Stephen Dixon - Interstate

His wife had planned to go back with them but he’d convinced her to stay because he knew she wanted to do a little more shopping, possibly see a foreign movie with her mother that would never come to their area, be with her folks another two days, “and I can handle it and I love being with my girls,” putting his arms around them, kissing the top of their heads, “my little darlings, and I mean it; that you are; and that I love being with you alone. It gets me closer, though I love having you around too, of course,” to his wife, “all of us together, et cetera. That didn’t come out right but you know what I mean,” and she nodded. She was her parents’ oldest and closest child, hadn’t seen them in months, spoke to them on the phone almost every night and sometimes to her mother two or three times a day. When her folks called together, which they usually did, so one probably said to the other “I’m calling Lee,” and the other would pick up the phone in a different room, they invariably asked how her day went — not “invariably”; it was always what they said after they said hello and how was her family: “So how did your day go, darling?” If he answered the phone only one would say hello, other would stay silent, and “How are you?” and he’d say “Fine, everything’s good,” or something, “Just fine, everything’s grand, really,” “Fine, thank you, kids and Lee too,” “Fine, thanks, and you and Horace” or “Frieda?” and the one who called would say something like “We’re well, nice of you to ask” or “thank you,” and he’d say “Good, I’ll get you Lee,” and if he didn’t ask how they were he’d say something like “Fine, thanks, I’ll get you Lee,” and the one who called would say “Thank you.” After Lee told them how her day went and frequently things about the kids and him, she’d ask how their day went. If her father or mother called alone, the other, if she or he were home, would often get on in about a minute, though her father only would if he hadn’t talked to her that day, and listen to how her day went if she was still on that and then say something like “It’s me, Mommy” or “Daddy, I’m on the extension” or “other phone” or “line,” or “Hello, dearest, I’m listening, continue” or “don’t mind me,” and then answer how his or her day went. Quick-kissed his wife on the lips when he was leaving today with the kids and then said “Well, bye, my love.” “‘Bye, my love,’” she said. “You never call me things like that anymore, how come?” and he said “Wha, ‘love’?” and she said “Occasionally ‘dear’ or ‘my dear,’ but that’s not very personal or deep but about all there’s been the last few years except ‘sweetie.’” “‘Sweetheart. Sweetmeat. Pookyface. Dipsitz. Scrabble. Bedhogger.’” “Come on. And…no, nothing else that I can think of. Hearing it is nearly reason enough for me to stay here again next time and have you go. Anyhow, I like it, more, more. Do you think I’m fooling?” “Who knew it meant so much?” Looked around: was thinking of giving her a bigger deeper kiss. Not as a response to her “more, more,” or maybe a little or just encouraged by it, but mostly because he really wanted to: lips-lips, some tongue, eyes tight, moving the bottom of his body in but subtly so it wouldn’t be seen, kiss that left him a bit dizzy after it and her too she’s said, partly because of the length of it and just breathing through the nose and the nose bent against the other’s face in a way or just a single nostril closed by it, but one like their first kiss night of their first date in her little apartment’s little foyer as she leaned against the closet door: “God, I nearly thought I’d die,” she said, “everything knocked out of me. One more, okay? though I’m not insisting on exact replication and if you think I’m acting too managerially, so be it, for this is nice. But probably we should go inside, the doorknob’s killing me, or just sit on the floor here, it’s carpeted.” Kids were in the elevator, her mother with them, father in the hallway with his finger on the outside elevator button and other hand over the door and part it slides into, in case it started to close. Wouldn’t if he kept his finger on the button, though maybe he knew better; he lived there, but it didn’t in any other building when the button wasn’t the heat-sensor kind. One last one for the trip too. Some kind of reminder and also because of the way she looked. Reason she didn’t go down to the street with them. Just out of the shower. Face still flushed, body smelling of her mother’s perfumed soap and her own herbal shampoo, so that too; barefoot, in a bathrobe, no doubt nothing on underneath. Knew there wasn’t, so what’s he talking about? and robe tied in a loose half-knot. Saw her in the bathroom drying herself and putting on the robe. As she slid her arm through a sleeve he went “Ummm. Dopey, huh?” She smiled and said “If only conditions were different and there was time.” “Why, your period, suddenly?” and she said “No, I’m still good — in fact, perfect, just two or three days away.” “Where would we do it anyway?” and she said “On the toilet, standing up, there’s the mat, too wet perhaps, but we could put plenty of towels down, so also on the floor. But, wrong time,” and he said “Ah, if only, be a nice going-away presence,” but didn’t think she meant it, or maybe she did. Even so, so what? Parents there, kids and he leaving momentarily, so just a throwaway line with a bit of truth and mischievousness to it but no probability. Well, that’s what she meant about if conditions were different, or maybe she generally felt like it more after a shower and maybe also after a shampoo. The water, soap, soap smells, body rubbed and scrubbed, so skin stimulated, touching her genitals, breasts and thighs while she cleaned and dried, and asshole. And she has to know he always feels like kissing and licking her body more after it’s washed and soaked and smells so, the tiny hairs there curled into kinks and still damp if not too long after the shower or bath. Gets an erection. “Could you hand me my robe, please?” since he was at the sink having come in to wash something off his fingers and other bathroom was occupied: ink. Driving, erection stays. “I can still get dressed and come down,” she said at the front door, “do you want me to?” and he said “No, yes, nah, stay, it’ll take too much time and effort, and what the hell for? And so soon after the shower you’d be more prone to a cold or chill, since you’re still a little wet, isn’t that how they come? not that I believe in that if-then.” “Dada,” Julie called from the elevator, “we have to go.” “Nathan, please,” his father-in-law said, “we’re holding up the elevator. Other people want to use it; the inside panel says so. Want us to wait for you downstairs?” Good idea, he could give a little squeeze into her, quick feel of her ass or something and that longer deeper kiss. But she was shaking her head, indicating better go. “Coming — So, bye, my dear,” to his wife. “Have a nice day — oh, I hate that expression. Just I hope everything goes okay,” and she said “Like what?” and he said “You know, train trip back, movie’s good, all that. And call when — oh, that’s ridiculous, I’ll speak to you before; tonight, right after we get there. But find out before when your train gets in so I can pick you up. But you’ve time, since I’ll call tomorrow night too and also probably during the day.” “Departs three twenty-two, regular Amtrak, so should get in around six, but you don’t have to. I’ll take a cab.” “I’ll come, I’ll come, the kids love that station and I love picking you up. We can get another good kiss in.” “Daddy,” Margo said, “people living here will get mad.” “My car and train awaits me— await, await , we’re talking about two,” and kissed her quickly, said “See ya,” and went into the elevator, his father-in-law following him in and pressing “1,” his mother-in-law and Julie not there. “Oh my goodness, where’s Frieda and Julie?” and his father-in-law said “They couldn’t take it any longer and walked downstairs.”