The next couple of weeks were relatively uneventful, in spite of the emotional turmoil from that Friday. Or maybe because of it. We went to Malcolm's game, had dinner with Tony and Carl, we went to work, we met afterwards most nights and I stayed over at his house. I met up with Robbie alone and then with Malcolm ( never with Tony, though that was Robbie's choice as Tony wanted to). And in all of those things it was mostly the same, but there was a new...tenderness...to our interactions. Not that we were all over each other, pawing at each other (neither of us are particularly fond of explicit public displays of affection, the sight of couples writhing together in public inciting nausea instead of desire); rather, we seemed more attuned to each other. Any touching or physical gesture was minimal; a hand on his thigh at the movies, his arm slung over my shoulders at a restaurant, taking my hand as we walked. Small things, I know, but of mountainous significance to me. To
us
.
And the subtle change manifested itself in other ways, as well. As the date for bringing him to meet my family neared, I grew nervous, agitated. I was beyond prickly at work, not short tempered exactly, just obviously tense. I'd
told
my family I was seeing someone, but made it sound far more casual than it was. And I hadn't brought home anyone – let alone someone like Malcolm – since high school. I decided on Friday morning to call and let my folks know I was bringing him with me. I grabbed my cell phone and quickly dialed before losing my nerve. When I told my mother I was bringing him with me, she grew so quiet I thought I'd lost the call.
"Mom? You still there?"
"I'm here. Just thinking, Melly."
"About?"
"I didn't know it had gotten serious."
"Serious?" I scoffed.
"Hasn't it?" she asked. I didn't know how to answer, so I didn't. She grew quiet again, so quiet I was starting to think I might have lost the call again and was about to call out when she finally spoke. "Don't worry, Melly," my mom said with a laugh. "No one is going to sit him down and demand he make an honest woman out of you."
"Not funny, mom," I said with groan.
"Why don't you and...?"
"Malcolm."
"Why don't you and Malcolm come early Saturday? Your father and I would like the opportunity to meet him before Danny and Mary and the kids get here."
"What time are they coming?"
"Around three or so, depending on traffic."
"I'll see if he has anything going on. We may not be able to get there early." I didn't lie, exactly. I mean I knew his schedule inside and out and knew he had nothing after his practice. I just...hedged a bit, giving us an out. Although I think my mom was a genius in suggesting bringing him early like that.
"Well, let us know. And we'll be happy to see you when you do get here."
We talked for a few more minutes and hung up after I promised to let her know for sure. I looked at my phone for a minute, contemplating calling Malcolm when it chirped in my hand, startling me, making me drop it into my lap. I picked it up and looked at the caller ID to see it was Malcolm.
"Hi," I said, smiling.
"I'm coming to get you." No question, no doubt. Just telling me.
"I'm just about to catch the bus," I protested lamely.
"Take the day."
"What? I can't," I protested. (Even as my mind was calculating the amount of time off I would have left and what my workload would be like on Monday. Who was I kidding? Certainly not myself.)
"I'm on my way."
"Are you listening to me? I can't take the day off."
"You can and you will."
"But - "
"You're tense, and you would be worse than ineffectual at the office today." I was quiet at that, surprised that he'd picked up on it so easily, though to my credit I didn't try to deny it. "Take the day."
"Fine." I sounded far more sulky than I was actually feeling.
"I am on my way," he said and clicked off.
I looked at the phone, torn between wanting to throw it at him when he arrived and jumping into his arms and telling him I was falling in love with him. Was. Had. Whatever. Instead I just called Krissie and told her I was taking a personal day because my brother was coming to town. Which was true. For the most part, anyway.
I changed in to a pair of black linen capri pants and a red t-shirt, slipping on some sandals and grabbing a cardigan before heading to the kitchen to wait for Malcolm. I sat at my breakfast bar, drumming my fingers, feeling oddly impatient to see him, and worrying a bit at how completely wrapped up I seemed to be. (To be frank, I think it was my lack of worry at how into him I was that had me worried. If you know what I mean.) I started thinking about the last time he was in my condo, and could feel the smile spreading on my face as the heat spread in my groin. When he finally arrived, I had to pause at the door and take deep breaths, thinking about ice and snow and concentrating on listing the most effective disinfectant bathroom cleansers in order to attempt to appear even somewhat normal.
"Hey," I said, opening the door. I was going to try for nonchalant, but any pretense died as soon as I saw him. He was dressed in tan cargo shorts and a tight black t-shirt. Not rent-boy tight, just snug, perfectly fitted, as if it was woven to him. He hadn't bothered to do more than run his hands through his hair, and I had a startling image of me running my fingers through his hair as I pressed his face to my pussy.
"Pack a bag," he said, stepping in and closing the door behind him.
"Alright." I instantly turned and walked quickly to my bedroom, going to my closet to grab a small suitcase. I leaned out and put it against the wall, turning back to my closet to look over my clothes. I grabbed a sundress, a cream colored, whispy cotton thing with an empire waist and green and blue embroidery on the bodice. I hung it over my arm, scrutinizing my clothes.
"How long am I packing for?" I called out over my shoulder. It wasn't an unusual request, not really, even though I had clothes that had migrated to his house and seemed to have taken up residence there.
"A couple days," Malcolm said from right behind me. I squealed and jumped, turning around to face him. He seemed to...loom... in the doorway of the closet.
"Don't do that," I said, my hand pressed to my chest to try and slow my heart. I was visibly shaking.
"Do what?"
"Sneak up on me like that."
"I didn't." He stepped to me and cupped my face. "Why are you so nervous?" he asked, forcing me to look at him. I just shook my head, unable to decipher his expression. He frowned at me, but didn't push the matter. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen." He caressed my cheeks with his thumbs before dropping his hands and leaving me to pack.
I finished quickly, grabbing a couple more changes of clothes just in case, and heading to the kitchen. Malcolm was sitting at the breakfast bar, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent with his foot resting on the rung. His head was turned and I could study his profile, the small bump on his nose from when he broke it in his 20s, the full softness of his lips, the fringe of his dark lashes. "Are we ready, then?" he asked, not turning to look at me.
"Yes." He slid off the stool and took the case out of my hand, gesturing towards the door with his other hand. He followed me out, and I could feel him watching me closely as I locked my door. I slipped my keys in to my purse and turned to him, smiling up at him even though he looked a bit pensive. "Let's go."
"Let's," he said, taking my hand in his and weaving our fingers together. It was a simple gesture, one probably done by millions of people every day, but the natural way it was done, as if it was instinctual, soothed me. We stayed connected like that, holding hands, as we rode the elevator in silence, and I felt some of the tension I'd been carrying around the last few weeks start to lift by the time we reached the ground floor.
We made our way to his car, Malcolm seating me inside before putting my case in his trunk. He got in and put the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the car up right away. He sat for a moment, hands on the wheel, just looking ahead.
"Malcolm?" I asked, wanting to lay my hand on his thigh but unsure.
"What's been bothering you? You've been jumpy and irritable all week."
"I haven't."
"You have, poppit." He looked at me seriously. "You've been a right bitch at the office."
"Please."
"You have."
"I...it's nothing."
"Alright," he said with a nod, looking forward again and starting his car. He turned to look over his shoulder before pulling away from the curb. He made his way to Aurora and waited to turn left. "Do you think you will ever be able to trust me?" he asked quietly, not looking at me.
"What?" I turned in my seat and shook my head at him. "I trust you. I trust you completely. Jesus, Malcolm, how can you even ask that?"
