Chapter 22

22

He stops breathing for so long, I'm almost alarmed when he finally speaks. "You want me to make you come." His voice is lower and gruff. "Did I hear that right?"

"Yes." I pull the blanket down my body. I'm wearing a giant shirt and plain cotton boy shorts. I wonder if he can see how my nipples pinch in anticipation. If he'll reach for me and feel how wet I already am.

I wasn't lying earlier. I'm always so damn wet for him.

"Why? Why do you want me to do that?" he asks as his eyes linger down my body, at the hint of suggestion under the fabric—breasts, thighs, belly, rising and falling fast with my breath.

"We need to…you and I need to get it out of our systems." He frowns in a way that he looks maybe angry, so I go on hurriedly, "I've felt bad almost all day. I just need to feel good for once."

His face closes and my stomach drops. Neither of those reasons are the right response. He tears his gaze from me and I'm certain he's going to say no. He's going to leave me here wet, turned on, and worst of all, feeling pathetically undesirable. No one else but me would ever want you. As usual, Johnny's words come barreling down at the worst possible moment.

I reach to pull the blanket over me again, but he grabs my hand, stopping me. "Hands over your head." His voice is hard, as rough as the rocks along the shore, and it makes goose bumps run down my chest, hips, legs. "Grab the headboard like a good girl."

Oh my God. No way that Carter— Carter , the nerdy guy who always texted me Good afternoon and Good night back when we were still friends, who stopped fooling around with me one year ago because I'd drunk too much, plus he wanted to take me to dinner first?— no way he just called me a good girl like that, like if I disobey him, he'll turn me on his lap and smack my ass before fingering me to an orgasm.

"Oh my God," I say as I reach up and clamp my fists on the wood. I'm already trembling.

He lifts my shirt until it reaches my collarbone, and my nipples somehow harden even more. I shut my eyes tight until he commands, "No. Look at me." And I focus back on him just as he lowers his hot mouth to my breast.

"Oh my God." I can't stop saying it. It feels so good. Too good. He teases my nipple with his warm tongue, all the while flicking the other one with his fingers. "Oh my God, oh my God ." I'm throbbing between my legs. It would take nothing at all to get me there—a slide of his fingers over my underwear, really—but he's not interested in making this quick for me. He prolongs the delicious torture, switching his mouth and fingers between my breasts until I'm begging for him to please please touch my clit.

But does he listen to me? No. Instead he kisses under my breasts. He kisses my stomach, then each hip. When I realize his plans as he lowers his broad frame down the bed, I tense. "You don't have to do that. Just use your fingers."

He doesn't break eye contact as he slides my boy shorts down my legs, carefully and tenderly under my bruised ankle. "Teal, I've been wanting to eat you out since I first learned what that even was. You really going to deprive me of it?"

I close my eyes briefly. Is he serious? He can't be. I hate to think about Johnny in this moment, but I can't help it. My ex acted like me sucking him off was a privilege for me , and meanwhile him returning the favor was literal torture. He asked me to shower beforehand, and then he would cover me with flavored lube just so he could survive fifteen seconds of licking. I even went to the doctor, convinced there was a reason why he hated the taste of me. When I finally asked him about it, he wrinkled up his nose and said, No man really enjoys that. Maybe if you didn't get so wet…

And getting wet isn't exactly something I can control. So I asked him to stop eating me out and he joyfully complied.

I shake my head of these thoughts. My worst nightmare is having to repeat that with Carter. I don't want him to go down on me while counting the seconds until he could stop. I honestly can't think of a worse turnoff than that. "But guys don't really like to do that, which I understand. It's—"

"I like it."

I open my eyes to see, even in the dim lightning, the sincerity on his face.

"You do?"

He nods, and then he yanks my legs open, again, taking care with my left foot. I gasp when I feel his hot breath against the slick parts of me. When he gives me a long, hard lick, I moan so loud, it's like nothing exists but my voice and my pleasure for that long moment. "I fucking love this," he says, and all my insecurities about my past, about the criticism I'd heard when I asked for this, they all melt away. Along with me, under the wide, hot pressure of Carter's tongue.

"I'm going to come," I say after about two minutes. It's too good. So warm, so—

He then removes his mouth from me.

