CHERRY BLOSSOMS // Revisited // Bachelorette // 2.2

It was almost twenty degrees out, but it felt colder than that. The sun was out, though, and that was all that mattered. Geoff went out for a walk at two-forty-five, down Garden Street, out to Queen and along to the grocery. Now he was on Elmwood at Green Leaf, picking out some things to cook Nia and Odele for dinner tonight.

He was still jamming on that crazy thrill, thinking of his beautiful wife out on her own, talking to other men, maybe flirting . . . knowing, for sure, that men were flirting with her. He could picture them, seeing Nia as he saw her. That feeling when you made her smile, made her laugh. They would see Nia’s long, pretty neck as she tossed her hair. She would make them hard.

This had him laughing out loud, enough a stone-faced Chinese lady looked at him across a pyramid of carefully stacked cantaloupes. Probably thought he was a mental patient. Maybe he was.

Thinking those thoughts had swelled him between his legs, cock pressing against the front of his jeans, his junk filling out his underwear till it tightened. He gave the lady a friendly nod, looking to ease her wariness. She gave nothing back.

Geoff grabbed three steaks and some greens, broccoli, potatoes. Then a great and overwhelming nostalgic urge washed over him when he turned down the baking aisle. He grabbed a few more things from those shelves that he needed and cashed out.

He stood contemplating on the sidewalk, off to the edge as people bustled past. There was enough time. And it was why he headed out early, wasn’t it? He smiled to himself and took a deep breath and headed east instead of west as if he were to go meet Odele. He had a little time.

One and a half blocks walk, up four stone steps into an old Victorian town home, he entered an upscale shop meant for couples. He tucked his head down and went for it, trotted up the stairs and in to the sex store, worrying but not caring if anyone he knew saw him. Once he was inside he was fine. No one even gave him a look, everyone here for the same thing, anyway.

What was once the parlor of the home was now where they kept the sex toys. Elegant to brutal; phallus shapes in chrome, rubber, transparent acrylic, red ones, blue ones, even garishly flesh-painted—all arranged on polished gleaming wood, tips pointing up to the ceiling. Some of the more realistic shapes drooping a bit, pointing more to the corners. Geoff surmised them, wanting to surprise his Nia with one of these kinky toys for them to enjoy.

One obelisk drew him, perched on a glass pedestal above lined boxes of its compatriots, a halogen spot shining on it. A red starburst on a card next to it said it was New! A careful, painstaking cast of some gay porn star’s tremendous erection. There was a small cardboard stand-up next to it, complete with a photo of said porn star—one leg up, wrist bent over knee, massive dong hanging. The dildo was fucking huge. Probably tweaked on the computer. A cast, modeled and scanned, then scaled up ten percent, maybe, fuck, hopefully, fifteen percent. Guy had an image to protect, a career, probably an agent even. An agent looking out for him, making the dildo company ensure his artist’s money-making was protected. There was no way a guy could really have that weapon hanging between his legs.

His sweet Nia—loving wife, mostly faithful mother of his child and his constant companion—if he were honest, had slept with a lot of dudes. Nia told him. She wasn’t shy or ashamed. Nia liked sex. Nia liked men. His wife had seen a lot of cocks.

Was one of those cocks like this? Could Nia’s biggest—her boyfriend Dino—be this size? The thing looked as big as a can of bug spray. So much bigger than his own. Thick and gnarly; veins like cables wiggled around it. The head was bigger than a hard-boiled egg. Even the dildo’s molded sack had been rendered accurately, every dimple and wrinkle included, even a seam zigzagging in between its massive nuts.

He tried to imagine Nia out with some dude who had that—a sudden vivid picture of her with Dino. Stroking that thing and watching it squirm in her pretty long-fingered hand. God, he bet she fucking loved it. She practically said she did. It was hot when a guy had a big one and he knew how to use it. She’d said that. Words to that effect. That was apparently Dino. Fuck me, what if it’s also Rocco?

