When We Were Young Ch 03 1

CHAPTER THREE: PRESENT DAY

The next morning, I woke up feeling hungover even though I'd only had a couple of drinks the night before. It was Saturday morning and the apartment was quiet; Novie had stayed over at Bianca's -- my childhood home -- and wasn't due back here for another hour or so. I finished tidying up, had a long shower, and made myself a real breakfast, which I didn't get too often these days. By the time my sister knocked on the door, I'd almost forgotten about last night. Almost.

The moment I opened the door, Novie immediately wrapped herself around my leg tightly, pressing her face into my stomach. I ran my hand over her hair, dark and curly like mine, and asked, "Did you have fun with your cousins?"

She nodded and pulled her head back, staring up at me with wide sleepy eyes. "We watched the orange hair princess movie and we did hide and seek and Auntie Bianca made us pancakes with smiles."

I laughed. "That sounds wonderful."

Bianca, standing in the doorway with a curious expression on her face, handed Novie her little purple backpack and said, "Novie, why don't you go put away your sleepover stuff so I can talk to your mom?"

Novie looked up at me for confirmation -- she always did -- and then took the backpack and went back to her bedroom.

As soon as she was gone, Bianca cut me a sharp look that chilled me the way only an older sister's could. She dropped her voice low and said, "You wouldn't believe who knocked on my door this morning looking for you."

I sucked in a deep breath and sighed it back out. "I bet I would."

Her eyes flicked up and down my body with a mix of judgment and admiration. Then she produced a piece of paper from her pocket, handed it to me, and said, "Well, he gave me his number to give to you, so here it is. Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late for that." I grimaced and knew that she knew what I meant. Beck and I certainly had a history with stupid. "Thanks, though, for everything. I really appreciate it."

She reached over and squeezed my hand. "Of course. She's my favorite niece."

"I promise I won't tell Sienna's fetus."

She waved her hand. "They won't know the sex for, like, two more weeks. Until then, she's still got my favorite nephew."

I gave her a hug goodbye and went back inside to get Novie ready for her day. She'd been begging for a blanket fort day all week, so that was on the agenda.

While she picked out her clothes and got changed, I sent a text to Beck: We should talk, probably. Monday morning?

I'm staying at my uncle's old place, next to yours. Free any time.

*****

So, after dropping Novie off at school early in the morning, I ended up walking down the same driveway where I saw Beck for the first time more than six years ago. I'd come here planning on telling him about Novie; if he was going to be back in town for a while, I figured he should know. Especially if he was interested in anything with me. God. I didn't even want to think about that part yet. At the side door, I took a deep breath. And then another one. Then I knocked at the door. He must've been waiting nearby since I texted that I was on my way because he opened it only a few seconds later.

This morning, he was in a tank top that showed off his arms and athletic gray sweats that showed off everything else. Seeing his face in the light made my heart beat faster. I tried not to let it get to me, even as he looked at my body the way he had the very first time we'd met. I'd worn a skirt, which now felt stupid and cutesy, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Come on in," he said, a little stilted and awkward. "I've got some coffee on."

I smiled, straining to keep it from being a grimace, and replied. "Great."

A few minutes later, we were at the kitchen table, each with a hot mug. While I waited for mine to cool down, I decided to venture into conversation on a topic that wouldn't give me heart palpitations. "So...what have you been up to since...last time?"

"Well, I finished my degree, if you can believe it. Early, actually, early enough to get my master's the next year. I work for the EPA now out in DC; they're sponsoring my doctorate research. I'm supposed to finish up next year."

"Wow, a doctor by 26." I pulled in a deep breath. "That's amazing. Congratulations."

"It's no big deal, really-" he flashed me a playful smile that echoed the ones I'd replayed in my mind for half a decade "-just saving the world and stuff." Then, he took a sip of his coffee and asked, "What about you? What do you do these days?"

"I own a little shop on main street. The Just Apothecary." I fiddled with the handle of my mug. "I contract with local businesses -- farmers, crafters, whatever -- and sell products for them, so we've always got a new variety of cool things from the area. Sustainable stuff. It's not saving the world or anything, but it's pretty special."

"Don't discount it!" He insisted, always the optimist, "Supporting local artisans? That's the future, and you're doing it now."

