderful, beautiful woman for who she is. But closing them would be rude.
I force a smile, and thankfully it's over. She progresses to the next part of her task, spreading my legs and devouring my sex like a starved animal. I writhe and moan, clutching at my pillow, digging my nails into it. I have to keep my voice down so as not to wake Emily.
Melanie is in her element when she's between my thighs. Lashing and lapping me up, her tongue performing acrobatics. It's as if her skill as a swimmer extends to it. I'm grateful for it. For her. She knows just how to prolong this beautiful torture in order to make the big finale toe-curling, to make it last longer.
I melt in her mouth eventually, and have to slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my cry.
"What's wrong?" she whispers, several minutes later. We're finishing off the bowl of strawberries, and I haven't spoken much since the sex ended.
"Nothing. Why do you ask?"
"You're unusually quiet."
"Am I?"
She laughs, kisses me on the cheek. "Yes, you are. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing, really. I'm just thinking about which detergent I'm going to use to get the chocolate out of these sheets."
That causes her to laugh even harder. "That's what you're thinking about? You're an odd woman, has anyone ever told you that? Beautiful, sexy, but odd. In a good way, of course."
"How can anyone be odd in a good way?" I chuckle while she plants kisses on my neck. They tickle.
"You can. I love your little oddities."
Her use of that word – that horrible word that has lost all meaning since Nikki ruined it for me – unnerves me. Even though she's not using it in that way, I don't like her using it at all.
I sit up, put a little distance between us. It's this action that betrays my earlier assertion that I'm okay.
"Did something happen while I was away?" she inquires, looking puzzled, worried.
"Nothing of importance," I say without looking at her.
"So something did happen?" She sits up too. "Tell me."
"It's not important." I go to get up, but she grabs my arm.
"Faye, you're starting to worry me."
I had planned on telling her anyway, but now that she's here, it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. But why?
After a deep breath, her eyes piercing as she waits for me to speak, I say, "I found something out last week."
"What?"
I give a little laugh, a farce to appear apathetic. "So it turns out that my ex-wife regrets everything, and finally realizes what a fool she's been..."
It comes as no surprise to me that Melanie doesn't see the funny side. Her lips are pursed, her expression sombre.
"She told you that?"
"Not outright. I stopped her before she got that far. I didn't want to hear it."
She considers me skeptically, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure about that?"
"About what? That I don't want to hear her tell me she made a mistake? That she wants a second chance? Of course I'm sure."
I don't like how silent she's become. And I especially don't appreciate the look she's giving me. She's not convinced.
"Say something," I say, when I can't take it anymore.
"Do you still love her?"
"Something other than that!" I say, frustrated.
"It's a valid question, Faye. I just want to know where I stand."
"She cheated on me, then married her mistress in our wedding venue," I shriek.
"You didn't answer my question," she says levelly.
"Didn't I? I just listed two extremely compelling reasons why your question is absurd."
"Absurd, perhaps. But love doesn't give a crap about that."
Whether it's the revelation or my reticence to give her a straight answer that has angered her, I can't say. But I don't want us fighting about any of it; fighting about Nikki.
"Melanie, listen to me," I say, taking her hand. "Nikki and I are over. She can't come back, no matter how much she wants to. Too much has happened."
"Faye, you–"
I press a finger to her lips to cut her off. "I like what we have. I want this. Please believe me." I kiss her hand, fighting to hold back my tears. "Tell me you believe me."
"I do. I do," she says hurriedly, before wrapping her arms around me. I'm not sure if she means it or if she's saying it to appease me.
She doesn't ask her original question again for the rest of her time here. She knows that, despite my wanting to be with her, I am not ready to answer that question truthfully.
"Happy birthday, Mommy!" Emily bounds into my room the following morning, and leaps onto the bed, a drawing in her hand. Melanie is long gone, having left before dawn. That's the agreement. She doesn't stay over, not while Emily is in the house.
"Thank you, baby," I say, hugging her, still dog-tired.
"Mama. Look, I drew this for you." She hands me the pink piece of paper. Everyone is holding hands, while their childishly drawn smiles come off their faces. It's not the fact that I'm clearly missing my nose that makes me uncomfortable; it's the fact that the second adult in the picture, holding my hand, is clearly Nikki. The short brown bob, the badly drawn pant suit – her signature look.