He hardened again, the image of Nia getting it from behind, squeaking and laughing while this Rocco guy slammed something as big as this dildo into her tight, pretty pussy. Hooo. He had to walk away. That Chinese lady thought he was crazy. What would somebody think seeing popular kids book illustrator Geoff J. Kane standing mesmerized by the world’s biggest cock while the front of his jeans stretched out?

Nope. As much as he’d like to buy that for Nia and watch it go in her, he wasn’t ready for that. Best to start in the shallow end in case it turned out he couldn’t swim.

He strolled along, hands in pockets, looking at some of the other fine products they offered that he intended to stick in his wife. Nia was a lady. She was elegant. She liked heels, bubble baths, expensive purses, make-up . . . she deserved something classy.

After some debate, some comparisons, he settled on a chrome dildo, a vibrating one; slender, maybe seven inches long. Longer than what he had, but not as thick. Make sure Nia was grateful for his cock when she got it.

He bounced through the novelty section, then through to the books, not wanting to stay long. It was getting late. He looked over some of the store’s top sellers, faces out, sitting in the stands, looking to see if one said something about sharing your wife. Nothing. Not a big market, huh?

The lingerie section. had to be skipped due to time—he preferred his wife naked anyway—but he grabbed a small bottle of massage oil as he headed to the cash. The pretty girl at the counter—lip ring and neck tattoo—checked him out and he couldn’t make eye contact.

Head down, he stepped back out into daylight. Like if he didn’t see them, they couldn’t see him. He got into pedestrian traffic, heading back west toward Odie’s school. It was a quarter after three; his timing was perfect.

Odele went to Alastair Lessing Public School, a low, one-floor brick public school behind tall chain-link fences. It was a good place, though, with lots of big oak and maple trees and a brand-new playground with brightly painted forts connected with bridges and slides and a climbing wall. Kids were out now and he saw Odele, supervised by her teacher with a bunch of other kids, playing on a four person rocker, the sides of it in green metal, the cutout silhouette of a cartoon frog.

“Odie!” he called to her, waving to Miss Jessop, her fourth-grade teacher. She whispered something to Odele before she sent his little girl to her dad with a wave to Geoff over Odie’s shoulder.

“Hey, baby,” he said as he squatted down to hold and hug her as she got to him.

“Hey, Daddy,” she said. “Can we go to Real Scoop and get a gelato?”

“Really taking advantage of your mom being away, huh? We can’t go, I got steaks here, we shouldn’t let them lose their chill, I’ve been loafing around too long already.”

“What else did you get?” she asked him, pulling the sides of the shopping bag with her little fingers.

“Uh, broccoli . . .”

“Ew.”

“Potatoes . . .”

“Mm-hmm—what’s in this black bag?” she said and he heard the distinctly different sound of the black sex store bag being handled.

“Oh,” he said and pulled the whole thing up to his chest now, crossed his arms under the bag. “Just some, uh, personal things for mom,” he said, glad now (real glad) he didn’t purchase that lifelike monster cock.

***

She’d watch Rocco sometimes when he was turned from her. She could see Dino in him. That familiar Dragonieri DNA. Rocco was like Dino with sixty plus pounds more muscle. And some padding too. The man made it work though; he was sexy. He had a thick neck that swooped out into traps that she’d put her hands on when he’d lifted her one time. He was solid, like he wasn’t even made of flesh. Dino had been lean and muscular. He played hockey and lifted weights, took some steroids. He had an incredible body. She was in love with that body. Rocco was power.

They’d been on the go all day. Rocco wasn’t lying when he’d said the business was hectic. They bounced from job to job. From construction bids, to repairs, to ongoing landscaping projects. They drove all day. It was nice in the truck when they were stuck in traffic. She could catch up on inputs into the software and also go over the books up to date and try to get a feel of the company. Made her a bit car sick, but Rocco was not one to favor complaints, so she made not a peep. She was also getting the distinct impression that she might need glasses.