My cheeks blushed ever so slightly as his eyes pierced through me. "Thank you."

"I'll come by and check it out sometime."

"That would be nice," I replied while trying to decide how to move to what I actually wanted to talk about. "So," I broached slowly, looking at my hands wrapped around my coffee cup, "what are you doing back in Southbridge?"

"Right, yeah." I felt his eyes on my face but didn't meet them. I was too focused on trying not to think about what he was thinking about me thinking. He explained, "Remember my uncle? Well, he died."

"Shit, really?" I glanced up at him. "I'm sorry to hear that. I heard he moved down to the nursing home a year or so back."

"Yeah. And, ah-" he struggled to find his words "-well, you know, he didn't have any kids of his own, and I was really the only one who visited him anyway, so he left everything to me -- including his estate. He never sold this house since he owned it outright. The whole will is my responsibility. So I'm here for at least a couple weeks sorting out everything." He gave me a pointed look that invited all kinds of thoughts. "Could take a lot longer, though."

"Wow, that sounds like a lot of responsibility."

Beck sighed heavily and nodded. "Nobody ever packed up or sold anything in this house for him, which means there's about 75 years of stuff to go through. So that alone's going to take me days of work." Then he shook his head, getting rid of the thoughts, and smiled politely. "So, ah, what are you doing here still -- in Southbridge specifically, I mean? I thought you wanted to do a gap year and then move to a land far, far away after college?"

It was my turn to sigh. I knew it was time. Not exactly a conversation I could avoid forever, especially if he was going to be in my life again. He'd find out from someone sooner or later. Probably sooner, with the speed of gossip around here. "Well, things got kind of complicated, to say the least."

I took out my phone and showed him the home screen: My daughter, about five, with dark brown waves and hazel eyes, wearing her glittery green Christmas dress from a couple months ago. She had on a big proud smile from performing in her preschool's Christmas pageant and getting a pretty silver ribbon for it.

He took the phone and grinned. "She's yours? Damn, she looks just like you."

"Yeah, everyone says that." I offered a small smile; it was always a compliment to be compared to the most beautiful little girl in the world. And it was true -- she had my olive complexion, my dark hair, the start of my strong nose. "Not so much like her dad. Just his smile, when she's laughing, which she does pretty often at this age. Um, her name's Genova."

"After your nonna?"

"Yes, exactly, that's sweet that you remembered. But we call her Novie." I offered up a laugh as I added, "Genova's a big name for someone who's just learning the alphabet."

His eyebrows knitted together and I saw him working something out in his mind. It didn't take a genius to guess what. "How'd you meet her dad then? You must've been, what, nineteen? Twenty? She looks like she's four or five, right?"

"Actually, she'll be six on Valentine's Day. My little love, I always say. She was a premie; her due date wasn't until April. So she's always been small for her age. A year behind in school for now." I swallowed. Finally, I met his eyes. "So, you can do the math there; I assume you can count backwards from February seven months."

The wheels turned behind his green eyes for another second. I knew he'd already realized it, but now he was trying to accept it. Tears welled in his eyes -- unreadable tears -- and he, too, swallowed hard to get rid of them. "Oh. Oh."

The silence hung heavy between us as I took nervous sips of my rich coffee.

Beck wiped suddenly clammy hands on his pants. "So I...so we...I mean, you...?" He shook his head and furrowed his brows again. His voice came out small and unsure. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged because there was no gesture that could sum everything up. Even as the guilt threatened to swallow me up, I stayed honest. "I figured you were better off not knowing. I mean, it's not like we were, I don't know, it's not like we were a forever couple or anything."

"We could've been."

"Beck," I replied slowly, gently, not wanting to hurt him but not wanting to coddle him, either, now that we were both adults, "You're a climate scientist; that's what you wanted to do your entire life. You love it. And if you knew about Novie -- from the beginning, I mean -- you wouldn't be. I didn't want an abortion, and I knew you wouldn't want a baby, at least not then, and I didn't want to get in the way of your dreams or career or life. We'd just met, after all."

"We knew each other long enough to fall in love."

I almost snorted my coffee. "I was eighteen, Beck. I had no idea what love is."

"But you do now?"

"I love Novie."

"And does she have...I don't know, a step-dad? A father figure?"