"It's lovely, honey, thank you," I say anyway, and kiss her on the forehead. "What should we do today?"
I have never made a fuss about my birthday, though Nikki always used to. I purposefully didn't tell Melanie about it. When you hit your late thirties, the fewer people that know it's your birthday, the better. I'll tell her tomorrow, once I survive this day.
Emily shrugs. "Can we go to the zoo?"
I chuckle. "Nothing would please me more," I say. Spending my birthday with my daughter at the zoo sounds like a wonderful idea. I think about inviting Melanie, but decide against it. It's too early for her to meet Emily. Besides, we still haven't progressed past the friends with benefits stage of our relationship.
Once we've had breakfast and gotten dressed, the bell rings. The first thing I see when I open the door is a large bouquet of red roses. There must be at least two dozen of them. They're concealing the carrier's face.
"Happy Birthday." The voice is instantly recognizable. When the bouquet comes down, I see a smiling Nikki standing before me.
The sight of the roses brings back the memory I had up until then suppressed. A nauseous feeling swells deep in my stomach.
Every birthday since meeting Nikki, I've woken to find roses in different parts of the house. A dozen or more, with a little note attached to each one, always starting with "I love you more than...", and followed by whatever random thing she could think of. Some were ridiculous and would make me giggle. The first would be on her pillow, beside me. On the morning of my birthday, no matter what, she would always wake before me and prepare breakfast in bed, before spending the whole day pampering me.
I know her presence here, on this day, with these roses, isn't supposed to upset me. But alas, that's precisely what it does.
"Why are you here?" I ask, my voice quivering slightly.
When she realizes that her little scheme has had the opposite effect – causing me distress as opposed to joy – her grin disappears.
"I just wanted to bring you these, and wish you a happy birthday, like I always do."
"That's not your job anymore."
This seems to agitate her. "Well I haven't missed one of your birthdays since I met you."
I'm agitated now, too. She's never made me feel this way on my birthday. Does she seriously think her being here is okay?
"Are you going to take the roses?" she asks after a little while.
I take them from her reluctantly, and notice that she isn't wearing her wedding ring. I mumble a thank you, and stare at them. "Two dozen. Why so many? A dozen used to suffice."
She shrugs, looking embarrassed. "A dozen just didn't seem like enough."
I want her to leave now, because I know what this is all about. She wants me to remember how we were before the disaster that we became. She believes that reminding me about our customs and conventions, happier times, will make me see past the hurt. It's emotional blackmail.
"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," I say to her.
"I'm just wishing you a happy birthday."
"Okay, you've done that now, so–"
"Mama!" Emily screams, and goes running to Nikki. I was hoping to avoid this scenario. I know it's about to go downhill from here.
Nikki picks her up and pecks her on the cheek.
"We're going to the zoo for Mommy's birthday. Are you coming too?"
"The zoo?" Nikki asks with exaggerated excitement. "I love the zoo."
"Honey, Mama has things to do–"
"Actually I don't. I'm free all day. I would love to go to the zoo with you guys." She's looking at Emily when she speaks, but it's really directed at me.
There's no use telling her that none of this is okay, that I resent her for putting me in such an awkward position. Our last "family outing" ended badly; this one will likely go the same way.
"Fine," I give in with a sigh.
We've always received dubious looks from strangers when we go out as a family. They see us with Emily, see that Emily looks the spitting image of me, and know instantly that Nikki and I are a lesbian couple raising our daughter. As the three of us wander the zoo grounds that day, Emily in the middle, holding our hand, a generous offering of sunshine blasting down on us, the curious gawking of passers-by is no less conspicuous now. To them, we're still that married lesbian couple raising their child. They can't see what lies beneath the surface, that this image of the perfect, unconventional family unit is an illusion.
Emily and Nikki have never been happier. Nikki's a big kid when she's with Emily, and especially in these settings. It's hard to believe this is my birthday and not theirs, because I'm the one who looks miserable. At least, I'm trying my hardest to hold on to the misery I'd felt in coming here. But the truth is, watching them together brings a smile to my face, which I won't let Nikki see. Being here with them warms my heart.
We stop at the giraffe pen.