"Carter, what the hell?" I reach down to pull him back but he leans away from me even more.

"Hands on the headboard or I'll punish you." His voice is stern but there's a ghost of a smile on his face.

"You're already punishing me!" I yelp, but then I fist the wood behind me once more.

Carter smiles. "You wanna come?"

"I need to come so bad." I squirm under his hot gaze. His hands reach my hips to stop me. "I've got my hands on the headboard, all right? Can my reward be an orgasm?"

"Beg. I want to hear you beg again."

I moan, because hearing him demand it is such a wild turn-on.

"Beg me to make you come, Teal."

"Please. Carter, please, please, make me come. Please—"

He lifts my hips—again, gently, glancing back to make sure my foot is still on the pillow—and when he lowers his mouth to me, this time, it's to slip his tongue inside me.

I gasp and my next moan is silent. He's tongue-fucking me. I didn't know people did this in real life. While his tongue licks me inside, he reaches up with his fingers, and pinches my clit. Hard. I'm so slippery that what happens is he slides all over me, somehow in all the right ways, and my body arches up as I moan.

I come so hard, I swear I see the Milky Way, swirling in a great cosmic spiral, right here in this bedroom. It's either the longest orgasm in history, or about five of them all rolling into one another. I've never felt anything like it, not even when it's just me and my vibrator, which is pretty much the only way I can come.

I've never believed women when they said it felt like their soul left their bodies during sex. Now I do.

"Oh my God," I whisper because I still can't believe that happened. Carter leans back, his mouth wet and smiling. It's hot. It's so hot I feel another surge of arousal, even so soon after that epic orgasm.

I can't believe how good he is at that, which makes me consider how else he's good. "Do you have a condom?" I ask, not at all hiding my desperation.

Carter's smile at my pleasure, at my seemingly endless orgasm, drops immediately. "We're not doing that, Teal. I told you the other day."

"What?" I almost jump out of my bed, but remembering the pain of my foot, I settle for sitting upright. "What do you mean, we're not doing that? Shouldn't you—" I glance down where he's not even trying to hide how hard he is. His erection should probably be painful by now.

He shakes his head. "This was about making you feel good, remember?"

"But now I can make you feel good."

"No, Teal. This was about you."

That's what I said, wasn't it? That I needed to feel good. But that wasn't really what this was about. It was about us getting it out of our systems. It was about me doing this and being cured of wanting more from Carter, because if I wanted him forever, it would just be painful forever, knowing he couldn't ever want me in return. Knowing he didn't want a broken woman for his for-real wife.

"You…" Carter begins. He turns away from me. "I don't think I want you the same way you want me right now."

My heart feels like it's dropped to my belly. It's like he heard all my worst thoughts about us, about me, and decided to confirm them in a single statement. I turn over. "Fine. I'm going to sleep."

He sighs as he stands. "Teal—"

"I'm going to sleep, Carter."

After a few moments, he sighs once more, and then he leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

In the morning, Carter is gone, the only signs that he had been up the blanket left curled up like a cat on the pull-out, plus the lingering scent of coffee and toast in the kitchen.

For a single, groggy moment, after limping around and not seeing him, I think maybe he has left me. Even though it makes no sense—this is his house, we're still married, where would he go?—but the suspicion hits my stomach like a blade. When I see the note scrawled on the counter, I exhale in embarrassing relief.

Gotta work today. Please stay off your foot. Have a bagel or cereal for breakfast and heat up leftovers for lunch. Don't move too much. Don't even THINK about running. Ice and elevation. Don't cook. I'll bring home dinner. —C

Tears sting at my eyes and I put my arms on the counter, taking some of the weight off my now-dominant foot. Am I always going to think that someone will leave me after a bad day? Will the trauma of Mama abandoning me cling to me forever, like the weight of battered armor I didn't ask for?

I need to find her. I need to fix this, fix my brain, my emotions, me .

As the egg bagel toasts, I grab cream cheese, a knife, and my phone. I drag a stool next to the toaster and hit up Gerald Samuels's number.

"Samuels," he says when he picks up.

"Hi, Gerald. It's Teal Flores here. Just calling to see if you had any updates."

His responding sigh tells me even before he uses his words. "So far, my team and I have done a thorough electronic search of your mom. We've used our usual means, but they've turned up very little leads."

