Fire Down Below (6 page)

***

“Sorry about running late,” Declan
says, coming inside his office. “Things have been busy these past couple of months.
All I ever do anymore is go to meetings. I had no idea so many people required
such considerable hand holding to merely do their jobs.”

“I take it the promotion hasn’t
been quite what you expected?”

“You could say that it appears
I’ve deluded myself to some degree. I thought I’d still be doing some creative
work of my own, but so far that hasn’t been the case.”

“They’re paying you a good salary though,
aren’t they?”

He studies me, thinking about
this. “They are, but money isn’t everything.”

“Isn’t it? I think a lot of people
would disagree with you.”

He shrugs. “Money is nice, don’t
get me wrong, all I’m saying is there are more important things.”

I get that sinking feeling again and
I know what he’s leading up to. “So, you’re moving back to Ireland?”

Declan gets a funny smile on his
face. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? I’d rather talk about this someplace
else. There’s a new gelato place that opened up in the Market.”

“You want to eat gelato at ten
o’clock in the morning?”

“Sure, why not?”

I roll my eyes. “I wish I were a guy.
It must be nice to have so few worries about getting fat that you can actually eat
ice cream for breakfast.”

He smiles. “Ah, come on, Kate. One
gelato isn’t going to make you fat. We can go visit your necklace. It’s been
ages since it’s seen you. It probably thinks you don’t love it anymore.”

“Oh, all right,” I say, giving in
with a laugh.

My favorite jewelry store, run by
a designer named Jane Moon, is down in Pike Place Market. I treated myself to a
pair of intricate ruby earrings for my birthday last year. They were expensive,
but I love them. They’re golden hieroglyphic birds with an oval ruby as the
eye. The necklace that goes with them costs three times as much. So every once
in a while when Declan and I go out for lunch near the Market I wander into
Jane Moon’s, so I can drool over what I can’t afford. Declan thinks it’s
amusing and calls it “visiting” my necklace.

***

“I’m not moving back to Ireland.
I’m staying here. Sev and I are starting our own software firm creating web
tools.”

“What?” My eyes widen in surprise.
“Are you serious?” I raise the gelato to my lips, enjoying the burst of lemony
flavor. Come to think of it I have noticed that he and Sev have been spending a
lot of time together. Sevastion is this Russian guy that Declan is good friends
with who’s some important programmer at Microsoft. They met playing soccer
together.

He watches me, apparently enjoying
my surprise. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“You’re starting your own company.”
I’m completely dumbfounded. I’m not even sure what to say. “How far into the
planning stages are you?”

“Quite a ways, we’ve already
gotten most of our start-up funding. Sev and I have both taken out business loans
and we think we’ve found an office space downtown near Pioneer Square.”

“Wow, but what about your job
right now? Are you sure you want to give that up? You just got promoted.”

“I know, but this is what I’ve
always wanted to do. At some point you have to take a chance and go for your
dreams, or what’s the point of anything?”

I nod. “Well, then I’m happy for
you. Now that you’re telling me this, it’s easy for me to imagine you being
your own boss.”

Declan grins. “Because I’m such a
control freak?”

“Partly,” I say grinning back. Declan
could be an incredible pain in the ass about how he wanted things done, though
I had to admit he was usually right. “You’re always so confident and in control.
Plus I think you’re talented. I’ll bet you guys are going to do really well.”

“Thanks,” he says and pauses, “you
know, you could come with us if you like.”

“Quit my job? Wow, how very
Jerry
Maguire
of you to ask.”

He shrugs and takes a bite of his
vanilla gelato. “It’s an idea. We could use someone as creative as you.” He
must be noticing the dazed expression on my face because he starts to laugh.
“I’m not trying to pressure you or anything.”

“I know,” I say sheepishly. “I’ve
just gotten so comfortable where I am right now. Maybe it would be good for me
to take a chance on something new though. Let me think about it—okay?”

“Fair enough.”

“When do you think you’re going to
give your notice at work?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not
entirely sure yet. I’m hoping to tell them by the end of the month.”

“That soon?” I suddenly feel panic
rising as the reality of what he’s told me sinks in. I won’t be seeing Declan
at work every day. “We’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

“Of course we will. We’ll always
be friends. Are you okay?”

I nod, embarrassed because I feel
tears filling my eyes. I swallow, trying to get the lump in my throat to go
away. I can’t believe I’m reacting this way. “I’m okay,” I finally manage to
say.

