Usually Kevin turned off his alarm just before it went off. He considered it one of his superpowers. It wasn't so much the booze that had done him in, it was lying awake half the night in a state of confused arousal over what had happened. He got himself off twice, hoping it would drop him into sleep but that old trick worked neither time.
So the alarm went off.
He groaned and silenced it. He had class at eleven, a required math class that he had failed to test out of because it had landed on one of his bad days. He could ace that class in his sleep, and strongly considered doing so.
Instead, he groaned his way out of bed.
The smell of bacon filled the apartment.
"Here you go," Chiara said, when he staggered out of his bedroom. "Perfect for the hangover."
She was wearing a silk-print bathrobe, dark paisley patterns hugging her curves in a way that did not help Kevin's peace of mind in the slightest.
She ushered him to the table by the windows: it was just a two person table, perfect for Kevin and his father. After Maeve had left, they had gotten rid of the dining room set to make more space. Kevin looked at a plate of unidentifiable egg and potato mush, as well as bacon. And toast. And some kind of tomato something.
"I told you I am not a famous chef," Chiara said. "But it is the right ingredients anyway, it will make you feel better."
As she leaned forward while talking to him, Kevin's eyes fastened on the exquisite curves of her hanging breasts; shadowed within the bathrobe. He forced his eyes up.
Her smile told him she knew exactly what he was looking at. Probably exactly what he was feeling.
"Good boy, eat your food now, you will be completely healthy. We are all truly healthy, you know, underneath. We tell ourselves there is something wrong, but there isn't. Not at all. Everything is perfect just the way it is."
"I don't really have a hangover," Kevin said. "I just didn't sleep that well."
"That's what alcohol does," Chiara answered. "Your body metabolizes it into sugar, it keeps you awake, disturbs your sleep, makes you fat. You can drink it if you want, of course, but it will not make you feel better in the end."
She smiled, and turned back to the stove where she had more things happening.
Kevin tracked the way her breasts bounced as she moved; the way her but flexed beneath the silk.
She had overcooked the bacon.
* * * * *
He decided to blow off class, and take a walk with his father.
"You have to tell Maeve. You can't surprise her with this."
"Oh," Rowan said. "I told her a week ago. We called her right after the wedding."
Kevin stopped. "What? Why not me?"
His father led the way into Interlude, a spare little coffee shop with an espress on the pleasant side of bitter and with a perfect crema.
"Perhaps you haven't noticed this, Kevin. But you are very different from your sister. What would you have done if I had called you?"
"Freaked out, tried to talk you out of it, tell you that you're out of your mind, that kind of thing. But Maeve would freak out even more!"
"And then you would have spent a week fretting about everything and turning yourself inside out about it."
Kevin winced. "That's possible."
"But Maeve had her say. She blew up, of course."
"Of course."
"And she then she wished us all the best and made plans to come meet Chiara next weekend. So, I thought I would save you that week of suffering and let you get it all out of your system at once."
Kevin frowned.
They placed their orders, waited for the coffee to come up, and then took seats facing each other across the common table.
Kevin had to admit, his father looked more vibrant than he had in a long time. There was more color to his face, his hair somehow looked more distinguished. There was a happy glitter to his deep blue eyes. What had just looked like age now had a certain ruggedness to it.
"I can't say I'm just over it. I think it's pretty damned strange. Fifteen years and you haven't even been on a date—"
"I've been on a few dates, but you're right. Nothing serious."
"—And now married! To someone you haven't known for more than a few weeks."
"You have made some assumptions in your thinking, Kevin. Can you name them?"
Kevin sighed. "Not now, Dad. So, what, you've known each other longer?"
"That's right. We are professional colleagues. We have never properly met, although it turns out we have been at some of the same conferences together. We got corresponding two years ago. Her paper on the connections between Inanna and Durga, the significance of iconographic migration. It was an important paper, and central to some of my statistical archaeology. We have had a... lively correspondence ever since."
"And you didn't tell me any of this..."
"Kevin, you are uninterested in my professional work, and my private life is private. Or it was. That will necessarily change now. Unless you would prefer to move out?"
"Holy shit, are you telling me to move out?"
His father grinned. "Of course not. I actually like our life as it is. But it's entirely up to you how much you want to be involved."
"So what's she going to do here then?"
"She has had a standing offer from Columbia. It will take some paperwork, and a little political machinations to get her a guest lecturer position for September, but it's likely to work out just fine. She is a renowned scholar in her field, Kevin. Far more so than I am, to be honest."
