I could see Trevor lifting her bridal veil, could see him leaning in to kiss her to seal their vows. And then, cutting the wedding cake and mashing it into each other's mouths. Surely they had enacted those rituals for the photographer.
Trevor had been married. He'd had a wife, and now, instead of her, I was here. In what had been her bedroom. Bathing in the tub she'd probably picked out. About to crawl into bed next to her husband.
My mind strayed to a very dark place, and I imagined waking in the middle of the night to find her standing over the bed, a big knife poised to stab into me.
That part was crazy, and I knew it, but I still deeply regretted coming to Trevor's house.
I got dried off, then I crept over to the bedroom door and locked it from the inside. Satisfied with my smart thinking, I crawled into the king-sized poster bed next to a slumbering Trevor.
It was nearly five in the morning the last time I checked the clock before falling asleep.
In the morning, I reached for Trevor, but he was already up. The door was open, and I could hear him talking, probably on his cell phone in the kitchen.
Getting dressed was a challenge. I'd rinsed out my underwear the night before, so at least they were clean, but my short, leather mini-skirt and copper-hued bustier didn't seem like appropriate day wear. I went to Trevor's dresser and pulled open the drawer most likely to contain T-shirts, feeling guilty about snooping in his things.
I selected a plain, black T-shirt and paired it with my mini-skirt. The shirt was enormous, but I cinched the bottom in a knot, and it actually looked cute. I used my lace shawl from the night before and tied it around my waist, adding a little more coverage to the tops of my bare legs. I tucked the garter and stockings in my purse, put on some makeup, and came downstairs.
Trevor was, indeed, in the kitchen, and the good news was a pot of coffee was brewing. The bad news was we weren't alone. A petite woman with dark brown hair in a pixie cut was slicing fruit at the kitchen island, in the middle of the large, gleaming, all-white kitchen.
She looked up at me, her huge blue eyes wide and doll-like. Her expression became warm, genuinely joyful, and she said, “You must be Naomi!”
She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and reached out to shake my hand.
Trevor was sitting on a kitchen stool at the island, looking pale and guilty.
My underarms prickled with nervous sweat, but I shook her hand and tried to smile. “Roxie?”
She glanced at Trevor, then back at me. “Roxanne, but my friends call me Roxie.”
My stomach lurched. What did she mean? Everything was a blur as she got me a mug and poured my coffee, chatting away about what fruit was in season. What had she meant and what was I supposed to call her? I decided to make a statement.
“Thank you, Roxie,” I said. That was it. I'd decided we were friends, and it was up to her to declare otherwise.
She simply smiled back.
With that, Trevor seemed to relax. He patted the stool next to him, but I took a seat closer to where I was standing, with a seat in between us.
Roxie said, “I'll be out of your hair in a minute.” As she moved around the kitchen, I noticed she was limping, so at least the sprained ankle was true. Still, she didn't seem to be having too hard a time getting around, and I couldn't see how stairs at her townhouse were such a problem that she had to move in with my boyfriend.
I said none of this as I sipped my coffee.
She looked different from my imagined version of her—older, maybe forty, and not perfect. She had some acne scars on her cheek, and while she was still a lovely woman, spotting those flaws made me feel better. Some of her hair was gray, and I didn't think the haircut was that flattering. Still, she had an enviable figure, with a tiny waist. I tried not to look at her small waist, but my eyes disobeyed me.
After some more chit-chat about fruit and her plans for the day (shopping for curtains), she left us, but not before an awkward goodbye. She hugged Trevor and kissed him on the cheek, and then she did the exact same to me.
I waited until I heard the front door close, then I turned to Trevor and said, “I'm getting a very sister-wife feeling right now. Like one of those reality TV shows about polygamists.”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was hoping she'd be out of here before you woke up.” He grabbed me and hauled me off my chair and onto the one next to him. With his arm still around me, he said, “It's not fair for her to see you coming down from my bedroom, looking all adorable and sexed-up in my T-shirt!”
I smiled at the compliment and cuddled in to him.
“Tell me she's moving back out for good soon. She seems nice and everything, but … I don't want to share you.”
He answered by kissing me and pulling me closer.
I moaned into his mouth and surrendered to him, enjoying the touch of his warm hand traveling up between my bare thighs. I shifted to let his fingers travel all the way up.
“Sorry!” Roxie said, bustling into the kitchen.
We pulled apart quickly, my face hot with embarrassment.
She had one hand up to cover her eyes as she grabbed the plastic containers of cut fruit off the counter. “Just forgot these. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached. Don't mind me, I'm not even here.”
Thankfully, this time we didn't go through the hug-and-kiss-goodbye ritual.
A moment later, the door slammed.
Trevor craned his neck down for another kiss, his hand returning to the spot between my legs, but this time I clenched my legs together to stop his fingers from roaming.
I pulled back and picked up my coffee.
He nodded, got up, and turned on the stove. He pulled out a cast-iron skillet and started cracking eggs for an omelet.
I asked him, “When did you guys separate?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
“Trevor, it's a one-word answer. We don't need to have a big talk. Just name the month.”
“February.”
“Seven months ago.”
He nodded.
“And when was the last time you two slept together.”
This one took longer to answer.
Finally, he said, “March, but it was a mistake. She hadn't moved out yet, and there was a storm. The power was out, and ...”
“And you guys had sex because what? Because you were bored and there was no TV or internet?” After I asked, I felt bad for how disgusted my tone was.
He nodded. “Basically.”
I took a deep breath and sighed. “Actually, I can live with that. If it's really true. I can understand you guys hooking up one last time for old time's sake, especially in a power outage. What I can't live with is the idea of you still being in love with her.”