Pt. 20

Josh knocks on my door at 6:28pm. I’m still trying to get used to this being on time thing he’s been doing lately, but I’m almost ready. Thanks to CJ’s help, my hair is done into an up-do and I’m wearing a long black dress with spaghetti straps and not much back that is clingy in all the right places but does hide “the leg” rather well. There’s a long slit in it, but luckily, it’s on the other leg.

I open the door and my mouth visibly drops open at the sight of Josh in a tux holding a few dozen lilies in one hand and twirling his bow tie in the other. If it weren’t for the amount of time I spent on my make-up, I’d be drooling. Josh is extremely sexy in a tux, and although I’d never admit it, I love it when he saves the bowtie for me. I’ve always loved being that close to him, smelling the combination of soap and cologne on him. It’s intoxicating.

“Hey sexy,” I say to him. Josh and I aren’t nickname types, but right here, right now, the term really, really, really fits. Really. Do we have to go out; can’t I just jump him right here?

**********

Do we have to go out; can’t I just jump her right here? She’s wearing her 2002 State Dinner dress-4. I have most of her outfits labeled and categorized by date, event, or the gomer she wore it for. All outfits also have a number, which correlates to any dream or fantasy I may or may not have had about her in… or out of said outfit. This number is on a 1-5 scale and goes something like this:

1 – Mother-of-my-children type fantasy

2 – Romance, kissing, promise of things to come fantasy

3 – Romance followed by sex in a bed fantasy

4 – Somewhat romantic, followed by somewhat naughty sex, place optional, fantasy

5 – Shove her against the nearest door/wall and go at it like rabbits fantasy

Never before have I actually been able to touch her in one of these outfits. Sure, I’ve always been pretty liberal with the hand that “guides her around,” and yes, there have been the occasional dances and even a few hugs, but right now, if I could make my feet move, I could walk right up to her and kiss her while putting one hand on that extremely exposed back and running the other over her left leg, which is sticking out of that very long slit. I only gave this dress a 4?

I’m trying to smirk, because I can tell by the look on her face that she thinks I look hot, but I can’t get over the dress and the being able to touch her thing. Move feet, move!! Instead of being all suave and sweeping her off her feet, I awkwardly hold out the flowers I brought her. She bites her lower lip and looks at me shyly, which, combined with that dress, is just about the most adorable, most beautiful, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and is more than enough to propel my feet in to action.

She’s only about two feet from me, but it seems to take a lifetime to get to where she’s standing, and don’t think the irony of that statement is lost on me. When I get to her I kiss her in a way I haven’t before. It’s hungry and almost desperate, and I can barely acknowledge that she’s kissing me back the same way. My hands are all over her, which means the flowers and my bowtie are, I don’t know, in a heap on the floor, I guess.

I can feel her hands move from my chest to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to her. Our tongues are almost fighting each other to be in the other person’s mouth, and I don’t exactly remember doing it, but I guess I picked her up, because suddenly I have her up against the wall in her foyer and I know she couldn’t have walked there herself. Apparently, I’ve bumped the dress up to number 5 status.

The next few minutes are a blur; I remember finding the zipper of her dress; I remember pulling one of the straps down off her shoulder with my teeth; I remember sucking on her earlobe and the taste of the metal from her earring; I remember desperately needing to put my hands in her hair and both of us frantically pulling out bobby-pins; I remember her lips on my chest but not her unbuttoning my shirt; I remember her hand grasping me through my boxers but not her unzipping my pants; I remember my right hand traveling up her left leg under her dress and inside of her underwear; I remember her screaming like I’ve never heard her scream before, and I distinctly remember feeling like a complete and utter schmuck as I stepped back and watched her biting her lip in pain as a few tears fell onto her cheek.

“Oh God,” I say as I pick her up and carry her to the couch in the living room. She looks absolutely awful. Her face is red where I’ve smeared her lipstick all over the place, her hair is half up, half down, her dress is barely on, her mascara is smudged on her cheeks from her tears, and she’s clearly in pain. I lay her down on the couch and I don’t even know what to say or do and I don’t want to touch her for fear that I’ll just hurt her even more. I keep mumbling that I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do and I feel helpless. Finally, I tell her I’m going to call the doctor and that then we’re going to the hospital.

“No,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Don’t call the doctor.”

“Donna, you’re crying.”

“That’s because it hurts,” she says, taking a deep breath.

“I know it does, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that, I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

And Donna, being the most amazing woman in the world, reaches out and touches my face, to bring me comfort. What did I do to deserve this woman?

**********

Josh is freaking out. Yes, my leg hurts like a bitch, but he’s acting like he ripped it right off my body; he’s apologized about thirty times in the minute and a half I’ve been on the couch. He’s kneeling on the floor next to me, his head buried in my stomach. I know how much Josh hates to see me in pain; when he was in Germany, every flinch or moan from me had him running to the nurse’s station, demanding more morphine. I half expected them to either kick him out of the building or dope him up with the stuff to shut him up. “Josh, it’s ok, it just hurts.”

