Normal

Chapter III: Perfect Match


As the carousel turned and the music played, he followed her. Miss Parker watched the world spinning by and stepped unsteadily forward, against the movement of the carousel, moving from pole to pole, horse to horse. They were painted, pretty, like she remembered them, but it was dark under the overhang of the carousel’s roof.

She saw their reflections in the mirrored panels, and wove between rearing painted beasts, knew Jarod’s hand gripped whatever her hand had just left. Exhilarated, she smiled but did not laugh. She spun, when he had almost caught her, shoved herself up onto one of the backs of the antique horses, sidesaddle.

Jarod put his hands on either side of her. It was just them, finally, leaning close. Jarod’s gazoppeopped to her mouth, and he drifted closer. She leaned forward, parted her lips, and caught a glimpse of suited men watching them.

Miss Parker’s head snapped around. She reached for the weapon that wasn’t there, almost falling from her perch. Jarod steadied her, his eyes wide, and she pushed at his chest, pushed him out of the way, slithering to the ground. She searched the crowd for the men, the suited men with dark glasses. The carousel kept turning.

“What? What is it?” Jarod asked. She stood stock still, and finally saw the men again. They were businessmen. One was smoking a cigarette, while they talked and watched the carousel. The carousel, not her

Miss Parker’s actions suddenly hit her. She looked at Jarod, biting her lip, knowing he understood exactly what had happened. He put out his hand, and she took it, allowed him to draw her close. They rocked on their feet as the carousel slowed.

“You’re safe,” Jarod said, “I promise, it’s over. You’re safe now.”


****


They got hotdogs from a vendor, and cans of soda, which Jarod tucked into his pockets. They walked, without aim, up the street. Miss Parker turned her face to the sun, as Jarod talked about his plans.

“Wait-” Miss Parker interrupted, “You can’t wait for the new school year, so you’re just going to roll up for second semester?”

“Yes,” he said around a mouthful of food, “There’s no use wasting time.”

“But wasn’t the whole idea of going to college about doing it the old fashioned way? *Not* cheating?”

“It’s not cheating… it’s just easing the way a little,” Jarod said, gesturing with his hand.

“Oh, first it’s easing the way, then it’s hacking the system and altering your marks…” Miss Parker said.

“I don’t need to alter my-!”

“You say that now,” she said grimly, “But you’ll get caught up in frat parties and panty raids, and before you know it you’ll be walking into an exam with only twenty minutes sleep in seventy-two hours when you haven’t even looked at a text book-”

“Are we talking about my college experience or your college experience here?” Jarod interrupted, “And what is a panty raid?”

“I can see it now Jarod,” Miss Parker continued, ignoring him, “You, your endearing idiosyncratic behaviour and your ID – you’ll forge that too – will be a hit with both brains and jocks. You’ll spend half your college life drunk, naked, high or any combination of all of the above.”

Jarod paused in the street. “I would never use illicit substances. Nor would I buy alcohol for anyone underage,” he said gravely. His mouth got a little quirk, “You think my idiosyncrasies are endearing?”

“Shutup,” Miss Parker said. Jarod grinned impishly, and pointed at her half-eaten hotdog.

“If you’re not going to eat that…”

She handed over the dog, and took a can of grape soda from his deep coat pocket. They walked in companionable silence. Miss Parker threaded her arm through Jarod’s. He didn’t look, or say anything, but she knew he was pleased.

They took a cab, down Fifth Avenue to the Empire State building. They rode the elevator to the 86th floor observatory deck, and looked out over the south end of Manhattan. Jarod had a camera slung around his neck – he’d walked into a store and bought a hideously expensive one and several rolls of film. He took pictures of her and the view. Then he stood behind her, put his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“My first time in New York, I stood up here and couldn’t believe how free I felt… to have the sun, the sky, the wind, the city spread out below me,” he murmured in her ear. He shifted closer, his arms tight around her. Miss Parker closed her eyes. Jarod chuckled, “After being kept underground all my life, standing up here is like flying.”

She opened her eyes, and saw New York like it was the first time.


****


They rode the last ferry of the day to the statue of liberty. Miss Parker looked across the waves to where the lady raised her arm in tribute to the sky, and then back towards Manhattan. Jarod took photographs.

