The following excerpt is from my contemporary romance novel, Shooting the Moon.
An impulsive young woman stumbles knowingly into a familiar love triangle when she enlists an old flame to help her, and her husband, conceive a child.
Bud can’t make me pancakes. He doesn’t have the ingredients, he says.
He’s off wheat. Off dairy. Off sugar. And he’s vegan.
“What the hell do you eat then?” I ask exasperatedly.
He shrugs. “Whatever’s left.”
I suggest we go out for lunch, and he agrees, but insists that we walk, rather than drive, to the nearest diner, which is two miles away. I don’t bother explaining to him why that might be uncomfortable for me given my lack of proper footwear (or undergarments) and by the time we arrive at Jonie’s, I’m blistered and chafed and famished and convinced that Bud is punishing me for something.
He further tests me by ordering a side salad with olive oil and lemon juice and green tea for lunch. I order a double cheeseburger with onion rings and an orange soda in retaliation. I also let him know that I don’t have any money, so he’s buying.
“You’re being awfully difficult for someone who needs my genetic material.” He smirks and takes a sip of his sugarless tea. “You know I have to give it willingly, right?”
“Says who?”
What is that? My new catchphrase?
He laughs. “Wow. You haven’t changed at all.”
“You have,” I shoot back angrily, in case he isn’t aware of how traumatic our reunion has been for me.
“Do I need to apologize for that?” he asks, meeting my eyes and deflating me.
Of course, he doesn’t need to apologize. Of course, he’s changed. It’s been years. Maybe I’m just embarrassed because… I haven’t.
“No. You don’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m being an ass,” he admits. “Believe it or not, I’m glad to see you.”
“You are?” I don’t see how that’s possible.
“Yes.”
“So, why did you return my Christmas cards?” I’ve been holding on to that one for a while.
“What?”
“I’ve been sending you Christmas cards every year. And you keep sending them back.”
“I never got a Christmas card from you,” he says.
“Then why do they keep— ”
“It was Tiff.” His jaw clenches and he turns his head away.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly even more terrified of Bud’s sister than I was this morning.
He looks at me apologetically. “She really doesn’t like you, Dot.”
I nod. Feeling small and sad and stupid and…
“Wait,” I say, momentarily buoyed. “Does that mean you never got our wedding invitation?”
Bud’s face turns rueful, and my heart drops into my stomach. I didn’t think I could feel smaller or sadder or stupider. I was wrong.
“Never mind,” I say. My throat tightens and I have an infuriating urge to cry.
“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he says. “Like what I’m supposed to wear the day I make my deposit.” I snort laugh over my emotion. “I mean, is it business casual? Or can I show up in sweatpants?” I laugh harder. “Do I have to look at porn?” He scrunches up his face. “Because you know I’m not a fan. I’d rather use my imagination. Or yours, if you still do that sort of thing.”
He’s referring, of course, to my Olympic level fantasizing skills. “I do,” I say, still bubbling with amusement. “Every once in a while.”
He smiles, and I pout inwardly when the blush I’m expecting doesn’t appear.
The waitress brings our check and Bud puts his hand out for it. My hand moves to cover his. I’m about to tell him I lied about not having money with me, when I feel it. Or the lack of it. The ring he used to wear, on his right middle finger. The black ring I gave him for his eighteenth birthday. When I helped him come out to his family. It’s gone.
I look down to make sure it’s really missing. Then I search pointlessly for a sign he has been wearing it recently. An indentation. A tan line. Something.
He pulls his hand from under mine and looks at the check. I think it’s mostly to avoid eye contact with me.
I’m about to open my mouth to ask him about the ring when my phone starts buzzing.
“It’s Joshua,” I say to the screen.
“Good,” Bud says. “I’ll go pay the check and I’ll meet you outside.”
He slides out of the booth and heads to the counter. I try to steady my nerves before I answer the call from my husband.
“Hi baby,” I say. “How’s mom?”
“She’s okay.” He sounds tired. “We’re home now and she’s resting. My dad’s in rough shape though. I just had to help him off the toilet. So… great day for the Jamesons all around.”
My arms ache and I resent how far away he is. He needs hugging. “I have good news,” I say. “Bud’s on board.”
He exhales heavily. “Oh, Dot. That’s so great. Jesus, that’s really good news. Please thank him for me.” His voice tightens and it pinches my heart. “That’s good,” he says. “Are you good?”
“I’d be better if I could see you,” I say. “Can you come get me? Bud made me walk to Jonie’s diner and my feet are killing me.”
