CHERRY BLOSSOMS // Revisited // Bachelorette // 2.1

Geoff snuck out of bed while Nia was splashing in the shower and got down to the kitchen, excited to cook her bacon and eggs. It was four fucking forty-five in the morning, and while he dreamed of doing this every morning, man, he liked to sleep.

It was Nia’s first day of work at the pool company. Start time was 7 A.M., and Nia wanted to be there at six-thirty, so she set the alarm for a quarter after four. Why did she want to go back to work again?

He fried up some bacon and scrambled some eggs, made toast, poured them each a short glass of fresh squeezed OJ he got down at the Village Juicery. It was ready as Nia came into the kitchen.

“You . . . I thought I smelled bacon.” She beamed and clapped her hands once.

Geoff waved a hand above the mini-feast, one direction, then the other, showing off all he’d prepared. The cheerful face his wife showed was worth being up at this ridiculous hour.

He said, “Come on and sit with me before you go.”

The table was set with napkins and cutlery, and even a flower and some fern leaves in a little vase. Their kitchen was narrow, the table part of a booth by a tall window that looked out over the roof of the detached garage that was his studio. Couldn’t see it, too dark, just the purple-black of its roof against solid black.

“Geoff, you’re the fucking best,” she said and put her arms around him, kicked back a high heel and smacked his lips with hers in a wonderful but exaggerated kiss. He knew she’d left a nice print on him in her sexy shade of burgundy. Nia dressed professionally for work. Dark wool skirt and tights, low heels, a dark sweater. She looked stunning.

“Look at you, Nia. You look amazing, honey.” He sat her down at the table, then took a seat in the booth across from her and wiped the lipstick mark with a napkin. “Don’t get used to it, it’s way too early. You can stop at Tim’s from now on, get a coffee and a bagel.”

“Thank you, Geoff. I’m just glad to see you,” she said, chewing the end of a piece of bacon, lips peeled in a snarl so she wouldn’t get grease on them. “I’m going to miss you today. We’ve spent, like, almost every day together for how long now?”

“I don’t know. Eight years?” He held his stomach. “It’s hurting my stomach thinking about it. I’m going to miss you so much.”

Nia ate her eggs and bacon, drank her coffee. He asked, “Hey, are you the only girl that works there?”

“No, there’s a girl in the retail part and there was a woman who I did my paperwork with. Administration of some kind. I don’t think she liked me.”

“Nobody likes the new pretty girl.”

“She was older. I think she was friends with the person who did the job before me.”

They were almost done, and he jumped up, said, “Hang on, hang on, almost forgot.” He went to the cupboard, and brought out a tall box with wrapping paper and a ribbon on it, right around on all sides and a bow on top.

“Aw, Geoff, really? What’d you get me?”

“Here, just pop the top off, babe.”

Nia ran a nail around the paper at the lid’s seam and wiggled it off, pushing the ribbon over the corners so she could remove what was inside.

“A thermos, Geoff?” She looked at him wryly, holding the thermos he’d bought her.

“It’s a good one, Nia. All the workmen use them. This is top of the line and I thought you’d like the lumberjack plaid.”

Nia shook her head and smiled, saying, “I’m an executive, you know, I’m not working with concrete.”

“I know. I meant it to be kind of funny.”

“Oh, ha, yeah, I get it,” she joked with him.

“Tell me you won’t use it,” he said.

“It’s useful, I know. I will use it every day and I will think of you, baby,” she said as she got up and bent and kissed him again, right on the lips. “Did you hide a camera in it or something?”

“No. A listening device.”

“You crafty bugger.” She kissed him again, kissed him with a smile.

“I can’t believe you’re going to work at this time. I’m going back to bed the minute you’re gone.”

“Odele’s up in”—she checked her watch—“two hours. Don’t sleep late, you gotta get her to school.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m Mr. Mom now. Happily. Fill that with coffee this morning,” he said, nodding with his chin to the thermos. “You’re an exec, but you’re out in the field all day with the swinging dicks. Gotta be on your toes.”

“Swinging d— Geoff, this is my job, okay?” She laughed. “I get your fantasy stuff, but let’s be serious. You think I’m there to suck off all those guys or something?”

“No. Swinging dicks is a term. People use it.”

“Okay.”

He smiled, said, “You might want to get used to that language.”

“All the swinging dicks talk like that?”

He laughed at that; Nia could be as foul-mouthed as they come. “Ah, come on, baby, this is tough for me too. At least I’ve found a way for it to work for me.”

“Creep.”

“You married me.”

“I love you. Think your dirty thoughts today. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“What time?”

“Rocco said I don’t have to work past five.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She left him. Opened the door and went out with her bag and the thermos tucked under an arm. A cool blast of fresh spring air not yet touched by the sun wafted back and made him shiver. Nia’s heels clicked down the stairs, then between the house and the studio, and into the dark. The Volvo started, then the lights came on. His homebody wife leaving for her new life before the sun even came up.

