So where did we go from here?
That was the burning question on my mind, and likely on hers. What would the next move be, and who would make it? Although I wanted to believe the ball was in her court, being the married one, the one with a family, and presumably the only one who was new to same-sex relationships, the responsibility fell on me to okay it.
Whatever it was.
The weekend was more agonizing than it ever had been. Each spare moment I had, I closed myself in my bedroom, brought her number up on my screen, and battled with the urge to hit call. Like a smitten teenager in high school, who had managed to snag the hottest girl in school's number.
I even wrote up a pros and cons list for calling. That was how much thought went into my decision. The cons, however, outweighed the pros, and by Sunday evening I still hadn't made it. The following day would be Monday; whatever we had to say could be said then.
It was just before six in the evening, and we were in the middle of dinner.
"The potatoes needed more salt," Dominic said, tucking into his meal regardless. There wasn't a meal I prepared that he didn't have something negative to say about. The vegetables were too soft, the meat was too well-done, or too rare, or too whatever. If he wasn't complaining he wasn't happy.
I cut him a look. "You know how to ensure someone else doesn't ruin your meal? Make it yourself," I said. I had to be careful with how I spoke to him around Chester. Telling him that he was an ungrateful piece of crap who was lucky I still cooked for him probably wasn't suitable for the sensitive ears of our seven-year-old.
"Don't get so defensive. A little constructive criticism improves us all."
I wanted to slap the grin off his face. My handsome husband who, since making his jerk act a permanent feature in our marriage, had become the ugliest person I'd ever met. It was funny how that happened.
My phone's lively ring jingled from the living room. Usually we didn't take calls at dinner, but Dominic's face was especially irritating to me that evening, and I wasn't hungry. I left the room to answer it, ending the charade of our happy family act.
I froze when I saw the caller I.D.
"Hello," I said, making my way quietly up the stairs. Her merely calling me, post-kiss, put us in dangerous territory. Because now the call meant something entirely different, something far less innocent.
"Hi." She sounded uncertain.
Just hearing her voice set my heart racing. I closed my bedroom door behind me, sat on my bed. "I'm glad you called."
"Are you?"
"Yes. One of us had to. We need to talk," I said, and bit my lower lip.
"Talk, you mean like we did on Friday afternoon?" There was amusement in her voice.
"Well, I did come to talk, but...I guess I seized an opportunity."
"To kiss me?" She laughed. I relaxed.
"Just returning the favor."
"So you haven't run to your priest, prayed for absolution yet?"
I chuckled. "Not yet. I'm thinking maybe I should try it a couple more times before I do that."
"With someone in particular, or would anyone do?" That singsong southern accent now took on a smooth, sultry tone that sent a shiver down my spine. All of a sudden this had become real. A real same-sex attraction. Real flirting. Real arousal.
"I have someone in mind..." I said.
Maybe she heard the uncertainty in my voice – no, not uncertainty, just nerves – because her tone changed.
"Look, the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, Danielle. I know this is a difficult situation."
"It is, but not because of you." I wanted her to know that, despite how inopportune this all seemed, she wasn't to blame. Feelings didn't give a damn about marriages and families and gender. If someone had told me that prior to meeting Ava, I wouldn't have believed a word. Now, I got it.
"But it is. I never should have kissed you. You're married. I don't want to be a home-wrecker."
"There would need to be a home to wreck," I mumbled to myself. "I don't know if you should be throwing words like that out there. We're friends, and we had a moment. A couple of moments. Maybe we should just let the chips fall as and where they may."
"What does that mean?"
What did it mean? "I like talking to you, spending time with you. We should do that. Nothing immoral about that, is there?"
"No, I think that would be nice."
I could just imagine her smile, and wished I could have seen it. I never got tired of seeing it.
"Good. So that's settled."
We spoke like true friends for another fifteen minutes, never bringing up the kiss or anything associated with it. Neither of us dared admit the obvious elephant in the room: that there was nothing moral or innocent about what we wanted to do to each other.
When I pulled my door open, Dominic was waiting outside, pretending that he hadn't just been listening. I wondered how long he'd been out there, and how much he'd heard.
"Is there a problem?" I asked.
"No. Why?"
"What are you doing outside my room?"
"It's my house, Danielle, I can go wherever I want."
I rolled my eyes and stepped past him to go down the stairs. "Grow up."
"Who was so important to talk to that you missed dinner with your family?"
"That's none of your concern."
"You're my wife. Don't you think I have a right to know what you do?"
I laughed, out of shock more than anything else. "Wow, really? This is not the nineteenth century, Dominic. And I'm your wife in name only."
"If you're seeing another man, Dani, I swear to God..."
He glowered at me, more angry than I'd seen him in a long time. His voice was raised too.
I stared at him, mouth agape – all I could do at the obvious double standards. This jerk had been screwing every woman that walked past him, rubbing it in my face to boot, and yet he had the audacity to condemn me for possibly doing it.
I returned to my son in the kitchen, keeping shtum about the fact that I wasn't seeing another man. Another woman, however... And if I had anything to do with it, we would be doing a lot more than simply seeing each other.