He leans in closer and studies me
with his deep blue eyes. “Hmm, I know exactly what you need. It’s called gelato
therapy. Would you fancy another?”

I look at the last remnants of the
cone I’ve almost finished eating. So much for any worries I had about not
getting fat eating ice cream for breakfast. “Sure, why not.”

Declan grins and I watch as he
goes up to the counter. He’s wearing dark burgundy jeans and a short sleeved
indigo shirt. I don’t know what it is, but despite living in the states for
years now, Declan doesn’t look American. There’s something about the way he
dresses, that before he even opens his mouth and speaks, you can already tell
that he’s not from around here.  

He turns to me. “What flavor?”

“Crème brulee.”

He raises his eyebrows and makes
an impressed face. I find myself smiling, despite the sinking feeling I have
inside. Change happens. I should know that better than anyone because I’ve always
embraced it. It’s just that I can’t imagine not having Declan in my life every day.
Only Declan would have me sitting here at ten thirty in the morning eating not one,
but two ice creams.

“Here you are Miss Fancy Pants
with your exotic crème brulee,” he says, handing me the cone when he comes back
over.

I nod at his white ice cream. “Are
you really having plain old vanilla again?”

“That I am.” He takes a bite. “Delicious!”

“I’m surprised you like vanilla so
much. It doesn’t seem like you at all.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you always like things
that are so complex.” And it’s true. For lack of a better word, Declan likes
the unfathomable. In art and music—even in his life at work. The more difficult
a problem is to solve, the more he seems to enjoy it. “You like abstract art, plus
all that bizarre sounding jazz music, and even the books you read. Those
complicated detective stories or those Gabriel Garcia Marquez novels, and now
you’re telling me that boring old vanilla is your favorite ice cream flavor? I don’t
believe it.”

Declan takes another bite of his gelato,
savoring it, as he appears to think over what I’ve said. “You’re forgetting something
though. Perhaps you’re not giving vanilla it’s proper due. Perhaps vanilla
isn’t boring at all, and is far more complex then you imagine.”

“
Perhaps
,” I say, imitating
his wonky tone of voice. “You’re full of it and vanilla is boring as hell, but you
like it anyway. Perhaps you’re not as complex as
you
seem.”

He laughs. “Perhaps, you’re
right.”

***

After we polish off our second
cones we head over to Jane Moon’s. I walk around her store admiring all the
gorgeous jewelry before I finally wind up in front of the glass case that holds
my necklace. I realize, with a sinking heart, that one of these days I’m going
to come in here and it will be gone. Someone will have purchased it. But I
don’t want to think about that day, so for now I’m going to remain in blissful
ignorance.

“Ah, there she is.” Declan comes
over and stands next to me. “Hello necklace,” he waves at it, “how have you
been? Probably missing your earring sisters I imagine. Your mummy here should
bring you home with her. I guess she doesn’t love you enough.”

I giggle, elbowing him in the
chest. “Shut-up!”

Declan laughs and rolls his eyes.
“You should buy the bloody thing! Don’t you have a credit card?”

“I can’t. It’s too expensive.”

“All right,” he says with a sigh.
“What time is it? We should go back. I’m supposed to meet with Greg and I still
have to pretend I’m interested in work.”

We head back to our building and
it’s turned into a really beautiful summer day. No more drizzly rain. The sun
feels warm against my face and arms. I glance over at Declan and when our eyes
meet we both grin.

When I get to my desk, I bring up
the current Java script I’ve been working on and think about how nice it would be
to spend more time doing creative stuff and less time programming. As I’m
sitting there my phone rings and I can see from the ID that it’s my mom.

“Hi Sweetheart,” she says. “I know
you’re busy at work, but I’ll be brief. I spoke to Lynn and Karma the other day
and they said they’d be happy to talk to you about their experience with using
a sperm donor. They have the cutest little girl named Maddie.”

I groan. “I really don’t want to
deal with this right now.”

“You’ll be thirty-five in only a few
more months. You can’t afford to wait. It might take a while for you to get
pregnant, so I wouldn’t keep putting it off.”

For many years my parents never
worried that I wasn’t married. They’re both what you’d call aging hippies and I
always attributed their mellowness to their overall liberalism in general. They
raised me to be independent and I’m grateful they did. My mom is a strong
feminist and definitely subscribes to the whole axiom of, “A woman needs a man
like a fish needs a bicycle.” She’s on the local board of Planned Parenthood
and is involved with NOW and NARAL and Take Back the Night. It’s all cool
stuff. And even though I’m not political, I appreciate where she’s coming from.
When she was younger, women didn’t have anywhere near as many choices as we do
now. My friends have always been envious because when I talk to my mom she
never asks me whether I have a boyfriend or whether I’m seeing somebody.