The bagel pops out of the toaster, and I push the button down again. Sage thinks I'm some kind of freak because I like all my toasted bread just one shade shy of burnt, but honestly, she uses the toaster more like a warmer than anything else, grabbing the bread after it's been heating for all of five seconds. She may as well pop her bagel in the microwave and she thinks I'm the freak? "What kind of leads?"

"Well, we've found a marriage certificate dated from 1993. The marriage was annulled only two months later, and the former groom passed away a decade ago."

"What was his name?" I ask as my heart picks up.

"Richard Sanchez."

It doesn't ring any bells, but why would it? It's not like we were ever introduced to any of Mama's boyfriends, not even our fathers. Given the timeline, though, this was probably the man Mama left us for. The impatient jackass in his big truck, revving the engine to hurry up a woman saying goodbye to her daughter for the last time ever. Maybe it makes me a bad person to say it, but I don't feel a single bit sad at learning he's dead.

Gerald lists me other things they've found—a broken deed on a house from years ago, an apartment rented for all of two weeks. I'm halfway done with my bagel when he asks, "Look, this might sound weird, but has your mom ever gone by the name Vivienne?"

I shake my head even though he can't see me. "Uh, no, not to my knowledge."

"It's not a family name or anything?"

I try to remember if Nadia has ever mentioned the name in her long stories about our lineage, but nothing comes up. "Nope."

"We just found a woman who has kind of a stage name or something, Vivienne Cora. Some of her performances and art shows seemed to coincide with your mom's whereabouts over the years. But we can't find Viv's real name—all the galleries she's worked with no longer exist." He grunts out another sigh. "We'll keep going, Teal. Lots of cases start slow, and then one big lead makes things get real hot, real fast."

Inexplicably, I think of the woman at the beach. The one in the distance during the lightning storm. She was on one side of the cackling electricity between us, and I was on the other. A scene drew itself in actual lightning between us—me, a baby, running after Mama, begging her to stay.

What if that woman on the beach was Mama?

Even as the thought comes, I push it away. I have no evidence whatsoever that it could be her. Probably she was just someone who got caught in a bad storm and looked up and witnessed another woman get struck by the most bizarre lightning anyone had ever seen. I don't know anyone who would've been able to tear their eyes away from such a spectacle.

I thank him before hanging up, and then I take some pain pills before limping to wash up and change and sit on my bed, looking out the window in a daze.

The sky is as blue as crushed blueberries swirled into yogurt, with streams of clouds bobbing by, light as meringue topping. The sea is gray like some of Sage's Montana sapphire jewelry, slate blue set into silver. Lots of families have packed themselves on the shoreline, their bathing suits looking like tropical flowers against the more subdued sky, sea, and sand.

It was like the lightning storm never even happened. And what if…what if the part where I saw people-shaped lightning really didn't happen? Can people hallucinate when they're being electrocuted? I didn't even think to ask Carter if he'd seen it. I was too caught up in the way he slid his tongue inside me, I guess.

My entire body heats at the memory, with my chest and stomach and some…lower…places tingling as though a hundred Fourth-of-July sparklers were lit too close to my skin. Jesus, Carter is good at oral. I've never been with a guy who was like that before. Johnny obviously was never into it, with him having to cover me in melon-flavored lube just to withstand fifteen seconds of it. And Nate…Nate said he liked it just fine, but he held his tongue so far away from me that it got cold. And then it felt like he was rubbing a refrigerated sea creature along my clit. Maybe some women are into ice play, but I'm not one of them.

Carter did things to me I didn't even know I wanted. I didn't know it could feel like that. I didn't know any part of a man could feel better than a vibrator.

But what good is knowing that doing me? Carter made it clear that he didn't want me the way I want him. Now all I have is the knowledge of how amazing he is with at least one part of sex, and also the humiliation that he only did it out of pity, not 'cause he really wanted to. I don't think I want you the same way you want me.

I bury my face in my hands. I need to get over my husband. Which means I need even more of a distraction than the throb of my ankle.

I limp toward my dresser and pull out my familiar, wrinkled little piece of paper.

New Year's Resolutions for Teal Flores

Stop being selfish.

Make it up to Sage.

Make it up to Sky.

Become best friends with Carter again.