"No. She doesn't need one." He looked like I'd slapped him in the face. "Sorry, I didn't mean- I mean I don't date. Not really. And I don't think I will until she's old enough to understand what that means. I don't want to expose her to people who probably won't stick around."

"You don't date but you-" the teasing smile returned and I was thankful for the break from our heavy, loaded eye contact "-hook up with strangers in bathrooms at parties?"

I rolled my eyes and poked his forearm. "Former teen moms are still allowed to have fun, jackass."

He snickered. "They definitely do." Before he could say what we were both thinking -- something along the lines of 'and maybe we could again -- he pulled back and asked, "And how have things been with her? Good, I hope?"

"Depends how far back you want to go," I admitted. "She was in the NICU a long time after she was born, which was scary, of course. My mom and sisters have been amazing with everything her whole life. It was great having so many people who already had babies or husbands when I was pregnant, and she's got lots of cousins now. She's never really been a troublemaker, which I guess I'm lucky for. Her twos weren't so terrible for us. She's clingy. This is her last year at preschool and she's pretty nervous to go to 'the big kid school' in the fall, so we're working on that." I sucked in a breath, realizing I was starting to ramble, which was easy when it came to my girl. "Ah, anything else you want to know?"

"Well." He paused for a while, making that syllable an entire sentence. "Could I meet her? I don't want to push anything and I know I'm not, like, her dad, but I'd like to if-"

"Done." I smiled and tried not to let my nerves shine through it. "Her birthday party is next weekend. You could come to that; I always have some of my own friends come and some of her friends' parents stick around a while, so you wouldn't feel out of place and it wouldn't be much pressure."

Beck beamed in a way that made my heart feel new. I tamped down the feeling. He told me, "That would be perfect, Mari. Really."

"Great. She likes pink, by the way, and puzzles and music and art, if you decide to get her something. You don't have to, obviously, but-"

"I will. Of course I will; it's her birthday. And Mar?"

"Mhm?"

"Could I see you again before that?"

"I'd like that, I think." I blushed and swirled the last of my coffee around the mug, debating if I should say what I really wanted to. "We should probably keep things..."

He offered, "Platonic?"

I smirked and cut him a knowing look. He'd reacted as well as I could've possibly hoped to the news -- of course, he might still be in shock -- and that meant I could pitch something a little ridiculous. But maybe he'd be interested. So I said, "I was actually thinking strictly sexual."

His smile was so electric I swear it was going to spark through the room. "Yeah, I think I could make that happen."

"Well, Novie's at school for another couple of hours. Want some help with all these boxes? And maybe...?"

"Help with your box?"

I rolled my eyes. "Glad your sense of humor hasn't evolved since we were eighteen."

We made our way to the cluttered living room, where cardboard boxes and old furniture were scattered around, each holding a piece of Beck's uncle's life. The air in the room was thick with the dust of memories, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia mixed with sadness. We began sorting through the items, deciding what to keep, donate, and throw away. He was right; there was 75 years of stuff, some treasures but mostly junk.

Amidst the old books and dusty vinyl records, we found a collection of yellowing photographs. Images of Beck's uncle in his younger days, adventures captured in faded colors, and moments frozen in time. Plenty of his siblings and parents, Beck's parents and grandparents. There were photos of Beck himself as a kid with dreams yet to unfold, posing with friends and family. The pictures sparked laughter and stories, bringing warmth to the otherwise melancholic task. Beck didn't really seem to be grieving his uncle so much as celebrating him. It was nice to be a part of it. We shared stories about our families, reminiscing about moments that shaped our lives, both those apart and together. The process of going through the belongings became less about the physical act of sorting and more about unraveling the tapestry of Beck's family history.

In a dusty corner of the attic, hidden beneath a pile of forgotten trinkets, we found an old record player. Beck's eyes lit up with excitement as he dusted it off, and we decided to take a break from sorting to listen to some of the vinyl records scattered around. The crackling sound of the needle on the record added a touch of nostalgia, filling the room with music from a bygone era. The melodies of a vintage jazz record sung through the air. Beck looked at the record player and then at me, a playful glint in his eyes. "How about a dance break? It might help us forget about all these boxes for a moment."