“Her tablet has the date of July 4th, 1776 inscribed on it in Roman numerals,” Jarod said, lowering his camera to lean across the rail with her, “Independence Day. That’s my birthday, you know.”

He was grinning. An ache formed in Miss Parker’s chest. Something so small as a birthday had been withheld from him all his life. Her losses seemed insignificant compared to his. “Happy Birthday, Jarod,” she said softly, “It seems appropriate.”

The sun was close to setting when they reached Liberty Island. They did not go to the museum, or the observation decks. Instead, they sat on a bench, side by side, watching the light play across the buildings across the harbour. It was cooler now, and Jarod sat close, hugging her into his side.

“How am I doing?” he asked, and Parker chuckled.

“You’re not supposed to ask.”

“I’ve never been on a date before,” Jarod said, shrugging, “It’s hard.”

“It’s very romantic,” she said dryly, “What’s next? Ice-skating in Central Park?”

Jarod looked away. She sighed.

“Ice-skating would be lovely, Jarod,” she said. He looked down at her and smiled.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked after a while, “About us, I mean. You haven’t tried to attack me all day.”

Miss Parker shrugged reflectively. “Maybe what you were saying about the past. You left me alone for a few days… I tried to get on with my life, I’m still trying, but… if I leave everything behind, I have nothing left. Sydney, Broots, Debbie, they’ve become my family.”

“What about me?” Jarod asked quietly. She took his hand, cradling it in her lap.

“Denial is a terrible state to live in,” she whispered.

They said nothing more.


****


Lasker Rink was not busy. Miss Parker had her skates on before Jarod and arrowed across the ice with ease. When she looked over her shoulder, he was gaining on her. She bent closer to the ground, her arms behind her back, her motions fluid. She’d done a little figure skating in her youth, and knew how to speed skate. Jarod moved like a hockey player.

When he almost reached her, she executed a neat little twist, and was skating in the opposite direction, backwards, by the time he realised what was happening. She checked over her shoulder, and slowed as she neared the wall. Jarod turned, gliding towards her, still low to the ground and fast. She almost thought he intended to collide, but he straightened at the last moment, braking hard, sending up a spray of ice.

“You’re good,” he said, short of breath.

“Doesn’t take a genius,” she said. Several kids, their hands joined in a chain, whizzed by them. Jarod put his hands on the barrier, either side of her, and crowded in close. His head dipped towards hers, but she turned her face away. “Gotta earn it, lab rat,” she whispered, and ducked under his arms, skating away.

He sprinted after her with greater determination and speed than before, and they wove amongst other skaters, going lean and hard. Jarod touched her arm, and she swooped away, laughing as she went. He corralled her between the barrier and a bunch of kids, but she scraped through the closing gap with an inch to spare. She watched him, from the other side of the rink, as he slowed and manoeuvred around them, smiling graciously at a stern looking parent.

Parker saw him looking for her, and she hunkered down beside a little girl who was skating cautiously forward. “Hi,” she said, and the little girl smiled slightly.

“Is he chasing you?” the girl asked.

“Yes he is,” Parker said, “I’m just going to hide here with you for a minute.”

They edged forward, the girl craning her neck around to see. She whipped back to Miss Parker with exaggerated fear. “He’s coming!” she crowed. Parker made a sudden dash for freedom, but Jarod was too fast, stretching out his arms, wrestling her in a bear hug. Their skates clashed, and they went down, sprawling across the ice.

“Ow,” she said, lying flat on her back. Jarod lay half on top of her.

“Got you,” he said. She pulled his head down and kissed him. It was chaste, at first, his mouth brushing lingeringly over hers. Miss Parker felt something akin to an electric shock. She threaded her fingers into his hair, parting her mouth against his, felt his tongue touch tentatively at hers.

They were interrupted by nearby giggling. Jarod raised his head to look gravely at the bunch of children and the now horrified parent. “She needed mouth-to-mouth,” he assured them. Still giggling, they skated on. “Do you think they bought it?” he whispered loudly.

“Lock, stock and barrel,” Miss Parker said, unable to contain her smile, “Now get off me.”

“I like it here,” he said, and touched his mouth to hers again, just briefly. She sighed.

“After five years, the one thing I was always chasing fell into my lap. Literally.”

