One More Fuc

Episode Eleven - One More Fuck

Grab a cold one, y'all. This week is fucking crazy!

Let's go back to *last* Monday. I had a meeting with one of my daughters at the airport after Kate and I had another encounter... this time in her shower.

Step into the Wayback Machine, Mr. Peabody!

So, Zoey is getting married. That's the reason she wants to see me while she's in town.

I don't know if she would have even told me if her trip here didn't make it difficult to not at least say "hello."

Plus, she had a come-to-jesus with her sister, who told Zoey that she *had* to let me know about her plans.

I get to the airport about an hour before my appointment with my daughter.

A woman I used to work with, Maggie, now works for the airport authority. Maggie and I connect at her office so she can walk me through the TSA checkpoint.

When I tell her why I'm here Maggie directs me to a nice little wine bar/bistro that's right on the concourse but tucked into a quiet corner.

We chat for a few minutes but because Maggie's on the clock we don't order any wine. I sit facing the incoming passengers so I can see Zoey as she approaches.

Zoey is right on time. No surprise there. I spot her the minute she turns the corner coming from the security checkpoint.

She has a bag over her shoulder and is rolling a small carry on-sized suitcase behind her. She's looking for something, but not for me. After a few steps she ducks into a doorway in the hall. A bathroom, probably.

That gives me an opportunity to give Maggie a quick hug and promise a catch-up lunch.

"Oh, I would love that," Maggie enthuses. "I've missed the way you could always make me laugh."

"And I've missed hearing that laugh," I reply, and I mean it. Maggie has an incredibly sexy laugh... almost sexy as Kate's. Almost... but not quite.

Another quick hug, accompanied by a cheek to cheek kiss, and Maggie breezes away, heading the direction toward the bathroom that I soon see Zoey exit from, just as Maggie passes even.

After a few steps in my direction, Zoey sees me waving at her and returns a small wave of her own, plus a small smile. She doesn't hurry her pace as she covers the distance between us.

I'm still standing beside my chair from saying goodbye to Maggie.

Zoey comes straight to me and hugs me without hesitation. It's a full hug, and it feels warm and wonderful. I gratefully return it, adding a kiss to the top of her head. Her hair smells fresh, like berries.

"Hi, Daddy," Zoey whispers into my shoulder. "Thanks for coming to see me."

The hug breaks and I looked into my daughter's beautiful eyes. Her Mother's eyes. "Thanks for the invitation," I reply with a smile. "It's been too long since I've seen you."

Zoey smiles back and loops her bag over the back of the chair Maggie just vacated. We both sit, facing each other.

"You look fantastic!" I chirp... because she does. She does a cute little "look at me" flit with her hair and hands as she twists back and forth in her chair.

Zoey is absolutely gorgeous today. And I'm in awe of the beautiful woman before me.

Her hair (even though it's regularly changed color). Her clothes. Her... spirit. Even her tattoos. It all combines into an incredible package that both she and her twin sister, Abby, share. They get most of it from their mother, but a little of it... admittedly... comes from me.

Zoey has always been the free spirit. The dreamer. Abby has always been more pragmatic. Structured. They *are* twins, and when they were little it was tough to tell them apart. Now, as adults, there's no question as to their distinctions. Don't ask me to pick a favorite.

But Zoey has a plane to catch. And I interrupt my ogling of my daughter to get on with things.

"Zoey, I'm delighted to see you!" I exclaim. I don't know the point of this meeting so I go with something down-the-middle: "Do you have some news you want me to hear?"

"I do," Zoey says decidedly. After a second she continues: "Dad, I'm getting married."

It's a declaration. She's not asking for approval... she doesn't need it. She's a grown woman who can make her own decisions. I'm her Dad, and I'm delighted.

"You are?!," I respond. "That's fantastic!"

There's an odd moment when we both stand and try to hug across the table. It doesn't work very well and we both take our seats kind of awkwardly.

"Tell me more," I declare.

Zoey pulls her phone from her back pocket and immediately starts to tell me about her Romeo and their impending nuptuals.

The guy's name is Derek. They work together in a start-up environmental engineering company outside of Portland, Oregon.

As you'd expect, her phone is loaded with pictures of the two of them together; hiking in Forest Park, paddling in kayaks, posing in front of some restaurant in the Pearl District, decked out in Trailblazers gear, clearly at a basketball game.