“Actually… I was hoping you could get a ride home. I think I should stay here for a bit. In case I need to cook dinner or wipe my dad’s ass or something.”
I laugh, but my insides twinge with empathy. He’s such a good son. And he’s going to make such an amazing dad.
“I’ll come there soon,” I say.
“You should just go to your brother’s.”
“But I want to see you. We need to celebrate,” I croon suggestively.
“Ah. Yes,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Well, if you can wait for me, I’d appreciate it. But I won’t hold it against you if you need to help yourself out this one time.”
“I’ll wait for you,” I say. “Just don’t make me wait too long.”
“I love you, Dot.”
“I love you, too. Give your parents a kiss for me.”
“I will. See you later.”
“See you.”
“Wait, Dot?”
“Mm hm.”
“Make sure Bud knows we need him this Thursday. I didn’t really tell him we were on a deadline. Tell him we’ll pay for gas or whatever he needs to get to Boston. He can stay the night with us if he wants.”
My insides tremor nervously. Over being charged with putting more pressure on Bud than we already have, or the idea of sleeping in the same house with both of them, I’m not sure.
“I’ll let him know,” I say.
We say goodbye and I limp out of the diner. Bud is across the street, sitting on the sea wall waiting for me. If his hair was longer, like it used to be, it would be dancing right now, catching the sun as he turns his head to acknowledge me.
“How are your feet?” he asks.
“Angry,” I say.
“Let’s walk in the water, then. Best cure for blisters.”
I was hoping he’d offer to carry me for two miles, but at least he’s honoring my discomfort now.
The water does feel amazing. And I’m delighted to see Bud barefoot. There’s nothing strange or new or different about his feet. They’re just like I remember them.
Big.
And seeing them has my brain mining for images of the other parts of Bud I remember.
Equally impressive.
Bud and I never had sex when we were together, but we spent plenty of time naked. It was incredibly freeing. To be that comfortable with someone. Especially when I was young. He made me feel beautiful. And seen. And special. And I always hoped I made him feel those things, too.
That was the hardest part for me. Not knowing what he felt. Because he didn’t feel things the same way I did. He didn’t desire me in the same way I desired him. And even though I loved him, deeply, that started to hurt me. I knew it was wrong to feel that way, because Bud would never hurt me. Ever. But I couldn’t change the way I felt, so I ended it. Before the hurt could turn into resentment or regret. Because I never wanted to regret the time I spent with Bud. The years I gave him.
The special kind of love we made together.
“What are you thinking about?”
That question never fails to catch me thinking about something I shouldn’t be.
“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” I deflect.
“It doesn’t fit anymore.”
I frown at the thought of Bud’s perfect hands changing. His fingers shrinking as he lost weight. “You could get it resized,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “I could.” He looks out to the ocean and then to me. “That’s not really what I meant when I said it doesn’t fit anymore.”
My breath catches in my throat as I process this. Hastily.
“You mean you’re not ace anymore?”
He smiles down the beach toward his house, still a quarter mile away. “No, I am.”
I experience a wave of relieved disappointment at this statement.
“It was easier when I was younger,” he says. “When I would meet someone, they would notice the ring and there would be a moment of recognition or a moment of confusion for them. And sometimes they’d ask a question or just nod or say “that’s cool, my brother’s ace” or something. But it really never mattered how people responded to it back then.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was with you,” he says. My heart responds with a skipped beat. “That answered everyone’s questions, so I didn’t have to. We were what we were, and I was what I was, and it didn’t matter if that made sense to anyone else. It didn’t have to. It just had to make sense to us.”
I feel a little guilty hearing this. Because it wasn’t my experience at all. I constantly had to explain to people why I was with Bud. And how we could be together romantically but not have sex. And what was wrong with him that he didn’t want to. And what was wrong with me that I stayed with him for so long when he didn’t.
I hated it. It made me angry. And it made me want to love him even harder to spite everyone who questioned the validity of what we were doing. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. How giving Bud was. How kind. How hard he worked. To keep me happy.
“Have you met anyone?” I ask.
He chuckles. “I’ve met lots of people.” He stops walking. We’ve reached the gravel walkway that leads up to the guest house.
“Anyone special?”
He sighs and glances behind him like he’s making sure we’re alone.
“They’re always special.” He reaches a hand up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I steel myself against a rush of warmth under my skin. “They’re just not for me.”
Ohhhh more Dot and Bud... I LOVE it!
Dot and Bud all grown! 🥰