“It’s not ok. I can’t believe I did that.” He looks up at me and he’s fighting tears.

“You? Josh, it was both of us.”

“I should’ve known; I did know, dammit!” He stands and starts pacing. “We’ve discussed this; you can’t… not yet. I never should’ve…”

“Josh, look at yourself; look at your clothes. You didn’t do that to yourself. It was both of us.” He looks at me and then down at himself. His suspenders are hanging off his waist, his shirt is unbuttoned and untucked, his tux jacket is gone, lying on the floor in the foyer, no doubt. Even his pants are unbuttoned. I can’t help giggling a little, looking at him.

“Jeez, Donna. In a hurry?” he says, raising his eyebrows at me and smiling just a little.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. So stop blaming yourself. It was us, not you.”

He comes back to the couch, kneels down beside me and puts his hands on my cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he whispers.

I smile up at him. “You didn’t hurt me. A bomb did.”

“I mean it, Donna. I love you; I don’t ever want to hurt you. I don’t ever want to see you hurt. I just… I can’t take it when you’re in pain. It kills me.”

Suddenly I’m crying for a completely different reason, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face, pain or no pain. “You’re not supposed to tell me that until tomorrow.”

He hangs his head. “I know. I messed up again. I’ve blown the whole night.”

“Josh,” I saying, picking up his chin so he’s looking at me. “Just for the record, it’s never a mistake to tell me you love me. Not if you mean it.”

He looks directly in my eyes. “I mean it. I love you so much; it’s so strong that sometimes it scares me, because I don’t know how I would ever survive without you.”

“You’re never going to have to find out.”

“But you almost died,” he whispers, and a tear finally slips from his eyes. “And I would have been nothing more than a shell. I know you don’t understand why I can’t stand to see you like this, but…

I roll onto my side and put my hand on his chest. “I completely understand, Josh.”

He closes his eyes and puts his hand over mine on his chest and we stay like that for a minute, both of us letting the tears freely fall. Then he whispers, “I do love you. I’ll try my absolute hardest to show you and to tell you that everyday for the rest of my life, but you’ll never know how much.”

And I wish I had something amazing to say right now, but I don’t. I’m so completely blown away by him that words fail me, so instead, I pull him down to me and hug him, and I just hold on to him as hard as I can, because I can never let him go now; it would be impossible.

**********

Donna and I hold on to each other for several minutes, neither of us saying anything. Finally, I pull back and take her face in my hands and kiss her. Only then does she whisper that she loves me too, and I take what feels like the fist breath of my life. This amazing creature loves me, how can that be?

She sits up on the couch and I prop her leg up on the coffee table and sit beside her, holding her as if my life depended on it, because… well, it does. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? Just to have it looked at?”

She smiles at me. “No, it feels better now, but I don’t think I should put any pressure on it. I’m sorry we can’t go out.”

“No. You don’t get to be sorry. You’re hurt and that’s not your fault,” I say, taking her hand in mine.

“What were we going to do?”

“Not much really.” The truth is, it was going to be amazing, but I try to downplay it, so she doesn’t feel bad. “Dinner at Teatro Goldoni and a ride around the bay in a limo. Nothing we can’t do another time.”

Her mouth drops open. “Teatro Goldoni? Are you serious?”

I laugh at her. “Yes, I can be romantic, Donna.”

“But… I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“I know. We’ll go. We’ll go when you’re feeling better.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” I lean down and kiss her. “Now, I’m going to go tell the limo driver he can go. You wait here, and don’t try to get up.”

“Ok.”

I walk into the foyer, re-dressing on the way, and I pick up the flowers and my tux jacket. I grab my cell phone out of the pocket and head out the door.

**********

Josh comes back up stairs after dismissing the limo, and I’m still feeling bad that we can’t go out because of my stupid leg. Not to mention the other thing we can’t do because of my leg. You know… that thing we started to do when he got here tonight? Yes, that.

“I called for pizza, but they’re busy. It’s going to be an hour.”

“That’s fine, pizza’s good.” I say, trying, but failing, to sound enthusiastic.

“I got thin crust,” he says, trying to cheer me up.

“Cheese only?” I ask with a small pout. Level one, nothing major.

“Of course. I just told you I love you, I’d only get the best pizza money can buy.” This makes me smile. “Now, how about we clean you up and get you in some pajamas? I’m not gonna lie to you; you’ve looked better.”

He pulls me off the couch and carries me into the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror and am a little scared at what I see. I look like a Halloween costume gone bad. But now, I can’t help grinning. “What?” he asks.

“I look like hell,” I say with a cheerful voice.

“And you’re happy about that? Not that I’m saying you look like hell. I’m not saying that. All I said was that you’ve looked better.”

“I look like hell, and this is how I looked when you told me you loved me. That’s why I’m smiling.”