Jarod smiled, well aware of the multiple meanings behind her words. He scooted off her, helping her to her feet. They collided gently, her palms resting on his chest, his on her waist. Jarod’s expression was of enigmatic tenderness. They floated, like that, he skating backwards and towing her along.

“I could fall in love with you,” he said, “I could love you forever.”

“Nobody can love forever,” Parker said, without bitterness.

“Then I will love you today,” Jarod said.

His words cut deeply. Again, she had the sensation that fate was drawing them towards a time and place they had always been waiting for. It scared her. “Can you cook?” she asked. Jarod flashed his trademarked 100-watt smile.

“Debatable.”

“Come on,” she said, and led the way off the ice.


****


“I was a chef once. Well, not really a chef, more like a cook. Flip bur burgers, really,” Jarod told her, “Big greasy lumps of meat. I put cheese in a can on them.”

“Ah,” Miss Parker said knowingly, “So there was no actual *food* involved.”

Jarod threw a tomato at her from the other side of her island bench. She caught it, dropping it on her cutting board. She picked up a knife, flicked it around her hand, and then sharpened it on an iron. He took his knife, and used it to slice another tomato. He went so fast his hand was a blur.

“You use a knife like a chef,” she said. He shrugged.

“I saw it on TV. They were using this knife to cut a leather shoe,” he said enthusiastically, “I bought the whole set.”

They worked in silence for a moment, pulling things out of the paper grocery bags on the bench. They were making pasta, fettuccini matriciana and bruschetta. Jarod had shed his jacket, slung it over the back of the sofa, and was wearing a soft blue sweater. She watched his hands, how quickly he manipulated the food he was slicing. Such clever hands, she mused, and briefly pictured his hands on her naked breasts.

“Will you come to Christmas?” Jarod asked. She stilled.

“Why?”

He gave her a faint, confused smile. “Because I would like you to be there,” he said. He took a half cut onion out of her hands, and finished dicing it. She put her knife down, and turned to the sink to wash her hands.

“All your family will be there,” Miss Parker said. She dried her hands, her back still to him, “I’m not-. This is just one date, Jarod. I’ve made no promises.”

“I know you haven’t. But haven’t we progressed?” Jarod asked, sounding frustrated, “You’re not telling me to get out of your life anymore. Today was – *is* – a date.”

“A date, not a lifetime commitment. Not forever.”

“So come as my friend,” he said, coming up behind her. His chest bumped her back, his hands threaded under her arms, to the sink. He washed his hands like that.

“Your family will be there,” Parker whispered again, “How can they not hate me for what I’ve done?”

“They will accept you because I do,” he said quietly. Her hands joined his under the water. He nuzzled her ear, saying, “We’re having Thanksgiving and Christmas in one. Turkey dinner and presents and everything – my first family event. Let me be your family. I don’t want you to be alone again. No pressure, no commitments, no forever. Just a day.”

She clenched her hands over his. “Okay,” she said, “Okay.”


****


At the end of the night, after food and too much wine and a pleasant haze, Jarod kissed her goodbye at the door. His mouth was warm and still sweet from the wine. They were both holding back, Miss Parker knew. Keeping themselves in check.

She closed the door behind him, and banged her head on the solid wood panel.


****


He ended up having to leave her for over a week. There were some last minute repairs on his house in Blue Cove that needed his attention. They didn’t talk on the phone, or make further arrangements before he left. It didn’t occur to him to leave details for her to reach him on. It was an oversight that Jarod only realised later.

He came back to NYC in the middle of the night. He stood over her bed as she slept. Miss Parker lay in the middle, the silk straps of her nightgown glowing ivory in the moonlight. Silently, Jarod lifted his sweater over his head and dropped it to the floor. He toed off his shoes and socks. He dropped his jeans, and shivered in the cool air, wearing only Calvin Klein cotton boxers. He lifted the covers, and slid into bed with her.

Miss Parker tensed instantly, rolling away from him in an instinctive defensive reaction. He aborted the motion by sliding a hand across the sheets to touch her belly. She stilled, and let out a heavy breath.

“Christ, you scared me,” she said. They lay side by side, facing each other. Jarod wanted to pull her close, but didn’t.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, “Are you naked?”

“No.”