***

When she was stuck in traffic on the Gardiner, surprised to see so many people out so early, she regretted ever getting a job. At this time, over the last eight years, she would still be in bed. Then she and Geoff would get up whenever, no alarm clock. They’d have some breakfast, get Odie off to school. Some days, before Geoff would start drawing, they’d walk out to Roncesvalles and go to the bakery and have their breakfast there. Fresh bagels right from the oven, the smoothest cream cheese, and their coffee was fantastic too. No strict agenda, nothing hectic. Geoff put in the work hours—really put in the hours, like seven days a week often—but he made his own schedule.

But by the time she rolled into the work yard, early despite the slow traffic, the excitement began. Her stomach cramped a little from the anxiety, the fear of the unknown, but underneath there was a desire for something new, even if it might seem scary at first.

It was still dark, the morning only beginning to brighten. Shapes in the yard were black, the metal edges rimmed with a liquid white light as the sun came up and made the sky a cold grey-blue. She could see the Rocco-shape, distinct from the other shapes in their ball cap silhouettes. More than a head taller, his big strong arms pointing and jabbing. She could tell he was shouting. The trucks were running, pushing out wet exhaust into the chill morning air, four of them on one side, guys running around holding pumps and jugs, then a dump truck on the other side with a tractor loading aggregate into it from a pile at the edge of the yard.

Nia pulled around and parked the Volvo in a marked spot behind the brick retail and office building. She checked herself in the mirror, looked at her own eyes go wide. She smiled, grabbed her bag and Geoff’s sweet thermos, locked up and crossed the yard, heading for Rocco.

When she was halfway there, he boomed, “Mornin’,” and it looked like he was smiling. Rocco dressed the same as the last time she’d seen him, in jeans and a black T-shirt. Probably with the sleeves cut off, but he wore a jacket this morning, thick cotton duck, worn with use.

“Good morning,” she said, voice thin and brittle in the chilly air, dwarfed and crushed by the banging of tractors and revving engines and reverse beeps. How was he so audible?

“Come here,” Rocco said, and as she got to him he put a huge hand across her back and moved her so they were side by side. He pointed past the gravel piles at a pickup truck there, huge tires, lifted right up off its suspension. He shouted, “You and me gotta head out to Concord—that’s my truck, go get in there and wait for me, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Okay,” she shouted over the noise.

Rocco patted her ass, and his power knocked her forward and she stumbled. She yelped, but it was lost in the din.

“Thanks for being early,” he said, and she looked back, saw his serious face as he nodded to her.

She adjusted her skirt while crossing the yard in her heels, worried about all these trucks whipping around. Her eyes had adjusted to the low morning light, and the sun was making it up into the sky now and she could at least see where she was going.

She made it to Rocco’s truck without getting run over. It was a lot bigger than she’d thought, standing by Rocco across the yard. Full-size, four doors, blacked out, lifted so high she didn’t know how she was going to climb in there wearing a skirt. The tires were as high as her waist. She reached up and opened the door, then threw her bag and Geoff’s thermos into the footwell. One hand on the leather seat, the other hand on the armrest of the open door, she pulled herself up. She couldn’t do it without putting a foot on the doorsill, but if she did, the skirt would ride up, and she’d practically be doing the splits.

A hand palmed her ass, lifting her, and Nia pulled with her arms, Rocco behind her, helping her in. She bent her legs, his other hand on the back of a thigh just above her knee as he hefted her right in to the truck. She flinched as he pinched her ass as he set her down on the passenger seat.

“We’re gonna have to get you a step stool, eh?” He laughed, loud and deep.

“Maybe I shouldn’t wear skirts.” She laughed too.

“No, Nia, ay, you should definitely wear skirts.” His huge hand grabbed an ankle and guided her legs in. “Make sure those pretty little feet are in there.” He closed the truck door.

When he was in, bouncing his enormous bulk around in the driver’s side and making the truck shake, he said, “Get your computer out.”

“Computer? Where—”

“There, there,” he said impatiently, jerking a thumb to the back seat.

Nia looked over her shoulder and saw a leather notebook bag back there. She reached around, had to get to her knees on the seat. She could feel Rocco’s eyes on her ass. She let him look, stuck it out for him for a second, then she was back to work, plopping down in her seat and zipping the bag open.

Rocco pulled the laptop out for her like she wasn’t moving fast enough. He showed her his accounting program, showed her where they were at, showed her how to get in the cloud and where they kept all the copies of receipts and how to scan them on the road. She was so glad she’d kept up with this stuff, doing Geoff’s books all these years. All this technology would have passed her by.

“Got it?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go. I’ll learn as we work.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, and she was glad to see him smile.

He said, “Hey, you had breakfast? Tim’s?”

“Geoff made me breakfast this morning.”

Rocco grunted, looked at her legs, down into the footwell, and she resisted the urge to adjust her skirt. Then he leaned toward her and the hair raised up on her arms. But Rocco went between them, leaning into the back seat. He had a powerful musky man smell already, not even seven in the morning yet. He had to lean way back between the leather seats, reaching for something. His shirt had come up and she could see his stomach, his belly hair. She looked between his legs while he wrestled, the soft denim bulge there bigger than her spread open hand if she were to lay it out over him. She rolled her eyes and smiled, turned away, thought about telling Geoff.