He looks at me and shrugs. “I love you, it doesn’t matter how you look.” This makes me smile even more and he smiles back. “I did good?”

I nod. “You did very good.”

“So…”

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering… since I did good…”

“Yes?”

“Can I help you shower?”

That’s my man, ladies. He can be the most romantic person in the world, but my naked body is always right there in the back of his mind. “Yes, I think so.”

**********

Did she just say what I think she just said? “Really?” I start bouncing around the room. I’m a little hyper.

“But not tonight.” What?

I stop bouncing and start frowning. “I’m in love with Judas.”

“Calm down, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to put pressure on my leg right now. But.. you can help me shower on Sunday, how about that?”

Hey, that’s not a bad idea. I get a mischievous grin on my face. “We’re having not-getting-out-of-bed Sunday. I could take my time.”

“I would think so.”

“And can I dry your hair too?” Leave me alone, we’ve already discussed my obsession with her hair.

“Well, you do need to try out your new gift from the President.” I hang my head. Is nothing sacred? Does CJ have to tell her everything? Everything?

**********

I wash my face and comb out my hair, and Josh brings me pajamas to put on. Then, he carries me back to the bedroom, which isn’t far considering my entire apartment is only about 600sq. ft. But still, for a man in his early forties, he’s been doing a lot of carrying tonight.

Once I’m in bed, he hangs up my dress and puts the plastic over it, just as I instruct. I have the greatest boyfriend in the world. Then, he wiggles his eyes brows at me and puts in ‘Independence Day,’ which makes me laugh. Tonight really could have sucked; but instead, I’m comfortable, I’m laughing, and I’m lying in the arms of the man I love waiting for thin crust cheese pizza to arrive. I don’t see how it could get any better than this.

When the doorbell rings 45 minutes later, Josh tells me to stay put and goes to get the pizza. I must say, I do enjoy all the attention and coddling that I get due to the injury. Although, I’d like the non-injury activities better, if you know what I mean.

Josh is gone for about five minutes, and I start wondering if the pizza was made wrong. Then he comes back in to the bedroom empty handed and I immediately start pouting, level two. If it’s wrong, we’re re-ordering it. We’re getting at least one thing right tonight. “Did they make it wrong?”

“No it’s right. But I set it out on the table. I thought we could at least fake being out on a date.” I’m really quite comfortable, but I don’t say that. If he wants to eat at the table, that’s fine. Although it does mean that once again, we have to stop the movie. The next time he’s out of town for business, I’m watching it alone. Don’t tell him.

He carries me into the kitchen, and I can’t believe what I see. It’s beautiful. The lights are off and the table is covered in a white tablecloth. The lilies are in a vase in the center of the table, and there are lit candles on both sides of the vase. There are three plates on one side of the table, covered with sterling silver, and there more covered plates on the cabinet to the side. There’s a bottle of wine chilling in ice next to the table. I stare at it, and he whispers to me, “I figured if we couldn’t go to Teatro Goldoni, they could come to us.”

I turn to face him and he wipes a tear from my eye. “I love you,” I whisper back and kiss him on the cheek. He carefully sits me in one of the chairs and props my leg up on another one. Then he pours me a glass of wine and moves one of the covered plates from the side of the table to the place in front of me. He takes the cover off and I’m expecting to see a salad or something, but instead, I see a jewelry box.

I gasp and he moves across from me and sits down. I haven’t touched the box; I’m just staring at it and biting my lower lip, which I tend to do when I’m nervous. It’s not a ring box, but it’s from Anaju’s, so whatever it is, it’s nice. “Go ahead,” he says.

I look up at him; he’s got the most amazing smile on his face, and I can’t help smiling back. I look at him for a minute and then back at the box. Carefully, I open it and I know my jaw must drop open; I’m surprised it didn’t hit the table. Inside is the most beautiful tennis bracelet. It’s…. unbelievable. “Josh,” I can’t really speak. I just look up at him and I’m crying again. I’m like a faucet tonight.

He comes over to my side of the table again and takes the bracelet out of the box. Then, he kisses my wrist and carefully puts the bracelet on me. When it’s on, he kisses my palm and then my forehead, and finally my lips. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

“You’re beautiful. This can’t compare,” he whispers back and then kisses me again. When we part, a good two or three minutes later, he moves that plate and puts another one in front of me. This time, it’s a delicious looking salad, with blueberries and goat cheese and walnuts. He puts the third plate in front of his spot and kisses me one more time on the cheek before setting down to eat.

“Mmm,” he says. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

I look at him across the small table and smile. “It’s absolutely perfect,” I say. And it is. We’re sitting here in pajamas in my tiny kitchen eating food from one of the most expensive and romantic restaurants in the city, and it’s absolutely perfect. And it’s not because of the candles or the bracelet or the food, it’s because it’s Josh and me, and we’re together and we’re happy and we’re in love. It’s perfect because it’s us, talking and laughing and loving each other, and that’s what we do.