“Just checking,” Miss Parker said, amused. He smiled.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said.

“It’s Thanksgiving today?”

“Today. This morning,” he confirmed.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Jarod,” she said softly.

Pause.

“Are you still depressed?” he askedhe whe waited longer than was comfortable before answering.

“Yes,” she said.

The knowledge made Jarod feel strangely guilty, and intensely curious. He had never known depression in his life – he had gone through terrible grief, anger and bitterness, but never serious depression, as he understood the meaning of the word.

“Everything is black,” Miss Parker said, “Sometimes I feel like dying.”

He knew she was lying. It was far worse than that.

“Would you…?” he trailed off, unable to say it.

“No. Never.”

She rolled to him suddenly, across her belly, pushing him back and landing on his chest. She found his face with her hands, zeroed in, her mouth meeting his, almost missing. Surprised, he caught her by the waist, his mouth opening. Her tongue slid against his. She kissed him hard, deep, and it felt frighteningly thrilling and erotic. Her soft breasts were pressed against his chest, and she surged, rubbed against him, made him feel hot and aroused.

“I want to feel alive,” Miss Parker panted, breaking the kiss, “Make me feel alive, Jarod.”

Jarod knew he should do the right thing, say no, put her away from him and discuss her depression. But he wasn’t feeling like her therapist, he was beginning to feel like her lover. His own desire for physical intimacippeipped at his heart, made him choke on a rejection. Instead, he smoothed her hair back from her face, kissed her cheek, and rolled her beneath him.

He took the lead, and Miss Parker seemed satisfied with that. He kissed her, at first, intent on discovering the depths of her warm, sweet mouth, unbelievably turned on by her moist mouth moving against his.

“More,” she demanded after a little while, and he was happy to oblige.

He peeled her silk nightgown from hersatisatisfied with the darkness and unwilling to turn on a light. He made do with his hands, learning the plane of her stomach, the gentle curve of her breasts. He memorised her shape, feeling gleeful and not wanting to communicate it.

“You’re beautiful,” Jarod said, in darkness. She sighed, and her small hands slipped up his chest to his shoulders.

He kissed her throat, her collarbones, moved down her breastplate. He wanted everything. He wanted to give her everything. He kissed her breasts, moulding them with his hands, and moved his mouth down, lower, lower. He kissed the tender skin between her bellybutton and pubic bone. He ran his finger along the top edge of her panties, stroked his other hand down her thigh. She lifted it, stacked her foot flat on the bed, and lifted her hips when he tugged down her panties.

There was a strange anticipation in Jarod as he tenderly licked her thigh. Some part in the back of his mind was terrified at not being able to please. Performance anxiety, he thought. He had read multiple sex manuals. Success would be achieved by making sure she reached orgasm before he did.

“Jarod,” Parker said softly.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Stop thinking,” she said.

Amused, he did as he was asked, lowering his mouth to her heat. She gave a soft sigh as he nuzzled into her moist folds, catching a drop of moisture with his tongue, and then going back for more, and more, finding cli clitoris and feasting on that. She moaned when he slid one finger deep inside of her, shifting restlessly as he began to stroke. He crooked his finger and she bucked, crying out hoarsely. Bingo, he thought, g-spot. He thrust another finger inside of her, lifting his head to watch her in the shadowy darkness. He stroked the spot again and she moaned, grinding down onto his hand.

He began to crawl up her body, still stroking his fingers inside of h Jar Jarod kissed her hip, her shoulder, the delicate skin below her ear, and then met her mouth with his own. She kissed him hungrily, one arm twining around his neck, the other hand sliding across his hip, caressing the bulge in his shorts.

They shuffled around hurriedly, losing his boxer shorts in the process, until he lay between her parted thighs, his hands sunk low beneath her hips as he eased inside of her. Miss Parker moaned low in her throat, curling her legs around his waist. He moved, almost crazy with want, thrilled to the base of his spine at the feel of her, the taste of her. He felt awkward, almost rough, but ignored it, encouraged by her hands scraping across his back.

She came fast, but not hard, shuddering around him in release. He thrust into her, again, again. But the little sounds she was making became wrong. He slowed, filled with dread, stilled inside of her, clutched her close in his arms. She was crying, and not from joy or release. She was really crying, breaking down in violent sobs, her body shaking with emotion that trembled right through her and into him.

