The Art of Adapting (37 page)

“You ever had a girlfriend?” he asked Matt as they painted side by side. Matt had taped up a family photo for them to paint. It was of the new family: Lana, Matt, Abby, and Byron. They were both painting an interpretation of it.

“Three,” Matt said. “Michelle, Kayla, and Susan.” He ticked them off on his fingers.

“What were they like?” Byron asked.

“Michelle had short brown hair and a funny laugh. And she was allergic to peanuts. Just hives, though. She wouldn't die from eating one. Kayla was blond and drank a lot of coffee, which I didn't like, but she used breath mints. Susan had long brown hair. She played the guitar. She had a cat named Murray. He was orange with stripes.”

“So, what was it like, being with them?”

Matt painted a little, looking very closely at the canvas. Then he backed up and put the paintbrush down. “Sometimes I don't like when people touch me. That was a problem. Not during sex. I liked the touching then.” Matt laughed. “But Kayla always wanted to hold hands. And I can't do that. It's too . . .” He looked at his hands, rubbed them together. “And kissing was good during sex, when I was excited. But other times I didn't like it. There are too many germs in saliva. You have no way of knowing if someone else is getting sick, is already contagious. Michelle was okay with that. Kayla wasn't. Susan didn't seem to care. She never said anything about it.”

“What was it like? You know, sex?” Byron asked. He really hoped no one came into the garage during their conversation.

“The first time I was very excited. And it was over very fast.” Matt laughed and started mixing some new colors. “And I couldn't
wait to do it again. After that I figured some stuff out. How to last longer. You think about other things. Or stop for a minute if you have to. Women don't like it if you rush. And you need to pay a lot more attention to them than they do to you. You need to touch them more.”

“You mean foreplay?” Byron asked.

“Yeah. And after. They like to cuddle after. I'm not a fan,” Matt said. He picked up his paintbrush, dabbed it in the new color, and got back to work.

Byron sighed, his longing even stronger. He wanted foreplay. He wanted sex. He wanted to cuddle afterward for days.

Lana settled on the crisp paper of the cold exam table for her follow-up exam with Dr. Tucker. She waited all of five minutes, but it felt like hours. Just enough time to run through every worst-case scenario she could think of. Dr. Tucker entered and smiled, her usual polite but aloof self, until she saw how much Lana's hands were shaking.

“Hey, none of that,” she said.

“I think I'm a little bit terrified,” Lana said, laughing. “I really don't have time to be sick.”

“You aren't sick,” Dr. Tucker said, settling on a stool before Lana. She performed a quick exam while Lana tried not to panic. “See? Easy.” She tossed her gloves in the trash and helped Lana sit up. “You had a procedure and are recovering nicely. The pain is gone. The discharge is normal. In six months we'll do another pap smear. Hope your body has knocked that HPV out of your system and make sure all cells are normal.”

“So I just wait on pins and needles for another six months?”

“No, you forget about it completely, go on with your happy life. In six months I'll call you to come in. Don't waste time worrying about it. We found a problem and we dealt with it. You have no reason to worry.”

“Right,” Lana said.

“I mean it,” Dr. Tucker said. She grabbed Lana by the shoulders and looked her squarely in the eye. “I forbid you to put any more energy into this. I'm on it, so you don't have to be. Got it?”

“Got it,” Lana said. She was left to dress with her still-shaking hands. She wasn't sure what kind of resolution she'd been looking for, but she hadn't gotten it. It was still a waiting game. Like everything in life.

Lana emerged into the bright sunlight of a cloudless day, almost irritated with the beauty of it, until she saw Abbot leaning casually against her car. He was in a dress shirt and slacks, shirt unbuttoned, chest hair peeking out. He was strikingly handsome all dressed up for work. Lana's agitation was eclipsed by butterflies. For the first time that day she forgot to feel afraid.

“You're here,” she said. He'd had his meeting with human resources and his boss about returning to work full-time, had been sorry he couldn't join her for her checkup as a result.

“I am. My meeting finished early. Is it okay that I came?”