Then about a year ago it all
changed. I made the mistake of mentioning to her—after a couple glasses of wine
on my thirty-fourth birthday, mind you—that if I didn’t meet the right man soon
I might consider have a child with a sperm donor. It was just one of those
things you say as a passing fancy, but my mom latched onto the idea and now I
can’t get her latched off. She’s decided I should have a baby, husband or no
husband. And apparently my uterus is scheduled for detonation at midnight on my
thirty-fifth birthday. As a retired psychologist she’s well connected in the
community and knows a lot of lesbian and gay couples who have used sperm donors
and keeps trying to get me to speak with them.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, wondering
whether I should tell her about my lunch date with Ben. She probably wouldn’t
approve knowing our history. “You’ll never believe who I’m having lunch with
today. Remember Ben?”

“Ben Mathews? Oh, Sweetheart—is
that wise? You know I just saw his mother Linda not long ago.”

“You did? You’ve never told me that.
Did she mention him?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear
about him after the way he broke your heart all those years ago. I still get
upset thinking about it. You two were so close. He was almost like a part of
our family. Besides the last time I saw Linda she said Ben was engaged.”

I feel sick to my stomach. He’s
engaged? I should have known. I begin kicking myself, because I knew I was
making way too much of this stupid lunch. I don’t know why I do this to myself.

“When was this?”

“A couple of months ago. I saw her
at the fundraiser for the new library.”

“I see.”

She sighs. “I know you think I’m
being a pest about all this sperm donor business, but you have to understand
that I want you to have the best life possible.”

“I know mom, I
will
think
about it some more—okay?”

“All right, I’m glad to hear that.
I’ll talk to you soon.”

I hang up the phone and stare into
space. So Ben is engaged, possibly even married. I suddenly have a strong urge to
cancel our lunch today. I’m tempted to call Suzy and Lauren and tell them what
I’ve just heard and get their advice, but instead I stare out of my office
window.  

I think about my mom’s baby
obsession and wonder if maybe she’s right. I always imagined myself having
children when I was married someday, but what if that someday never comes, or
what if it comes too late for me to get pregnant?

The Past….

Despite that awful
evening
I had meeting Ben’s friends, and despite all our differences, things between
Ben and I didn’t fizzle, they sizzled. We began to spend nearly all of our time
together. His parents had a vacation home near Stevens Pass and we’d been
driving out there every other weekend under the guise of doing something
outdoorsy, though we seldom left the confines of the ‘Love Shack.’ It was
hardly a shack though and was a handsomely furnished three-bedroom house. His
parents only used it during the winter months to go skiing, so we had the place
to ourselves whenever we wanted. 

“Why aren’t you ready yet?” Ben
asked. He was sitting on my bed, watching me frantically throw clothes into a
large leather tote.

“Because I got distracted, that’s
all. It won’t take me long to pack.” The truth was I’d been creating a
portfolio of my paintings so I could apply to some art colleges. I didn’t want
to tell Ben about it yet. I didn’t know what he would say since the colleges I
was applying to were all on the East Coast. We’re talking the biggies—Pratt,
Rhode Island School of Design, Cooper, Yale School of Art, to name a few.  I didn’t
know what it would mean for our relationship, but I figured we’d just have a
long distance romance for a while. Frankly, I was feeling pretty insecure about
my ability to even get into any of these schools.

“You’re always getting
distracted.”

“Yeah, well....” I rummaged
through my sock drawer.

“I honestly can’t believe you’re
not ready Kate. You didn’t even work today. I swear you’re the most
disorganized person I’ve ever met.”

Annoyed, I pictured Ben’s blue duffel
bag in my mind, the one he always brought with him for the weekend, so tidy
with all his clothes neatly folded inside.

“Fuck off,” I said casually.

“And you’re always telling me to
fuck off!”

“You should take it as a
compliment,” I said, closing my sock drawer. “I once read somewhere that it’s a
good sign in a relationship when you feel comfortable enough to regularly tell
the other person to fuck off.”

“Yeah, right,” Ben laughed. “You
must be incredibly comfortable with me then!”