Derek's outward nerdiness is surpassed only by Zoey's well-crafted Bohemian stylings of hair, clothing, and tattoos.

"Y'all look very happy," I tell my daughter, with sincerity. "When is the big day?"

"It's actually going to be several days... in about a month," Zoey replies.

"We're doing a destination wedding thing at this place Derek discovered. It's in Aruba.

"Derek has a younger brother and he and Abby are joining us for the wedding. Then they'll leave and we'll stay for the honeymoon."

Just Abby. Not Cynthia. Hmmmm.

Head Voice: (And also, not you.)

I ignore him.

"Your Mom's not going to be there?" I inquire.

"Nope," Zoey replies softly, still staring at her phone and idly scanning through pictures. "Just Abby and Josh. We wanted to keep it small... and getting to Aruba is *really* expensive."

"So how is your Mother?" I question, surprised a little at the way I'm addressing my ex-wife.

Zoey stops scrolling and looks up, rolling her eyes like she always has. Zoey's a world champion eye-roller.

"Dad, it's a mess. We haven't talked in a couple of weeks because she's mad at me."

"What is she mad at you for," I ask my daughter. "Because she's not invited to your wedding?"

"That's not it," Zoey replies. "She can't afford to go and with everything else I have to pay for she knows I can't afford to be bring her along. Abby offered to split it with her but Mom can't even do that."

Zoey looks directly at me with a strange mix of anger and compassion in her eyes.

"Dad..." Zoey says with a whisper, "Mom's broke. Your money's gone. It's... it's all... gone."

My Head Voice pipes up: (Holy shit! There was a MILLION dollars in that account! A MILLION!!!)

I can't do anything but stare at Zoey. There are a thousand thoughts racing through my head but I choose not to share any of them with my daughter.

Perhaps if there wasn't already such a void between us, I could show her some kind of reaction. I could share with her my outrage. I could call into question how her mother could somehow incredibly mis-manage a bloody fucking fortune... like some idiot lottery winner.

Finally, Zoey speaks first. After all, she has a plane to catch.

"Dad..." she whispers with a squint of her eyes. "Daddy... are you... okay?"

I break my stare with Zoey and close my eyes for a second or two. When I open them again I'm looking away at nothing... on the floor to my right.

"That's... unfortunate," I finally utter.

We sit in silence another few seconds, during which Zoey reaches across the table and grips my hand. She squeezes it softly but leaves anything else unsaid.

I don't try to hide the tears that are welling up in my eyes.

But I know that *this* isn't what Zoey called me to talk about. I backtrack the last few moments of our conversation and latch onto something else:

"So, what *is* your Mother mad at you about?"

"She's mad because I asked her the same question I want to ask you," Zoey replied, somewhat cryptically.

I wait a few beats for more, but nothing seemed to be coming.

"Okay..." I finally said. "What's your question?"

I watch my beautiful Bohemian daughter take her own moment to glance across the concourse at nothing in particular, tears welling up in her eyes.

She takes a deep breath, releases it, pauses like she's summoning up some inner courage to speak, and then directs her gaze to me.

"How do I make sure that Derek and I... that we don't... don't end up... like you... and Mom?" Zoey asks.

Head Voice: (Well, Zoey, for starters you can AVOID bringing a kid from your mailroom home on a random Thursday afternoon and fucking him in Derek's bed!)

I silently clear my throat. Head Voice gets the message. (Sorry, Randy.)

Zoey has asked me an overly-broad question. My years negotiating contracts in my business have taught me that overly-broad answers will often get one into trouble.

A little history for you, Readers:

Zoey and Abby lived with their Mother for years after Cynthia threw a hand grenade into what was left of our marriage.

I also know that Cynthia first focused any bile she wanted to spew about me in Zoey's direction. Zoey was always far more easily influenced than Abby.

And, once Cynthia had Zoey on her side, the two of them brought Abby into the proverbial "Hate Dad Club."

So, certainly Cynthia told the twins SOMEthing about why they couldn't see their Daddy any more.

I decide that's as as good a place as any to start.

"Zee," I begin, using the nickname she grew up with, "what's the reason your mother gave you for leaving our house?"

