When The Rain Falls

13. It’s Just a Vibrator

13 IT’S JUST A VIbrATOR

FINN

Ruby is so small on my lap. I can't believe this tiny thing will be a full-grown human one day. It seems impossibly far away. People keep telling us that it goes by so fast. But we're so exhausted. Most days we don't fully grasp the gravity of the passing time.

"Can you believe she'll go to school some day?" Laurel pokes her head over my shoulders to admire Ruby. Her eyes are closed, long lashes prickling her cheeks. She has her legs tucked up under her bottom. She reaches a hand over her head and arches her back in the world's most epic stretch.

"Nope. She won't. Never. Guess we're a homeschool family now," I toss back. "Ruby, prepare to be weird."

"The day she was born, that was the closest we'll ever be to her. Every new day is just another step towards letting her go." Laurel chokes up at the thought.

"Ruby, you want to live in the basement? We have a really nice basement," I joke back. Ruby makes a sleepy snorting noise. "Here that, Laur? She said yes."

"I'm serious, Finn. It's so depressing. She'll walk, then ride a bike, and go to school, and learn to drive, and then leave us." I study my sleeping daughter. It is depressing.

"I wonder what kind of asshole she'll take to prom," I quip. "I better start pumping iron so I can scare him off with these bad boys." I flex a bicep. Laurel's eyes are filled with tears, but I coax a laugh out of her.

"Poor girl," Laurel sighs. She puts a finger in Ruby's fist. Ruby wraps her miniature fingers tightly around it. "Your dad is going to be super embarrassing. I apologize in advance," she continues, "It's not really fair. The parenting books tell you about sleep methods, and timed feedings, and diaper options. But they don't tell you how much it will hurt to have a piece of yourself out into the world where you can't always protect it. I don't think I can do this." She comes to sit next to me on the sofa.

"Laur. It'll be hard, but we'll figure it out. We have each other." I rub her back. "Even when she does move out. You'll still have me. And I'm pretty great." I wave a hand down at Ruby in my lap. "At least I don't shit myself."

"Yet," Laurel says. She laughs between sobs and leans a head against my shoulder.

Aimee

"Alicia?" Finn's voice floats up the stairs into my bedroom.

"She's up here," I answer as I lean into the mirror and swipe mascara over the lashes of my left eye. I read somewhere that women can't help but open their mouth when applying mascara. So I've actively trained myself to keep my mouth closed. I squeeze my lips tight and run the mascara brush over my eyelashes. I smile, pleased at both my mascara job and my brave act of cosmetic defiance.

"Where?" Finn's voice is closer now as I hear his steady steps approaching from the landing below.

"She’s actually not here," I confess, applying a coat to my other eye. "I just want to see what you’re wearing." Did I say that out loud?

No, Aimee! Bad girl.

Finn’s footsteps immediately stop and I hear a quiet, “ For fuck’s sake .” Yes. For the sake of fucks. Please come up here right now and take my body, you snarling beast of a sexy man. Oh God. It’s happening. I have a thing for him. I was doing just fine until the shirt came off. And now, that wall of rolling abdominal muscles is seared into all my fantasies.

How convenient he stopped by just now. Now I don’t have to find an excuse to ring his doorbell and parade in front of him in my little black dress.

"Tell her I was looking for her. Actually, never mind, I'll just text her." Finn’s voice is muffled as he begins his descent back down the stairs. Weird. It's almost like he's eager to get away from me.

"Wait? Do you need something?” I shout down to him from the bedroom doorway. My breath catches as I wait for his response. I know exactly what he needs. He’s too uptight. A good orgasm would probably fix him right up. He’s lucky that I’m a generous soul who’s be willing to help him out.

No, Aimee! Bad girl.

The feet on the stairs pause their descent. "Just to coordinate homecoming tomorrow,” Finn says.

"Oh, she outsourced that to me.” I put the mascara brush into the tube.

