Page 26 of In the Light of the Moon
“Maybe you need to go on a few dates, Granna. I know there are some men in town that would be honored to take you out.” Well, that might be a little bit of an assumption. But there were a handful of older men that obviously flirted with her when we were out and about. Now, and even when I used to visit during the summers, it wasn’t uncommon for some man to admit a crush they had on her back in the day. As far as I knew, though, my grandmother never dated. During my childhood, I’d quickly gotten the hint that questions about my grandfather would go unanswered.
Granna just stopped in her tracks and gave me the longest side-eye I’d seen from her yet. I stood, palms facing upward in an expectant gesture. She had friends in town, primarily Roz, but she mostly just tended to her gardens and wandered the forest. I never outright expressed my worry that she was lonely, but by the way she was looking at me, she caught my underlining meaning all the same. “Sweetheart, no. And I’m not prickly.”
“Yes, you are! Comeon, have you ever even been in love? Acted a fool for someone?”
“Of course I have. Are you ready to go? Let’s go.”
She spun and started walking back toward the house, leaves and twigs flying up from her quick footsteps, but even she couldn’t hide from me the reddening of her cheeks. Because I lived to keep her on her toes, I giggled and exclaimed, “Oh my goddess, you’re blushing! Who are you thinking about? Is it Jeff Newton from the grocery store? He’s pretty dapper.”
Granna made another choked noise, “Knock it off, Sylvie. None of these men are worth my time. And we were talking aboutyou.”
I clutched my basket tighter while I leapt over a fallen log to catch up with her. “But you’re thinking aboutsomeone. My grandfather, maybe? Were you in love?” She’d never even told me his name. As far as I knew, he got her pregnant and left, but even that was a mystery. Dad couldn’t ever give me answers on it, and I wondered if my mother even knew the truth of her paternity.
I expected another attempt to shut me down, another scathing look to force me to drop it. So, when her steps slowed, and my grandmother heaved a long sigh, I instantly deflated. I caught up with her, ready to apologize and change the subject, but her face wasn’t sunken in grief. There was a hint of that in the twist of her mouth, but her eyes looked almost… dreamy. Like she was thinking about pleasant memories and just waiting for the chance to make new ones. “I’ve always been in love with him.” Her whisper was met with a rustling of trees, and she tilted her head toward the forest canopy above, soft smile making her look decades younger.
It was an expression she’d worn before during our time out here, but it’d never come with mention of the man she refused to speak of or name. Through years of asking sporadic questions when she was in a good mood, all I knew about my grandfather was that he was tall, had black hair like mine, and was kind. “And… you can’t be with him now?” I hedged, keeping my voice as gentle as possible.
“Not yet.” And then she just started walking again. I followed, trying to comb over the moment and wait for her to say more. She didn’t, of course, and we continued wordlessly through the woods until we were in the backyard once more. Her garden was still thriving, from little to no help from me. The sight of it was beautiful and comforting, but I still felt heavy.
I guessed that my grandfather was dead, which would make sense with her being so reluctant to talk about him. Mygrandmother had lost so much, but she just kept on like she did now. Back straight with her eyes on what was ahead. Only in these little moments did I see her taking a deep breath to look back.
A ding rang from my back pocket while I climbed the steps behind Granna. After placing my basket on the counter next to hers, I pulled out my phone to find a text from Orion.
You are a talented writer, Sylvie.
I let Granna know that I was going to shower after our day outdoors, and she waved me away while she got to sorting all that we brought back.
Not until I closed my bathroom door behind me did I respond to him. After he’d inquired more about my short stories, I hesitantly asked Orion if he’d like to read my latest one. He quickly agreed, thanking me for letting him see my work, and I fought the panic in my stomach at his possible judgement. He didn’t teach creative writing classes, but he obviously had a sharp eye for literature. My fingernails tapped quickly on the screen.
You have to say that since we’re dating. But thank you.
Those three little dots appeared immediately and then his text came through.
If I didn’t like the story, I would tell you.
I gnawed on my thumb nail and sputtered when a chip of polish came off in my mouth. Just as I was about to respond, he sent another text.
Thank you for letting me read it.
You really liked it?
Yes. Especially when everyone died at the end.
I laughed out loud while I stood to turn on the shower. It felt like a risky choice to kill off the protagonist at the end, but reading that he enjoyed that little twist made me feel more confident in it. Now, if I could only get others to feel the same.
I cranked the shower on, putting the water almost as hot as it would go. Before stepping inside, I shot off another text to Orion.
Tell me more about how much you like my writing while I hop in the shower real quick.
It wasn’t until I was under the spray that I realized the suggestiveness of my text. But instead of regret, I just felt excited. Orion had kissed me after our second date, dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant this time, and I could tell that he was letting me direct the intensity of it. In the cage of his arms, my fingers in his hair, I wanted so badly to be able to ask him up to my room. Or suggest we go to his house. But the words choked in my throat.
Leaned against the passenger door of his car, Orion planted petal-soft kisses on my bare shoulders while his hand gently caressed my loose hair. I’d noticed he particularly enjoyed doing that and inhaling just under my jaw. I never put perfume on, but you’d think I had with the way he all but latched on to the area.
I was starting to get frustrated with myself for holding back from him, and with my spine to the shower tiles, foot propped up on the lip of the tub, I thought about what it would be like forme to let go. For me to let myself continue to that next step. My fingers were slippery while they worked between my legs, and I imagined they were his. How his kisses would make me melt while his touching me would make my heart race faster than it was now.
Steam filled the room, and I rolled my nipple between my fingers while I plunged two inside myself. My hips rocked against the heel of my hand, and I moaned at the thought of it being his cock instead. I’d only felt it pressed against me while we kissed, but even then, it felt long, bigger than I’d had in a while.
I fantasized him spreading my legs atop his office desk, with students bustling outside of his locked door, none the wiser to him fucking me amongst the books and papers he surely had neatly stacked on the surface. Would he give me tender, deep strokes or fuck into me and rattle the drawers of his desk? I alternated my fingers with pulling out to swirl and diving inside, release barreling towards me. Because I somehow knew the answer to that—while he’d so far handled me with care, I knew that when I finally gave him permission, he’d absolutely devour me.