She stepped into his arms and inhaled the sweet warmth of him, his broad shoulder a perfect resting place for her cheek, his strong arms the exact comfort she needed at that moment. “It's very much okay.” She kissed him, again and again, until the softness of his lips, the mix of their breath, the feel of his arms around her banished everything else from her mind.

“I got the all-clear,” she whispered. “For . . . you know.”

During Lana's recovery from her LEEP procedure they had been confined to make-out sessions, hand-holding, long hugs. It gave their romance a chaste, puppy love quality. Waiting was the best and worst part. It was exquisite torture. But now she'd had her follow-up exam. She was cleared for intercourse. She kissed Abbot again, deeper.

“So you're saying . . .” He kissed her back, pulled her close.

“I have no kids for a few more hours.”

Abbot smiled, kissed her cheeks, forehead, eyelids. His hands wandered down her back, settled just below her waist. He gripped her hips passionately and pulled her against him. “Where should
we go?” He peered into the backseat of her car and raised his eyebrows. Lana laughed and shook her head.

“Your place,” Lana said. “I'll follow you there.”

They met on his doorstep. Lana's body buzzed with anticipation as Abbot unlocked the door. She trailed her fingertips down his spine. He turned and lifted her, carrying her just-married-style across the threshold. He grunted at her weight.

“Abbot, your back,” Lana warned.

Abbot laughed. “You're right. You've got me so excited I don't know what the hell I'm doing.” He settled her onto the living room floor and kissed her passionately. She rolled him onto his back and sat astride him. She unbuttoned his shirt, ran her hands across the bare width of his shoulders, the naked slope of his chest, the soft down on his belly. Abbot leaned his head back and moaned.

He tugged on the hem of her shirt, and she lifted her arms for him to pull it over her head. He kissed each of her bare shoulders, her collarbone, her breastbone. Lana pushed his shirt off his shoulders, but it was caught on his wrists by the buttons she'd forgotten to undo there. He lifted his shirt-mittened hands to her back and fumbled with her bra clasp, unable to manage it.

“I've got it,” she said, laughing.

“I swear I've done this before,” Abbot said, laughing and kissing her as he unbuttoned his shirtsleeves. They stood and giggled and kissed and fumbled, bumping their topless bodies together as he led the way to the bedroom. Lana sat on the bed, suddenly self-conscious of her half-naked body. Abbot removed his pants, laid them neatly over a chair, and knelt before her. “You okay?” he asked. She nodded and smiled, not sure if she was or not. “My god, you are beautiful,” Abbot said, gazing not at her aging breasts, the little roll around her waist peeking over her pants, but into her eyes with a sincerity that unhinged something inside her. “How did I get so lucky?” He unbuttoned her pants. She stood to remove them. They embraced and kissed, naked except for their underwear, pressing into each other's bodies until it wasn't enough. Abbot slid Lana's panties off and eased her onto the bed. She lay flat, eyes closed, as he kissed every inch of her. Her entire body
tingled. When she couldn't take it anymore she pulled him on top of her and kissed him.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he said.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked.

Abbot opened several drawers in search of one. There was something comforting in the knowledge that he didn't have one at the ready.

“Please don't let me have to go to the store like this,” he said, and Lana laughed as he opened one last drawer. “Jackpot!” He lay beside her, ran his hand over her breasts, her belly, her hips, her thighs. She couldn't catch her breath, from the laughter, the excitement, the smell of Abbot's skin. He slid his hands between her legs and she gasped. He stopped moving his hand and looked at her face.

“Please don't stop,” she said, laughing. He kissed her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly.

“How much time do you have?” he asked.

“Plenty,” she said. “No rush.” But she couldn't wait. She pushed Abbot onto his back, took the condom from him, and ripped the package open. She loved the look of surprise on his face. She was all-powerful, she was beautiful, she was sexy. She attempted to roll the condom on, but found it slick and uncooperative. They both laughed.

“I'm completely charmed that you're inept at this,” Abbot said, taking over.

She climbed on top of him and watched him watch her. They kissed and clutched each other and moved together. Abbot kept trying to slow her down and she kept trying to speed him up. He climaxed first, caressed her until she followed suit. She closed her eyes and let the waves of bliss wash over her. She'd needed this, had missed it, more than she'd realized.