I hesitated, my initial response tinged with the realization that dancing together might stir up emotions we both were reluctant to confront. We'd done a lot of dancing in our lives. But the offer was tempting, and the music seemed to beckon us, and I craved his hands on me again. Beck extended his hand, and I accepted it with a smile that betrayed a hint of nervousness. We moved towards the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room, surrounded by relics from the past. The atmosphere felt charged with a subtle energy.

As the music enveloped us, Beck led with a confidence that spoke of past dance floors and shared moments. I thought about our time on Friday, the mutual confidence and exploration that felt so new. This felt familiar. Our movements were slow and deliberate, guided by the rhythm of the music. I couldn't help but notice the proximity of our bodies, the warmth that emanated from his touch, and the way his eyes seemed to hold a story of their own.

Soon enough, his hand was falling from my back to my waist to the top of my ass. I stepped up on the tips of my toes and pressed my lips softly to his. But he wasn't so soft in his response. He moaned low in his throat and grabbed my ass with both hands, pulling me in close to him, and kissed me harder. I let his firm grip steady my delicate stance.

My fingers knotted in his hair, which hung loose around his shoulders today, and I kissed his neck, his stubble gruff against my soft lips. Beck pushed me back against the closest wall. Before I knew it, he had lifted me, guiding my thighs upward and around him. I'd never been lifted up and held against a wall before, but I immediately understood why I'd seen it in every single romantic movie for the last decade. He was in control, dominant, and nothing short of purely erotic. I couldn't believe the way that wetness immediately flooded my pussy, soaking through my underwear just beneath my thin sweatpants. My body recognized his.

Before I could have, much less process, a single thought, his hands were underneath my skirt and on my ass. I chuckled against his lips. "I wish I'd worn cuter underwear now."

"Don't worry about that." Beck dropped me to my feet, turned me around against the wall with my hands bracing me up, and hiked up my skirt. He snapped the waistband of my panties against my hips and I gasped. Before I could catch my breath, he yanked the underwear down to admire my bare ass, caressing one cheek with each hand. "I'm not exactly here for the underwear."

As he kissed from my hips, across my ass, and down the side of my thigh, Beck pulled the underwear down around my ankles and helped me step out of them. My heart was racing. I was totally sober now and I was totally half naked with my ex and I was totally, completely, whole-heartedly turned on. Beck's fingers traveled carefully up my inner thigh, toward my now-exposed pussy, and I spread my legs to give him better access. Tapping into the person I'd been before, I arched my back and felt sexy doing it.

Talking mostly to himself, Beck breathed out as he spread my ass, "Christ, that cunt of yours. So fucking perfect."

I bit my lower lip, trying to stay confident and not embarrassed, but I couldn't come up with anything sexy to say back. "Thank you."

"I need to look at you," Beck said. Urgent. He turned me back around and our eyes locked within a millisecond. For a second, he slowed down. He touched my chin, lifted my face up, and kissed me softly. "There you are."

With our lips intertwined, I reached down and tugged at his tank top as he did the same to mine. He chuckled a bit, low and sultry, and lifted it over his head. By the time his arms were up, I was untying his sweats and pulling them down to get at his cock. Rock hard and straining against his underwear, his cock begged for my attention, a drop of precum visible against his boxer briefs. Once I had it free, I wrapped my fingers around the base and began to jerk him off. I spread his slick precum over the head and savored the girth against my palm and fingers. I couldn't quite wrap my hand all the way around his cock. My mouth watered.

So I dropped to my knees in front of him, tugging his clothes the rest of the way off, and took a second to stare at his cock. It had been a long, long time since I'd had a cock this nice right in front of me. I parted my lips, licked around them, and looked up at him. My voice was clear and earnest. I wasn't great at dirty talk, but I knew it wouldn't matter as I said, "I like it rougher now, by the way. You can take my mouth however you want."

So he pressed the tip of his dick to my wet lower lip. Then Beck's hands went to my hair and, under his breath, he groaned, "Fuck."

He pushed his cock slowly along my tongue, to my throat, and then further. I let go into him, letting his hands hold me up and his hips rock back and forth. He was deliberate for a while. I warmed up to having his thick cock in my mouth, my eyes closed and my throat relaxing. The cool attic air brushed against my nipples until they were hard and tingling. I reached down between my legs and rubbed my clit in circles.