“Parker? Christ, Parker, I’m sorry,” Jarod said. He tried to will his erection out of existence, but he’d gone too far, was still aching for release. He withdrew carefully, rolled to his side, pulling her against his chest. He reached out, hit the lamp. Light flooded the room.

He felt insanely dirty, then. It all seemed so sordid, Miss Parker sobbing her heart out in his arms, her hands covering her face, her breasts half exposed by the rumpled blankets. The room reeked of sex. He should have known better. He should have been more sensitive.

He prised her hands away from her face, disturbed by the blotchy red misery there. He attempted to pull her close, needing to comfort her and not entirely sure how. She tried to roll away from his embrace, and there was a short scuffle. She made it halfway off the bed, got both feet on the floor, stumbling away as he lunged for her. He caught her by the hand, and didn’t let go.

“Please, please, Parker, not like this,” he said desperately, “Please. Please.”

She crumpled to the floor, away from him, still crying. He climbed down next to her, no longer turned on but still hard. He pushed the hair out of her eyes, hating the pain he saw. He cradled her jaw with his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck you,” she said, her voice wavering, “It’s not about you. Don’t you dare make it about you.”

Jarod flinched, but didn’t turn away or register offence. Finally, she caved, slumped against him, still crying. He tugged her half onto his lap, rocking her in his arms. Her tears were staining his neck. Self-doubt and recrimination set in. He hated himself for taking advantage of her.

Eventually, sniffing and hiccoughing occasionally, Miss Parker crawled, still naked, into bed. Jarod followed, turning off the light. She curled into his side, clinging like a child. He soothed her with his hand on her forehead, stroking. When she fell asleep, he felt incredibly relieved.

He did not sleep that night. Close to dawn, a nagging thought invaded him. He had not worn a condom. He didn’t think she was on the pill. He had not ejaculated, either, but knew that did not mean they were entirely safe from pregnancy. Jarod refused to consider the possibility of a child, not when the hypothetical mother was so torn up.

Still, he did not sleep a wink.


****


Morning came, bearing reality. Miss Parker procrastinated in the bathroom for as long as she could, knowing Jarod was already up, possibly waiting for her, possibly not. The thought of each terrified her. She was tempted to wear one of her suits, don her armour of makeup and disdain, but couldn’t bring herself to it. Instead she wore her bathrobe, left her hair wet and her face clean.

Jarod sat drinking coffee at her kitchen bench, perched on a barstool. He was reading her paper, and looked up when she entered. They regarded each other awkwardly. The night’s activities weighed heavily in the air.

“Good morning,” Jarod said softly. His hair was damp too, although she must have slept through his shower. He had lines of tension around his mouth, and circles under his eyes.

“Morning,” she said. She crossed, and poured a cup of coffee. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Miss Parker-” he began, but she silenced him with her hand in the air.

“Please Jarod, I can’t-. I don’t know if I can… deal with this now. I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to-” she stopped. Wrong of her to throw herself at him to stave off the emptiness.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he said, staring into his coffee, “Maybe ill-timed, but not… nothing.”

It hit her again. She’d had sex with him last night, breached some impossible barrier that had stood between them for years. It hadn’t been brilliant sex, really rather tragic, in a way, but still sex. She’s had sex with him. There was some unspoken commitment there, an agreement that things would progress between them.

“No. It wasn’t,” she said.

Jarod seemed pained, and touched the cell phone at his belt. “I have to go. I don’t want to. There’s more trouble at the house in Blue Cove, and I need to be there. I’m sorry, I’d stay if I could,” he said. She nodded, feeling relieved.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I-” No. No. Don’t. I really need some time alone,” she said, and his face fell. She shook her head, “Not-. I’ll be there for Christmas, I promise. Leave the address, I’ll herehere.”

Jarod scribbled on paper while she went and got dressed. When she came back, it was sitting in an unsealed envelope on the bench, her name scrawled across the front. Mina Parker. He took her in his arms, seeming afraid, devastated and resigned. He kissed her goodbye, tenderly. She knew he thought it might be the last time. She knew he thought it was over, and did not have the strength to tell him otherwise.

After he left, she sealed the envelope, and put it out of sight.

*