“Hey,” he said, heaving himself around again to face her. He held a thermos, same as the one Geoff got her, just in army green instead of plaid. “I like your thermos.”

She laughed, gave him a big open smile, said, “Geoff got me mine.”

“My wife got me this one. We got two at home really look out for us, eh?”

***

All morning his breaths were coming short, his back was tight, and he had one possessive thought: Nia.

It led to him getting an enormous amount of work done. No CBC on in the background, no music, no distractions. His mind was taken with this overwhelming anxious notion of his wife away from him, out in the world, out with other men. He’d been on autopilot for hours now—worked through lunch, he’d been a machine. Two complete large-scale drawings done in four big sections, eight full sheets of pencils had been transformed into fully inked perfection. He was ecstatic with the results. Didn’t even remember really doing it. He’d just thought of his wife and his hand had impulsively dipped brushes and nibs held in French pointers into his custom blend of ink, and scratched and swiped away until he was done. He’d been half-hard the entire time, grabbing himself occasionally through his sweats and absently squeezing himself.

Now it was 1 P.M. and all the art was done. He had to scan the pages and then open them in Photoshop, chop them up and piece them together as one big image. One day he’d switch to digital. But right now there was great joy at scratching ink on paper, and he could often sell original art too, sometimes for quite a good chunk of change. He’d got fifteen grand for all his work from Little-Choo. So, for now, he was still hybrid, part traditional, part digital. It meant that his afternoon would now be laborious and mechanical.

Shit, this was exactly like when he was twenty: In art class wondering what his precious friend Nia was up to. Wondering what she was going to do this weekend. Who was she dating, where was he going to take her? The whole while, Geoff was planning what he was going to do when he saw Nia when she was home. Texting her, sending her pictures of something he was working on, waiting with trembling hands for her response. She would always respond. For a long time, he thought she was just a nice girl who would humor a boy like him. But she turned into a good friend. A real friend. His best friend. And she wasn’t nice. Not all the time. She could be mean. Nia would have no trouble telling a guy like him to go fuck himself if she felt like she needed to.

So he and Nia got tighter and tighter, and even though his heart twisted up like the wringing out of a wet cloth, he never did shit about it. He’d sit in Nia’s apartment or his apartment when she got home and they’d watch a movie, do a heart to heart, sometimes she would literally cry on his shoulder.

Suddenly, heaven-sent, his phone buzzed and lit up right next to him. A text from Nia.

Nia: fuuuuuuuuck

G-Force: you OK?

Nia: tiiiired

Then a sleepy Emoji.

G-Force: Aw, baby, I’m a rub them little footsies when you get home

She sent him a picture of herself. Nia’s pretty face, comically tired, eyes barely open, perfect lips sleepily parted. It looked like she was in a vehicle, seatbelt over her shoulder.

G-Force: Ha ha ha, still beautiful, baby

Nia: thanks G-man

G-Force: when U home?

Nia: gotta go boss coming

“Bye, Nia,” he said, and he gave the screen of his phone a gentle kiss.

***

Nia asked Rocco: “You’re gonna eat that whole fucking thing?”

“Huh? Yeah. You watch me.”

They were sitting in Rocco’s truck, just after 1 P.M., the day bright and sunny now. They’d stopped for lunch in a luxury subdivision in King City, just down the street from the house they were supposed to visit and bid on a boatload of landscaping. Rocco said it would be over a hundred grand. He was eating the lunch his wife had packed for him. Two chicken parm sandwiches stuffed into tupperware. They were covered in cheese and dripping with sauce. Nia could have got away with eating a third of one and been satisfied.

“Geoff made me a salad.”

“Shit. You want some of this?” he said, holding the second tupperware container over to her.

“No, no, I don’t want to eat your lunch, thanks though.”

“Hey, I insist. My wife makes the best chicken parm, seriously, try it just to try it. It’s the fucking best.”

She took it from him, saying, “Psshht. No offense. Second best.”

“Second, huh?”

“You should try my chicken parm.” She popped the lid on his tupperware and it smelled pretty fucking good. Being on the road and active and alert all morning, then punched in the face with the aroma of tomato and cheese and oil made her stomach growl. She’d worked up an appetite.

“I’d love to get a taste of your chicken parm,” he said, looking out the window.

He was being dirty, probably, and she let it go. Didn’t play along. He was friendly and all, but she still wanted to keep it professional. “Shheeesus, this is really fucking good,” she said, her mouth full of sandwich. She had to wipe her lips with a napkin.

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s pretty damn good. I’ll make mine, you tell me.”

He looked over to her, saying, “No offense, you don’t look like a wife should be in the kitchen.”

“My mom taught me a thing or two.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You’re just not the kind of woman a husband cares what she does in the kitchen.”

“I have many talents,” she said, handing him back his sandwich, trying to slough off the piggish compliment but kinda making it worse.

“Mm,” he just nodded, shoving his sandwich into his mouth.

“Hey, who’s your wife? I know her?” she asked him.

“Maria. She was Maria Mastrocola.”

“She go to Baywood?”

“Yeah.”

“I know her. Not know her know her, but I know who she is. She was fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah, she was. She was a fucking smoke-show,” he said, looking at the sandwich.