“I didn't hurt you?” Abbot asked.

“You did wonderful things to me,” Lana said. “Thank you.”

Abbot kissed her and held her, traced his fingertips over her shoulder, down her ribs, across the valley of her waist, and over the slope of her hip.

“You are stunning,” he said.

“So are you.” She touched the tangle of hair on his chest. He was here. He was hers. She was overwhelmed at her bounty. She wanted to celebrate it. “Would you be up for meeting my kids?” she asked. The question had snuck out. It was too soon to ask such a thing. “I mean, I don't want to rush you, or us, I just wondered . . .”

“I'd love to. How's Sunday?”

Lana smiled and cupped his face. She kissed him again and again. How wonderful to be in a man's arms without reservations, to be admired so cleanly without agenda. No power struggles. No strife. Just this perfect moment: the warm breeze fluttering the pale curtains behind her, Abbot's eyes on her body, his hand grazing her thigh. She hadn't been a take-charge lover with Graham. Sex with Graham had been good, satisfying, but like so many things usually more on his terms than hers. Why had she ever agreed to that?

“Do you have another condom?” she asked, sidling up to Abbot.

“Oh, god, yes,” he said, tipping his head back as she kissed his throat.

She made it to school just in time to get the kids. She was disheveled, sore, and relaxed. Empty and full at the same time. She was Lana reinvigorated, reinvented.

“Let's go on an adventure,” she told them. “Let's have dinner on the beach.”

They swung by home for cold cuts, fruit, cookies, and to convince Matt to join them. Lana drove to Del Mar, parked just south of Dog Beach, along two miles of soft sand and lulling waves. They shared the sunset with surfers, paddle-boarders, off-leash dogs romping in the foamy surf just far enough away for Matt to gather dog-related data without any run-ins.

Lana kicked off her shoes and gripped the sand with her toes, the heated surface giving way to cooler grains below. Matt settled in the middle of the woolly maroon and gray blanket she'd bought on her trip to Tijuana with Abbot. The kids headed straight for the water, squinting into the sun and glaring waves. Abby's sundress
billowed out behind her, thin as a distant memory. Byron kicked some water at her and she squealed and spun, dancing in the foam. Lana settled beside Matt as he scribbled in his green notebook.

“They grow up so damn fast,” she said.

“We did, too,” he said. “Remember?”

“No.” Lana laughed. “Sometimes I still feel like I'm fourteen and worried about what to wear to impress the cool kids. I wonder who in their right mind thought I was mature enough for this: motherhood, home ownership, a career, adulthood in general. I hope I have them all fooled, that I have any clue at all what I'm doing.”

“You do,” he said matter-of-factly. He nodded a few times before returning to his notebook.

Lana snorted and it rolled into a giggle. She cherished the touchstone of Matt's frankness. It was such a posturing and gimmicky world. He was the antithesis of that.

“I bought our tickets for Florida,” Lana told him. “To visit Mom and Dad.”

Matt looked up, squinting at the bright ocean, then toward the dogs running free.

“Do you remember the pond we used to go to?” he asked. “To see tadpoles? And the time we brought a bunch home?”

“Yeah. I haven't thought about that in years. You were only, what, three or four then? How do you remember that?”

“What happened to them, after they turned into frogs?”

“I don't know.”

“We put them in that aquarium, and I remember watching them every day, as they grew legs and lost their tails. But what happened to them, once they were frogs? Did we take them back to the pond?”

“You know, I can't remember. But maybe Mom and Dad do?”

Matt nodded and turned back to his notebook. He deftly sketched a series of tadpole pictures, capturing their varying stages of development into frogs. “I think they died,” he said. It was a typical Matt-toned comment, void of any emotion.

“Maybe,” Lana said. “I don't remember setting them free.”

The sinking sun cast the water in blinding, molten gold. Abby and Byron stood in the surf, ten feet apart, not speaking as far as Lana could tell. They were silhouetted in brassy light, the breeze teasing Byron's shaggy hair and snapping the hem of Abby's dress. They were two beautiful tall, lean, strong, loving souls. They were perfect. And they were Lana's legacy. Her good fortune nearly moved her to tears.