Taylor “Taylor!” Jackson summons loudly from upstairs the next evening.I recap my water bottle before attempting the epic struggle that is rising from the sofa post-cesarean. I peek at the sleeping twins before I slowly and painfully ascend the fourteen stairs from the living room to the second floor. Jackson wouldn’t require me to trudge upstairs if it wasn’t important. I pass the bathroom doorway as it is dark inside. The master bedroom door is open, but no lights are on. I notice light entering the hallway from the nursery. I place my hand on the door frame for support.Jackson sits on his knees at the open nursery closet door. I see no spurting blood, signaling a need to yell at me.“What’s so important I had to climb the stairs?” I immediately regret my icy tone.Jackson turns, rising to face me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think. I just found the bag and reacted. Are you okay? Want to sit in the rocker? I should have brought it down to you.”I regret my words even more now seeing t
Two Years LaterTaylor“What time is it?” I ask the room.“Twenty minutes after the last time you asked,” Martha teases.“We have five minutes,” Elizabeth announces to everyone. “Taylor, might I have a moment?” She inquires, escorting me onto the balcony for a modicum of privacy. I thought my nerves had reached a pinnacle; a private chat with Elizabeth escalates them even higher. Gerald and Elizabeth arrived with us three days ago to assist with the preparations and the twins. We shopped, dined, and even swam.What will she discuss now, with less than five minutes until we start?Why didn’t she talk to me before now?“You look beautiful, dear,” Elizabeth says. “For many years now, Gerald and I have thought of you as our daughter. Today, you make that official.” She dabs a tissue to the corner of each eye, not wanting her tears to ruin her makeup. “You brought our son back into our lives, you gave us two precious grandchildren, and today you give us the happiness and future we always d
TaylorMy mind scrambles for words.Ready?Ready for what?Our first kiss was everything I fantasized about this past year and then some.Is he ready to sleep together?I’m not sure I am ready for that tonight.Our kiss proves our electric passion for each other. I stand in front of him, as he’s seated on his bed; I move between his knees.“I’m ready to explore us too, but I want to go slow.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly very dry. “I need to go slow. We have too much on the line to jump into this.”Jackson nods his understanding.To show my desire for him, I place feather-light kisses on his jaw. He places his hands on each side of my face, guiding my lips to his. This kiss is hotter than the first. Our hands explore arms, shoulders, ribs, hips, and chests.I lift my legs to straddle his lap, aligning my pelvis with his. The heat from his cock exquisitely flows to my core. His hands on my hips grind me into him, and I moan. I continue the pressure as he moves his mouth to my jaw, then
TaylorA text alert ping startles me from my candlelight meditation. I reach from the soothing bubbles for my cell phone. Where did I put it? I crane my neck left then right around the entire master bathroom."Crap!"Tiny white bubbles race down my torso as I rise from the tub. I run through the hall to the kitchen. When I hit the tile floor, my feet slip out from under me."Shit!" I shout as my feet fly up, and my head falls down.Slowly, I assess myself.Legs, feet, and ankles? No pain.Arms, wrists, back, and neck? No pain.Butt? Smarts a bit, but not broken.I can just hear it now. The doctor at Urgent Care asking how I fell. Me explaining I was covered in bubbles, running naked through my house to find my cell phone because I received a text.I am such an idiot. I was relaxing in the tub, washing away all my stress. I was enjoying a moment of long-needed self care. Why do I care if I miss a text? Cell phone in hand, I return to the master suite.Deciding to read the text later, I
TaylorI close my eyes tightly as I withdraw my fingers from my folds. My orgasm will have to wait. Opening my eyes, I grasp the phone from the edge of the tub. I check the caller ID. It's Grace. I rise, grab my robe, and let voicemail take her call.Toweled off, I tap play and the loudspeaker on my new voicemail.“Taylor, are you there? Please pick up,” Grace urges then sighs. “I know it is all over now between the two of you, but I want us to get together one last time. I have something for you.”I press end and delete to block out the whiny pleas of my recently ex-mother-in-law-to-be. KC sounds even better now. I won't have to tell anyone, no one will find me there, and that is what I need right now. I quickly pack a carry-on bag with only my make-up, a change of clothes, pajamas, a bikini, a couple of pairs of Converse shoes, flip-flops, and my vibrators. I create a mental list as I pack. Gas, cash, gum, and download a book or two. I grab my favorite white, scoop neck tee, my favor
Taylor“Can I get your name and phone number? They are relentless.”My imagination is working overtime. There’s no way he asked for my numb - My eyes feel as though they might pop from my head. He keeps his eyes on the bar napkin with “The Three Wise Men” written on it, pen in hand. I recite, “Taylor T-A-F-T, 7-0-8-5-5-5-2-5-5-3.” I watch carefully as he transcribes on the napkin.“Now about that drink.” He grabs a glass. “We can’t serve shots, but I can pour you three glasses with a finger each.” His head tilts, and his dark brown eyes search mine for acceptance as he awaits my reply.“One glass is fine. You can serve it separately as three shots or as an all-in-one drink.” I smile, loving the weight of his dark eyes upon my face while he listens attentively. Hmm... Bartenders really are great listeners. “I’d like two fingers each, please.”“Hold up!” He looks left then right. He walks to the back then quickly returns behind the bar, his hands empty.I glance around, trying to under
TaylorDid I just cry with a stranger? Did I, looking at the unfolded bar napkin, accept his cellphone number and promise to see him next week? I haven’t been single for two months yet. This is not me. I don’t take these risks. I do not share private feelings with strangers. I do not meet men in bars. I don’t go to bars. I work. I plan. I scrutinize and calculate all my decisions before making them. I have at least three to-do lists going at any given time. I live to plan and organize everything. Deciding to fly to KC at a moment’s notice is not something I do. Accepting the number of a bartender I just met is even farther from the norm for me. What am I thinking?I find my gate just in time for boarding. The agent scans my first-class ticket, and I secure my carry-on in the overhead compartment before I plop into my spacious seat. I smile at the thought of seeing my friends. Jackson and Kennedy know about my screwed-up mom, my life with Grandma before she passed, my desperation for sc
Taylor“I didn’t change. I grew up,” I argue.“Bullshit!” Jackson states, his brown eyes wild with rage. “He was an abusive, overbearing, insecure ass. You changed everything to prevent his anger.”He’s cursing. That is rare for him, and I’m the reason. He’s fuming to the point of swearing, and it’s all because I didn’t have the balls to drop my loser boyfriend when I graduated college and moved to Chicago. I wish I had known then what I know now. The past two months proved I am capable of living on my own. I let the fear of adulting in a new state and large city get to me. I thought taking John with me would prevent my loneliness. It did not. I now know he made me lonelier than I would have been on my own. I neglected to make new friends, to go out, and to explore the city in order to avoid his wrath. “You couldn’t hide it all from us. We heard everything; we know everything he wouldn’t let you do,” Kennedy states, twirling her index finger nervously through a strand of her blonde h