Today Rocco yelled at four different employees. Young dudes, all four of them, who stood and cowered and shrunk under his onslaught. Rocco had an effect. A powerful presence. When he yelled, no one gave him a look, no one talked back. They wilted. She’d seen him run a jackhammer, run a bulldozer and a tractor, climb into a tunnel under a concrete pool deck upside down, the tunnel barely bigger than his body, and he pulled apart a pump motor, turning bolts with his bare fingers, not using a wrench. His hands were enormous. Thick-fingered and work-hardened, criss-crossed with fat veins. She’d love to hold her hand up against his to see the difference.

Now they were out in Aurora and it was already past five. She didn’t have to work past five, he’d said. She was free to go if she liked. Of course, her car was all the way back in Etobicoke. So she was stranded. Stranded with a big bully who she wouldn’t dare present the problem of needing to go home at five, especially on her first day of work.

They were at another million dollar home, this one with a tennis court and two Porsches in the driveway. The husband was kind of soft looking, but he had this air about him, like he was a negotiator, some sort of executive probably. When Rocco would stand next to him, he’d bump his glasses up his face with a finger and raise his chin up so he could look at him. You could tell he thought Rocco was intimidating, and you could tell he was attempting to confront him and not appear weak. But he looked weak. Every time he pushed those glasses up, he did it with his pinky finger sticking out like he was drinking tea the way Geoff’s nana used to.

When the guy took a break for a phone call, walking around his driveway in his slippers with his back to them, Rocco got up close to her. He asked her what she thought. She panicked for a second. Thought to back away from the question, but knew that would make her sound stupid. She said they could shave some off the bid if it made this guy happy. They could save money if they hauled the materials all at the same time, combine it with the last job they bid on in Newmarket—they’d just have to get this guy to agree on the first customer’s schedule. She didn’t know if it made any sense at all or if she made a fool of herself. Rocco nodded, smiled at her, held her gaze a little long again, those black eyes boring through her and not giving anything away what he was thinking or feeling. Just like Dino. He agreed.

Rocco acted like he already knew to do what she said. Maybe he did, but the important thing was she showed him she got it. She was a quick study. End of her first day and she could show her boss that she saw how it all worked and if she was this good on day one, she was going to be valuable. She hoped he saw she was going to be valuable. The job paid pretty darn good. It was hard work; the early morning, the pace, the travel, but she liked it. It was fun being out of the house. She missed Geoff. Missed him bad. But those simple days with Geoff were just a gift. She had them, enjoyed them, but now it was time to get serious. Maybe this could be a career. Maybe this could be a real thing for her. A double income would be flat out fucking outstanding. They weren’t in trouble—Geoff did pretty well, and was doing better, like big things for Geoff were on the horizon. But maybe if they both worked, they could do some great things. It would be nice if Geoff didn’t work seven days a week, though, truthfully, he liked it. If he could slow it down, not have to produce so much just to get paid, then they could travel, maybe. Get a cottage or something.

She texted him.

Nia: Home late. Out in Aurora, on way back to office.

G-Force: NP Baby need a fat girl night?

Nia: ha ha ha oh my god I forgot about those! baby please!

“Fat girl night?”

“Yeah. We’d eat chips, ice cream . . . I’d bake her some warm sugar treats.”

***

“Fat girl, Dad? That’s mean.”

“Odie, it’s not supposed to be mean. It’s like . . . camaraderie. With fat girls. Like, we get it, you know?”

“No.”

“Like we get sometimes you just wanna eat sweets til your tummy bursts,” he said and poked her soft little girl middle. She flinched, but didn’t laugh. Odie smirked. She was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, helping him mix batter from the Betty Crocker Brownie mix.

She said, “But you’re not fat.”

“I know. Odie, maybe it’s mean, we didn’t mean it like that. You wanna make a new name for it for Mommy and me?”

“Okay.”

He put his hands over hers, one on the bowl and one on her grip on the rubber spatula. They stirred the chocolate batter together.

Odie said, “Brownie Night?”