" Great ." There's a mixture of sarcasm and exasperation in his voice as he climbs slowly, maybe reluctantly, back up the stairs. I lean back to peek through the doorway, mascara still in hand. When he finally appears, he's a presence, large and looming, at the top of the stairwell in light grey joggers and a tight-fitting, white t-shirt. The joggers hug his thighs just right, molding to his quads and bunching at the top where his legs are thickest. My eyes shift to his arms. Because my eyes always shift to his arms. He's not flexing, but the curves of his biceps are still visible. The moment his grey eyes land on me, they immediately expand.

"Fuck," he says, turning his head and covering his eyes with both hands. "You could have mentioned that you're not decent." I look down at my skimpy black dress. It's a little short. And a little lacy. And it has thin straps. It's my fuck-me dress. And I plan to use it. No, wait. Not anymore. It’s my date-me dress.

"You don't like my dress?" I ask, lifting the hem ever so slightly.

He peeks one eye out between two fingers. "That's a dress?" he asks suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"If you hate it that much, I can take it off," I offer matter-of-factly.

He releases a long, exasperated sigh. "God woman, you’re infuriating.” He glances around nervously like he's afraid someone is going to catch him looking. Because, yeah, he’s looking. I see his nostrils flare slightly and a vein on the side of his neck is pulsing erratically as his gaze falls on me like a heavy cloak. “And that's not a dress, by the way. That's a glorified nightie."

"No," I tell him, patiently. "It's a dress. My nighties don’t have a crotch." Good Lord, it’s fun to watch him blush. I step back into the bedroom and pump the mascara brush into the tube before applying a second coat.

"If that's a dress, it's barely a dress." Finn's standing in the doorway watching me. "Like Ruby's half shirt. I’m still kind of sore about that.” Oh really? I’ll give him something to really be sore about.

"Do you keep arguing with me because you like to argue?" I ask him. "Or does arguing just give you an excuse to stare longer?" His face turns tomato red. And I suddenly think tomatoes must be the sexiest of the fruits.

"I'm not?—”

"Ha, you do like staring. That’s why you’re blushing.” I smirk at him. His hands fly to his hips.

" I'm not ?—"

"Can you hand me my curling iron?" I interrupt. "It's on my bed next to my suitcase.” I point behind myself as I finish applying the second coat of mascara to my right eye. Finn sighs. He stands still for a moment and then turns. He's so compliant. Perfect. Just how I like my men in bed.

No, Aimee! Bad girl!!!!!!

"The purple one?" I hear him ask. But I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I don't have a purple curling iron.

"I don't have a purple—" I begin to say and then realization hits. I hide a smile behind my hand and slowly turn around. "Yes, the purple one," I tell him, trying so hard not to grin.

Finn turns to hand me the purple object and when he does, it begins to vibrate in his hand. It’s my long, sleek vibrator. At first he looks at it curiously, and then realization sets in.

"What the fuck!" He drops it to the floor. His mouth is so wide that a bird could fly into it. I feel a powerful, thick chortle working its way up my throat.

"It's just a vibrator, bear," I tell him. He looks at me like he's watching a Boeing 777 fall from the sky.

"But you have three of them…" he finally says, gesturing with his hand over my suitcase. I dug them out earlier looking for my dress. I must have forgotten to put them all back. When I first moved in, I thought about putting them on the bedside table. But that felt weird. So I've just been storing them in my suitcase.

"Yeah," I say. "Every time I lose one, I have to buy a new one. The second the new one shows up, bam, so does the old one. It's ok though, one has a suction, the other?—"

"Stop! Goddammit!" His face is bright red. He looks away to hide his embarrassment. He studies something before trailing a finger over a pile of clothes on my mattress. He pulls on a bright orange string. He holds it up. It's my orange bikini.

"And where exactly do you plan to wear this?" He's holding it out from his body like it's the tail of a dead rat. I like watching him touch my things. I want him to touch all my things. I squeeze my thighs together at the thought.

"I don't know. A beach?"

"You know it's September, right?"

"You never know when you'll need a bikini."

He only frowns and shakes his head at me. Again.