“Shall I bring these?” I asked, purposefully
changing the subject and holding up some black crotch-less panties he’d bought
me a few weeks ago. This was Ben’s recent obsession—buying me lingerie. I
couldn’t believe some of the stuff he’d bought. I’m no prude, but I had certainly
never owned a pair of crotch-less panties before.

His eyes focused on the underwear.
I saw the shift in his senses as his mouth opened slightly, and he unconsciously
licked his lips. “Uh yeah, definitely. And make sure you bring all the other black
lace stuff too, especially that bra I like.”

That bra he liked was a half cup model,
meaning that my breasts were almost completely exposed when I wore it. It was
surprisingly dirty. Until he bought me all this stuff, I never knew he was so
turned on by it. I’ll never forget the expression on his face when I first put
the panties and bra on together for him. It’s like he could barely speak he was
so aroused. Apparently I was fulfilling all kinds of fantasies, not that I
minded. In a way it was kind of sweet. Ben was sharing fantasies with me that
he’d never shared with anyone. He kept asking me what my fantasies were,
telling me that he’d do whatever I wanted, but I was never sure what to say. It
was embarrassing to admit, but my fantasies were pretty tame compared to his.
Who would have guessed that Ben had such a rich imagination?

I stuffed all the lingerie in my
bag. “Oh, I still need to get my things from the bathroom,” I said, getting up
off the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

Ben stared at his watch. “If we
don’t leave right now we’re going to hit rush hour traffic, it’s going to take forever
to get there.”

“I’m almost ready,” I called over
my shoulder as I walked down the hall and into the bathroom. I opened my
cosmetic bag and threw some makeup inside. I honestly didn’t know what the big
deal was—so what if we had to sit in a bit of traffic? Ben got irritated about
the strangest stuff. Instead of focusing on going away for a fun weekend, all
he could think about was sticking to some arbitrary schedule.

“Okay,” I said a few minutes later
after I came back into the bedroom. “I’m ready.”

I followed him downstairs and
climbed in the passenger side of his Jeep while he put my bag in the back. I
was flipping through his CD collection, trying to decide what to play, when he
came in and sat in the driver’s seat. I had to say that despite all of our
different interests, Ben and I had nearly identical taste in music. I took the
Red Hot Chili Pepper’s
Blood Sugar Sex Magik
out of its case and popped
it into his CD player. Immediately the familiar opening from “The Power of
Equality” began to fill his car.

Ben glanced over at me and
grinned. “Good choice.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as we headed
down Queen Anne Hill towards the interstate.

“I was just thinking about how we
both like the same kind of music even though we’re so different in other ways.”

“Yeah, it’s funny isn’t it? I
guess we both have good taste.”

I leaned back in the seat looking
out the window, listening to the Red Hots. We’d been playing this album a lot lately
and it had become “our” album.

 I switched from gazing out the
window to watching Ben drive. He was a good driver—relaxed and in control behind
the wheel. Occasionally I offered to take a shift, but he always turned me
down, saying that he liked to drive and didn’t mind doing it all the time.

I studied his hands and the way his
fingers hugged the steering wheel. They were long and well-shaped with squared
nails that he kept clean and cut short. They were so familiar that I’d gotten
to know them as well as I know my own hands. I thought of all the pleasurable ways
they touched me and realized in some ways they probably knew my body better
than I did. I ran my gaze up to his shoulders which were probably my favorite
part of him. I always teased Ben and told him that his cock was my favorite
part of his body, but really it was his shoulders and back. He had broad shoulders
and a beautifully muscled back. All that rock climbing sure had its pay offs. I
thought of how things had been unfolding between us these past months and I
felt relaxed when I was with him in a way that was entirely new for me. There
was still all that sexual intensity, but I realized now that sex was just a
starting place for something much deeper. “I Could Have Lied” came on. The
music filled the small space as the lyrics seeped into me.

I put my hand on Ben’s leg, wanting
to touch him in some way. He immediately put his hand over mine.

“Hey,” I said softly.

“Hey.”

“I love you.”

Ben met my eyes. He was driving,
so he couldn’t hold my gaze for long, but I could see that he was pleased. We’d
been saying ‘I love you’ a lot to each other. He gently squeezed my hand.

“I love you too, Kate.”

Ben continued to drive, holding my
hand, and I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I thought of all those
college applications I’d been filling out lately, but then decided I didn’t
want to dwell on them and what they implied for my future. I was here with Ben
and, for right now, that was good enough for me.