“Boring. Plus, it’s not always brownies.”

Odie watched her hands on the bowl, watched the handle stuck in the brown mix, twirl around and around, folding and plopping, sweet sugar smell wafting up to them after each flatulent batter burp. He put his chin on the top of her head.

“Sugar Poops Night?” she giggled.

“Oh my God,” he gasped. “That’s fuc—that’s so perfect, sweetheart. Sugar Poops Night.”

Odie laughed and squirmed in his arms, and he hugged her.

“If I got fat, Dad, would you make fun of me?”

“Odie,” he groaned, squeezed her so tight a grunt came out of her, “baby, I’m not making fun of fat girls and if you got big and fat I’d love you even more . . . just mathematically, because there’s literally more to love.”

“Dad, I’m joking.”

“Oh. Whatever, I will love you forever no matter what.”

“I know,” she chastised him, and raised the spatula. He backed away, knowing she would try to tap his nose with it. He went to the oven and got the baking pan. “As I was saying, they were Fat Girl Nights, now forever known as Sugar Poops Nights, and I would meet your Mom at her apartment or she would come to mine—”

“It doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“We were just friends, Odie. I told you that. Before I married your Mom, before we dated, she and I were best friends.”

“So you would get together and bake brownies?”

“I’d bake them for her. If she was feeling down, or overwhelmed . . . with, uh, school or whatever.”

“Weak, Dad.”

“Weak?” Pretty intuitive for a seven-year-old. It was, in retrospect, weak.

***

Nia couldn’t wait to get home.

They’d got back to the yard at just after 7:30 P.M. and she was over twenty minutes from home in the traffic. She was starving. Rocco had offered to stop at a drive-thru in Concord, but she declined. Geoff was texting, saying he and O were cooking dinner for her. In the yard Rocco said she did great on her first day and he enjoyed having her with him in the truck and she said she had a good time too and she liked the job. She tried to hide it but she knew her face was showing the exhaustion. Her smile was more difficult, her eyes were struggling to stay lively and open. But she felt peaceful. She felt proud of herself. This was a big step. It was tough, but she’d done it and she thought she’d done it well. Rocco said he’d see her tomorrow and patted her butt as she walked away and she stumbled a bit before getting to the Volvo.

Now she was on the Gardiner, the lights of the city just ahead. A lit billboard told her Matilda was coming to Ed Mirvish, and she wondered if she could take Geoff and Odie, do it as her treat now she was working. It would be nice, all three of them, going out one of the nights and see it as a family.

She got off at Parkside, so glad to see her neighborhood—the hospital ahead where Odie first emerged onto this planet. Then she blinked and pow! she was creeping down her alley. She worried she might have dozed off somewhere there, but that was impossible because there were so many people out tonight, looking to get a good head start on the nice weather. She would have run one of them over. She pulled into the drive, brought the Volvo’s bumper up so it almost touched the wall of Geoff’s studio, then she shut it down and for a moment leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. But she bolted upright against the sleepy pull, so strong now a dizzy vertigo set in like she was falling backwards and it made her nauseous.

She clicked up the concrete walk, her back and legs aching from sitting all day hunched over a laptop, being used in ways they just weren’t used to. When she got to the top of the stairs, she saw through the kitchen window what Geoff and Odie had done.

The two of them, in metallic paper party hats, were waiting for her. They’d strung a banner made of silvery tinfoil that hung in a fringe, and on each flat sheet tooth was a letter. It spelled out YAAAY MOM! They had dinner prepared and there were candles lit on the kitchen table in the booth. Fucking guys. They made her cry. She was not a crier. Not at happy things. It was brief, but her eyes welled up like they would burst and a tear plopped down her cheek and she wiped it away. Her husband and daughter waited with beaming faces and she stepped through the door, so happy to be home with her family.

She opened the door laughing, then when they said, suuurpriii-ise, her eyes squinted up.

“You jerks,” she laughed, wiping at her eyes again, laughing out loud, sniffing and hiding her face from them in her hair.