Zoey doesn't hesitate with her answer. She delivers it immediately and somewhat matter-of-factly... like she's answered this question many, many times before.

"She said you were having an affair," Zoey says. She's looking at me, without indictment, also somewhat matter-of-factly. It's like she would answer a question about whether the sun rose in the east or in... the south.

Zoey continued. "She said you were sleeping with another woman.

"She said you'd been doing it for years... even when Abby and I were little.

"Somebody named Maggie??"

Yes, Readers. It's the same Maggie.

The woman who, six minutes ago, was sitting in the exact same chair that Zoey is sitting in right now. The seat was probably still warm from Maggie's butt when Zoey first sat down.

Maggie and I were on the same business development team at a company we both worked for years ago.

She was young. She was brilliant. She was dynamic. She was attractive, with a tight, insanely sexy body, wild red hair, and gorgeous green eyes. She was magnetic. We clicked immediately.

Our work projects always had high profit expectations from our bosses and insanely short deadlines. Maggie and I earned a reputation as being able to meet both the profit, and the deadline... without fail.

This, of course, required us to spend hours together. Intense hours. Long hours. Relentless hours.

We both loved our work, and we loved to talk about how we loved our work. Those talks, somewhat organically, merged into other parts of our life.

Her history. My history. Her family. My family. Her passions. My passions. What she was lacking in her marriage. What I was lacking in mine.

For a minute... maybe two... we pretended we were being careful about what we said -- or didn't say -- about our personal lives. But then we became friends. Good friends. *Really* good friends.

We resonated on the same frequency. We knew without question what the other would think of a situation or an issue, which worked to our advantage multiple times in business meetings with clients. Or with our bosses.

Maggie's husband's work called him to be out of town quite often. There were ample opportunities for Maggie and me to step over the line and nobody would know. I had kids, but Maggie and her husband (I think his name was Mitch) did not.

Because her husband was out of town so much there were days and days (and nights and nights) when Maggie was alone in their big house.

It became achingly hard for both of us to NOT create some reason... some opportunity... to just go ahead and fuck each other.

We talked (outside of the company network, obviously) about how awesome that would be. What an incredible fuck it would be.

Maggie told me the things that she wanted to experience with a lover. I told Maggie the things that *I* wanted to experience with a lover.

We both realized -- and promised -- that what the other wanted, we could... and would... provide. It would be magical.

The pull was getting progressively stronger and stronger and we both felt it. Neither of us tried to stem it.

Finally, there was an out-of-town work conference that made sense for both Maggie and me to attend.

We convinced our upper-level manager that we both should go. We booked the same flight, because that made economic sense. We booked separate rooms, because that would pass muster with the accounting department.

Then at the last minute her goddam husband, on the road, had an appendicitis attack and needed emergency surgery. Maggie immediately left to be with him, and I went to the conference.

I spent every night at the hotel -- alone -- jacking off over the idea of what Maggie and I could have been doing together at that very moment.

After that trip things changed.

Maggie shared with me how excited -- but also how scared -- she was that we would step over the brink. That we would have incredible sex.

But when we didn't... when we couldn't... she somehow had a new perspective.

We still had a good working relationship. We were still good friends. But there was a big hole... now surrounded by a firm wall of Maggie's making... that represented the sex that we could have had, but didn't.

And that was it.

I heard later, after we had both left the company, that her marriage had broken down.

After Cynthia and the girls left my house, every now and then I would think about trying to re-kindle things with Maggie, but I never did.

In the midst of it, Cynthia was convinced that there was something going on between Maggie and me. Objectively, I couldn't blame her. Maggie's name was always in the top sentence of the answer to "how was your day?"

But *was* it an affair? Well, pick your definition.

From an emotional perspective, it probably was.

The dissolution of that part of our relationship was certainly as painful as it probably would have been if there had been a physical element to our relationship.

But I never fucked Maggie. Shit, I never *really* kissed Maggie.

And Maggie never fucked me... in the coital sense, anyway.

And that's the reply that I can honestly give to Zoey.

"Zee," I say calmly but declaratively, "Your Mother is wrong. Maggie and I never slept together.

"We worked together -- closely -- for most of the time you and Abby were growing up, and we were very good friends. I am absolutely positive that your Mom was insanely jealous of that friendship.