Kevin shrugged. "Columbia... Ok, so she's not some floozy. You have been pen-pals or whatever for a while. It's just
new to me
. So, you can understand my concern."
"Of course. I would be more worried if you weren't concerned."
Kevin sipped the last of his espresso.
His father said: "Now, the one thing you may notice is that she is somewhat less... private... than you might be accustomed to."
Kevin kept his countenance neutral.
"She and her family had a somewhat different upbringing than ours. For her, the whole Goddess culture thing is not entirely of historical academic interest. It is in fact a living tradition in some parts of the Mediterranean. Be ready for anything!"
Kevin scuffed the ceramic espresso cup across the smooth wood of the table.
"She might be able to give you some guidance around your own romantic life."
"Dad! Please. No."
His father lifted his hands. "What? I know my failings in that department. I was no inspiration to you. You had no good role models at home. You or Maeve. I'm just saying... keep yourself open. She might have some wisdom for you."
Kevin shook his head.
"I'm going to the library. See you tonight."
"It was a good talk, Kevin. Thanks for being honest."
Clenching his jaw, Kevin placed the espresso cup in the bussing tray, and stepped out into the bright late-morning sun.
* * * * *
"You didn't tell me?" he texted to Maeve.
"He told me not to," she answered.
"He's fucking crazy."
"Crazy? Or crazy for her? What's she like?"
Kevin had to think on that one, and put his phone away. He did actually have reading to do for his afternoon history class. He opened the book and scanned his eyes over the same paragraph several times before slipping his phone out again.
"She's different. Took a shower with the door open last night."
"Okaaaay."
"Didn't want to fog the mirror."
"Well, I get that, but..."
"And, I was supposed to be asleep."
"Are you defending her or calling her names? Where u going with this, bro?"
"Just giving you info."
"Well, I'll be down for the weekend."
Kevin wondered what that would be like. Sparks? Firestorm? Or pals all around?
A thrill of anticipation went through him.
* * * * *
Kevin used his noise-cancelling headphones at night to avoid overhearing his father again. Nonetheless, Kevin found himself struggling to control his gaze, and his reactions. Something about Chiara glowed with a sensuality that he simply didn't know how to handle. He found his thoughts drifting in inappropriate directions when she was around.
On Thursday night, Rowan taught his evening class at NYU, and Chiara asked him to order delivery for them both. She invited him to share a favorite.
If he was being honest, his favorite delivery was probably just pizza, but not wanting to be quite so predictable he ordered a small feast from one of their go-to chinese spots.
"Why you don't have a girlfriend?" Chiara asked. "I know you're not gay."
Kevin put his chopsticks down very carefully.
"Did my Dad ask you to talk to me?"
"No! No, he would never. But I have eyes. I see a strong young man, all the energy of youth. Where is that energy going?"
"Studies, I guess."
"That's, you say, bullshit? Yes. I see you on your phone, on your games, whatever. You don't have the passion of school. Believe me, I know what that looks like. My boy! He is like your father that way. It's no shame, may it will spark in you or maybe some other path is for you. But you are not the bookworm, I think. Am I wrong?"
Kevin sighed and leaned back. Her pale tropical-blue eyes seemed to have their own brightness, but there was no judgement in them.
"No, you're not wrong." He surprised even himself with his honesty.
"And you're no athlete."
Again, there was no judgement in her. This was not some kind of comment on his physique. He could tell she was simply carving away the things he was not. He wondered if there would be anything left at the end of this conversation. And yet, he didn't seem to feel threatened.
"That I am not."
"So, an artist? New York City is known for its artists! Not a painter, not a musician. An actor?"
"No, no, no, and no."
"Not a scholar, not an athlete, not an artist. Why not a lover?"
Because I don't know how to talk to women? Because I am shy? Because I am not attractive? Because... of that other thing I really can't talk about?
"I'm keeping any eye out for a job as a bartender. I think I'd like that."
Chiara shook her head. "Drunk girls are not much fun, Kevin."
"No! I just like meeting people, hearing their stories."
Her eyebrows raised. "Maybe a writer then! There's no money in that, but a noble passion. Well, in the meantime, I am going to give you one little idea, a little thing to try, ok?"
Kevin nodded, encouraged by the thought the conversation was almost over.
"Look in my eyes, Kevin."
He did. Pale fibrous green laid over a weave of blue radiant from an even paler center to a deeper ring at the edge.
"Are my eyes pretty, Kevin?"
