Page 48 of Afternoon Delight
“News flash, I think you’re living her life.”
I smiled weakly. Wistfully. Pretty soon, Georgia would return to her great life. I wanted her to. I was glad I was helping her hang onto her dream, but it was her dream, not mine.
“I mean that her life is intentional. I know this didn’t just happen for her. It took her time to figure out what she wanted and pull it all together.” I thought of Negasi noodling options. It was never easy to make a big change. “But that’s what I envy. I want a clear vision and then to be where she is, without all the bullshit of working for it.” I wouldn’t even start assembling my new life until I got back to Toronto.
“You want an effortless happy ending?” he teased. “I think I bankrolled something to help with that.”
I scolded him with a look and glanced for Roddie. He was politely allowing Dale to run his magician-wardrobe routine on him.
“Is there a reason you’re not letting me wallow in melancholy?” I asked Zak.
“I don’t want you to get any on me.”
I refused to laugh, but our gazes locked. I let him see my exasperation, but intertwined with it was that tingling sexual awareness that liked to dance and sparkle between us. His expression softened.
“Here’s what I think. If I’m full of shit, say so. It’s just my impression, but I think you like to feel needed. You came home to help your mom, and you listen to my BS, and you wanted to help your friend by running her store. Now that you know she’s going to get better, you’re starting to think she won’t need you, and that bums you out.”
“I had my first kid at eighteen. Of course I need to feel needed to feel valued.” I curled my lip with self-disgust. “When Roddie went to live with Joel, I plummeted into an identity crisis.” And ran straight home to mother. Dutiful daughter was the only other role I knew. “Sure, he’s with me now, but this isn’t our home. I have to go back to Toronto and pick up the pieces. What will my life look like when I get there? What do I want it to look like? That’s what I’m saying. How do I get there without all the growing pains?”
“Oh. Yeah, I can’t help you with that,” he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets and turning his attention to his father. “I thought I knew what I wanted, but that was programming.”
“Clever.”
“I thought so. Hey, Dad? Meg wants to take Roddie home.”
“The draper’s rod? I sold it.”
Zak gathered his patience with a long inhale. “Sounds like I get to play a round of Who’s on First. Have a good night. Enjoy your wine.”
“Thanks.” I wanted to hug him for no reason. For all the reasons. Because he made me feel lighter, brought coffee for strangers, and faced his own life crisis with philosophical humor.
“Can I have the keys?” Roddie asked, approaching me.
“I’ll open the car, but I need them to lock up.” I gave Zak a final wave. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sure will,” he assured me.
Chapter 27
Meg
Fortunately, I had my phone with me the next day when I decided to sit down in the swing.
It was the quiet of late morning before the lunch rush, which wasn’t exactly a rush, but I usually saw a customer or two. I was forwarding Gail’s message to everyone: Georgia was awake. She had squeezed Gail’s hand and could feel Gail’s warm grip on her toes. Good news, I added.
I hadn’t really given the swing much attention before because the customers hadn’t, either. The seat was a couple of padded straps that looked like they belonged on a red backpack. Black cuffs, grips, and stirrups hung from the suspension ropes.
I decided it was time to learn more and flipped through the illustrated booklet attached to one of the cuffs. One image showed a man spanking a woman’s butt. Another showed a woman’s legs splayed wide while a man went down on her. One had her heels in the top cuffs while he stood between her upraised legs. Then she was flipped onto her stomach, boobs falling through the seat straps, while he railed her from behind.
Why were they all men and women? And why was it always the woman strapped into the swing?
I pulled out my phone and searched for more positions. I came across a lesbian sixty-nine, a serious bondage scene between a couple of guys, and some playful poses featuring people of color—even one with a gray-haired partner.
If I was being honest, I was getting kind of turned on by all the suggestive images, but how comfortable could it really be, to have your legs akimbo like that?
This was when Vickie Crutcher’s voice should have resounded in my head, warning me to have some decorum.
But my brain was in research mode. A compulsion to investigate had me adjusting my position so I could stick my foot in one of the stirrups. Was I smart enough to brace the heel of my boot against the loop? No. I brought the loop up behind my bent knee. Because I was curious. Research.