"I also think, if there *was* ever an affair, it was between your Mother and that kid she brought home from the mailroom that afternoon. When I picked you and Abby up early from soccer practice and we came home and found them in bed together? Remember that?"

Zoey smiles softly. "Yeah... I remember," she says quietly. "He didn't last very long after that."

This is a tragic and painful bit of history in my family that isn't going to get any better by going over sordid details. Even though I'd like to make sure my side of the story gets told... and is known and potentially believed by both of my daughters.

Still, I divert to give Zoey an answer to her question. My hands are still in close proximity with hers and I reach out and take her left hand in my right, then cover it with my left.

"Zoey," I begin, "you want to know how to keep your marriage to Derek from turning into my marriage to your Mom." It was a declarative statement. "Here's how I think you do that.

"You work at it. You both work at it. Every... effing... day. Neither one of you gives up on it. Sometimes you fight for it, even.

"Deciding to marry someone... deciding to love someone... is also a commitment to love them, no matter what.

"In the latter years particularly, I think your Mom and I forgot that part. We felt that we were moving away from each other emotionally. It happens to married people -- even not-married people -- all the time.

"Once I realized that, I was trying to change that direction... at least until we all came home earlier than expected on that Thursday.

"But sometimes... as good as a marriage can be... it's still hard. It's hard Zoey, to keep remembering that commitment. "Marriage is hard. Divorce is hard.

"Choose your hard. And stick with that choice."

Zoey looks down at our hands, then up into my eyes. "Dad, you make it sound so simple," she whispers.

"It *is* simple, Zee," I reply. "It's very simple.

"But it's not easy."

At that moment, the airport PA announces that flight so-and-so to Portland, Oregon is ready for boarding.

"That's my flight," Zoey declares. "I've gotta go."

We both stand and Zoey begins to collect her purse and carry-on. Then she stops.

She steps around the table to approach me and wraps her arms around my neck. It's a warm and wonderful hug... maybe promising that I'll hear from my daughters again.

At that exact instant, I see Kate walking by the bistro with another woman... the friend she told me this morning that she had agreed to meet at the airport.

They're engaged in conversation and Kate releases her wonderful laugh over something the friend has said.

And then her eyes meet mine, and her sparkle and smile laser straight into me.

She and her friend don't stop their transit and so our gaze breaks as Kate moves on by.

Zoey is unaware of any of this.

She breaks her hug and gives me a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Thanks for seeing me today, Daddy," she whispers.

She looks directly into my eyes.

"And thank you for what you said. It makes sense. I think Derek will appreciate hearing about it."

Another quick kiss, and Zoey's arms drop and she gathers her purse and her bag.

"K... Gotta go!" she chirps.

"Take care, sweetheart," I whisper. "Congratulations and good luck with the wedding."

And with that, Zoey heads away from the bistro toward the announced gate. It's in the opposite direction that Kate and her friend were heading.

I remain standing at the table until Zoey does a quick turn of her head to catch my eyes again.

"Bye!" she mouths. And she turns in the direction of the gate and disappears from view.

I allow myself to sit back down, in Zoey's chair, to gather my thoughts. And to go ahead and let some welling tears fall.

It's been an emotional meeting with Zoey.

And it doesn't escape my realization... and my wonder... that three of the most important women in my life have breezed in and out of this space, almost simultaneously, without realizing that the others were there.

My Head Voice pipes up: (You're lucky that Maggie left when she did,) he says. (That would have been an awkward introduction.)

And he's right.

I make my way out of the concourse and head to the airport's parking garage. I resist diverting back to Maggie's office to say "thanks;" I'll do that with the follow-up call I promised her.

I close the door to the car and sit for a minute in the silence.

This has already been one hell of a Monday:

1. A wet and sexy shower fuck with my drop-dead gorgeous neighbor, Kate, who happily welcomes me to be her (so far) weekly fuck buddy; 2. A potentially renewed relationship with one of my twin daughters, and -- since they are twins -- probably both of them; 3. And a restored idea of seeing a very good friend from many years ago, with whom I came *this close* to having what would have certainly been an incredible sexual relationship.

I drive straight home and spend the rest of the day in busy-work with my job. Dinner is a burger from the grill and a light salad.