Honest to God, my lower lip trembles when I reread that last one. I'd written it down with as much optimism I could muster, but the sad truth is I think even all the way back then, I knew becoming best friends with Carter was a pipe dream. Outside, cement gray clouds rush in and I can almost feel the dismay emanating from the people on the beach. I do my breath work until I feel…not happy, exactly, but some numb place just outside despair. Someplace where the clouds don't leave, but they no longer look heavy and ominous, either.

I take one last counted breath and refocus on the list. Unplugging my phone from its charging cord, I pull up my family text group.

Me: Hey, who wants to meet up for lunch today? My treat

Amá Sonya: You and I have brunch tomorrow, since we missed it last Sunday. Do not forget and do NOT be late.

Me: Is that your way of saying you can't make it today?

Me: …

Me: Amá?

Nadia: I'm sure Sonya is too busy volunteering for her HOA today. There are many neighbors out to spy on to report and threaten.

Amá: For your information, Nadia, I am currently at a banquet with the mayor, the large editor from the Cranberry Chronicle, and that young man from that big-time newspaper from the New York City.

Me: the large editor?

Sage: I think she means editor at large.

Sky: Wait, the young man from New York City? Do you mean Adam? Adam Noemi? Do you mean the New York Times when you say "big-time newspaper"? Is he in town again?

For the love of the old gods. I should have just texted one of them at a time. I sigh as my phone explodes with near-constant dings and buzzing for the next five minutes. Yes, Adam Noemi from the New York Times is back in town. Yes, she meant editor-at-large but Sonya hates being wrong so she's insisting that everyone is calling her the Large Editor as some kind of inside joke.

Sky: But why? What's Adam doing there with the editor and the mayor?

Amá Sonya: He's leaving the big-time paper for the Chronicle. They are honoring him with the position right now.

Sky: WHAT? WHY?!

Sage: really? leaving the NYT? Why would he do that tho

Amá Sonya: He is a handsome young man, but not too bright. Surely he's making less money here.

Nadia: There has to be another reason. Maybe his grandfather needs more help.

Sky: I spent the day with Old Man Noemi yesterday and he was fit as a fiddle, or so he claimed.

Me: Maybe the Times dropped him. Either way, does anyone want to get lunch today? Please pretty please?

Amá Sonya: Do not forget that we have brunch tomorrow. Do not be late.

Me: I'm going to go ahead and assume that's your version of ‘no,' Amá

Nadia: I'm can't because I'm at the church. We're organizing meals to deliver them to the homeless all afternoon.

If we were with each other in person, this would be the point where Amá sucks in her mouth like she's been forced to drink a glass of straight lime juice and then goes into explicit detail on her latest philanthropy work. She can't have Nadia "winning" at anything. But I guess she's busy at the banquet, since she doesn't text again.

Sky: I can after work. I'm here till one if you don't mind it being a late lunch.

Sage: I'm picking her up. I can come too

Me: Good, swing by and pick me up after please? I sprained my ankle and can't drive rn.

Nadia: How did you hurt your ankle TEAL?

I can't even begin to make sense of why only my name is in all caps, so I am going to assume that's a weird elder boomer thing. I wonder if I should tell them everything in response. Well, not everything. I'll definitely leave out last night's tongue situation.

Should I say how Carter's grandmother thinks I'm working directly for el diablo to ruin her grandson? How Carter sided with her, so I ran directly into a lightning storm in which human figures made of electricity were conjured out of thin air? And that's the reason why my ankle is fucked now—because I'm an idiot who can't control her gift and thinks climbing rocks in the rain is a fantastic hobby?

Old Teal—Selfish Teal—would have just laid it all out, expecting lots of attention and advice and maybe some kind of witchy limpia, because that people-made-of-lightning shit is damn creepy as hell and Nadia would surely want to pull it out of me with candles and eggs and an offering to the old gods.

But now I want to be the one to help. I want to be the one who is generous and soft and sweet.

So I don't answer Nadia's question. Instead, I type:

Me: After lunch I'm going to buy you a car, Sky.

And then, because I decided to be nice—not a saint—I add:

Me: And Nadia, why didn't you ever tell us that you banged Eugenio Velasquez?

And then I put my vibrating phone aside and begin to get ready for lunch.