Nikki joins my side as we watch Emily stick her hand through the mesh fence and feed leaves to a baby giraffe, trembling with trepidation, and squealing with mixed fear and excitement every time it comes close.
Nikki laughs. "Do you remember the last time we brought her here?"
"How could I forget?" I say with a little laugh. "Her first birthday. She cried nonstop."
"Sandra warned us that would happen, but we didn't listen. Now look at her. In her element."
"She still thinks the giraffe will bite her hand," I laugh. Then I call out to her, "Emily, honey, if you keep pulling your hand away he won't be able to eat."
Done with the giraffes, she runs back to us, and takes us by the hand again. She's leading the way on this trip – we're merely followers. I'm sure she's forgotten whose birthday it is.
We stop at the duck pond, where one of the workers hands out slices of bread to anyone who wants to feed them. Nikki and Emily take a slice each. I sit this out on a bench, happy to just observe.
It takes me several minutes to notice that I've been smiling the whole time I've been watching them. I stop myself immediately. I feel myself slipping, getting too comfortable with this false utopia. None of this is real, and no good will ever come of me forgetting that.
Mayhem suddenly ensues when a large swan, apparently not satisfied with the rations Emily is giving him, starts approaching her. She screams and runs. Nikki comes to the rescue, shooing the animal away with her foot, before scooping our tearful daughter up and heading back over to me on the bench.
"Oh, honey," I say, stroking her back as she buries her face in Nikki's shoulder, and holds tightly to her as though afraid that if she peeks out, the swan will be there.
"She's all right. The swan just got a little carried away," Nikki says softly.
"Why don't we go and get some ice cream? Huh? Does that sound good?" I say to Emily.
She nods, still not looking out, gripping onto her mama like she's her savior. This is how it has always been. Mommy the nurturer; Mama the savior. She'll only feel safe in Nikki's arms. Funny, I used to feel that way, too...
We follow the signs for the restaurants. The lines for the ice cream kiosk are long, but there are several staff members taking orders, so the wait isn't too lengthy.
"Can I help you, miss?" the young, freckle-faced boy asks when I reach the counter.
"I'll have a single scoop strawberry, my daughter will have the same, and my wife will have the mint chocolate chip." I haven't consulted Nikki about which flavor she wants, I've just assumed, because that's her usual order. When I look at her to see if she's okay with the choice, she's staring at me, her eyes watery.
"What? Did you want a different flavor?" I ask, confused by her expression. "I can ask him to get a different one."
"You called me your wife..." she says in a dreamy sort of way.
I frown. "No, I didn't. W–why would I do that?" It's as though a mental voice recorder replays my speech verbatim, and to my horror I hear the words: "My wife will have the mint chocolate chip."
I look away quickly, feeling my face burning. "It was an accident. A slip of the tongue."
We don't say anything while we wait, and I'm thankful when the ice creams finally arrive. We wander slowly, eating our sweet, sticky treats. There's tension in the air, the silence between us so heavy it's killing me.
How could I have been so stupid! How could I make a slip up of that magnitude and not notice?
Emily walks ahead of us a little, making a complete and utter mess with the ice cream.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've heard in months," Nikki says finally, without looking at me.
"It was an accident," I say, a sharpness to my tone.
"I know. But I love that you made it."
"It won't happen again."
Now she turns to look at me, though I won't do the same. I can see her just fine through my peripheral vision.
"I wish it would. I wish–"
"Stop!" I say. She's doing it again. Goddammit, she's doing it again. "I don't want to hear any of it. And I don't want to fight with you on my birthday. We've never done it before, so let's not start now."
"Okay. I'm sorry." And once again she's apologizing for almost pouring her heart out to me. Once again I'm forcing her to suppress it. "Thank you for letting me spend the day with you."
I say nothing, just walk ahead to catch up with Emily.
That night, I dream about Nikki. We're still married, she hasn't cheated on me, but I feel some kind of resentment towards her. Dreams are funny like that, where you don't know the reason for your dislike of someone, just that you're justified in it.
We're at home and I can just feel that something's off. When she kisses me, I have reservations. When she smiles at me, I don't trust it. I've dreamed about her many times since we broke up, and it's always the same. It's like my brain hasn't accepted the fact that we're no longer together, yet my subconscious knows something's wrong with the scene.
I don't know what any of it means. And I don't want to think about it.