There was a stiff and uncomfortable silence in the kitchen.
“Of course I don’t care about her body,” I repeated.
But this didn’t seem to improve my fiancée’s mood.
“I’m going to watch TV,” Astrid said, stomping up the stairs.
What I was going to have to do was make it very clear to Indi that whatever she might have assumed from my comments wasincorrect and she did not need to go around acting like I had some sort of prurient interest in her.
I had said those things in a generous and neighborly spirit, to make sure she did not get in trouble with the HOA Board.
But as I sat with a glass of wine at the table, I did not feel generous and neighborly. My whole body felt prickly, angry, and upset.
Indi was the one who wanted to get divorced in the first place
The thought came to me, unbidden and unwelcome, and I drove it down as hard as I could and picked up the phone to call my mother.
For ten minutes I poured every passionate denunciation of my ex-wife that I could into her supportive ears.
She agreed with me on all points.
My lawn was certainlynot1/4th of an inch too long.
In fact, it was the nicest lawn in the neighborhood.
That was all just objective fact.
I was just starting to calm down, when a movement across the hedges caught my eyes.
Indi was in her kitchen again. This time the curtains were pulled shut, but they were the same ones she’d had when I lived there, so I knew they weren't thick.
She was still in her bikini top, and I watched her grab for a bottle on the kitchen counter and shake it, then squirt a generous portion on her hands and begin to rub gently and carefully all over her little round bump.
My mouth instantly went dry and I clutched the phone tighter in my hand, not hearing anything my mother said.
My eyes strained to see past the filmy curtains, watch every slow, luxurious motion, as Indi’s elegant fingers circled her belly button. Her skin was always so soft and even from this distance the tips of my fingers practically tingled with the memory. Themotion of her arms pressed her breasts even higher, the lush curves almost falling out of her bikini top.
Was that the tip of one of her unbearably rosy and pert little nipples poking out?
My mother was saying something about the possibility of Indi improperly maintaining her pool cleaning schedule, but my tie was tight, way too tight, and I tore at it with overheated fingers, needing some room to breathe.
My breath sounded like the rattle of an old car in my ears.
Indi spread the oil all over, her fingers delving just past the top of her bikini bottoms, and I inhaled harshly, leaning forward against the table, straining to see every little motion.
Was that a tiny tip of her pink tongue darting out in concentration?
Was she going to pull her bikini bottoms downfurther?
“What are you doing?” Astrid’s voice rang shrilly in my ear, and I was so startled, I pitched forward and hit my chin on the edge of the table.
Oh my god
I had been sitting at my kitchen table watching my ex-wife rub coconut oil on her belly like some kind of creepy pervert.
With an effort, I clutched the table, holding up the phone.
“Talking to my mother,” I rasped out, hoping I didn’t sound like a lunatic. “Is there a problem?”
