Approximately an hour later, I arrived at the house, finding Ava sprawled in front of the television, indulging in her odd fascination with reality TV. She had cute, bite-sized egg, ham, and fresh mozzarella with tomato and basil sandwiches. She also had petite, fresh-cut chips; mini fruit tarts; fresh crème; and blueberry scones with a freshly brewed pot of tea.
“Hello …” I greeted with a knock before I strode into the room, grinning at her engrossed face as she ate one of the sandwiches. The sauce oozed out of the sandwich, leaving her with a small peach colored smear next to her lip. “How’s your afternoon going?” I bent over to give her a peck before my thumb swiped the sauce off her face. Then, placing it in between my lips, I sucked the flavor from my thumb. “Tasty,” I murmured and saw her cheeks flush beautifully at me.
“Hi,” she greeted me with a smile before her concentration went back to the show.
Sitting next to her, I took my time as I poured myself a cup of tea before taking my shoes off and stretching out. She eagerly sought my warmth and placed her head on my chest.
“Most of these women have fake boobs. They look rather tacky on such a small frame,” she murmured much to herself before glancing at me. “Have you touched one? Does it feel rubbery like it appears to me?”
My brows rose up, a soft chuckle emanating from me. “Well, let’s see …” I pretended to recall the women I had been with as she patiently waited for me. “I do remember this one woman. She was gorgeous, but one could immediately tell that she wasn’t happy with her body. It was all she spoke about the entire night, and seeing that I was more inebriated than I cared for, I hadn’t minded when she kept on talking about how she wanted to enlarge this area, stretch that part. It was unfortunate, really, but yeah, her boobs weren’t rubbery per say. Although, I can’t fully agree they were soft, either. I suppose they were right between rubbery and soft”—I made a face—“if that makes sense at all.”
“Which do you prefer?” she asked curiously.
“Need you ask?” I pulled her towards me, leaving kisses on her neck before trailing them down to the valley of her cleavage. “I prefer these. Not just any boobs, but my wife’s breasts. They’re mighty glorious.”
She squealed as she protested, and told me I had better be on my best behavior.
When we separated, she told me, “I made blueberry scones. I remember you used to love them.” She took a napkin before carefully taking one from the small pile on the blue china. Handing it to me, she urged me to take a small bite.
The sweetness softly crumbled on my tongue, melting into a powdery goodness. “Delicious. Christ, how I love these,” I groaned as I took another bite before making another sound of enthusiasm. “So good …”
For a while, my attention was focused on the show as well, wondering how in the world these women survived acting and looking like they had come out of a drag show. The piled on make-up, larger than life breasts, ostentatious jewelry, claw-like nails, and the hideous hair … did any men find these monstrosities attractive?
Quietly, we both ate, enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence. I knew I should start getting ready soon; however, I wasn’t completely inclined to leave her side just yet. I liked this—the comfortable silence, the companionship, the feeling of having Ava next to me. Was this how life was supposed to be with her—simple, uncomplicated, without much care for the rest of the world?
I actually found it truly relaxing because, with the high tension-filled environment of my everyday life, it was refreshing to come home to a home. Not just a house I stayed at to sleep, but a home where I could relax and share my time with someone who appreciated my presence without demanding anything, without having to explain how my day had gone, or whatever else women usually adored talking about—all the things Ava didn’t do. She was happy with how things were going, plain and simple.
“I’m going to shower.” I started to get up before placing a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for the food. As always, it was lovely.”
Once I reached my bedroom, I immediately went into the bathroom to turn on the shower jets. Leaving it to run to my preferred temperature, I went into my walk-in closet and started undressing. Right then, my phone rang with Hilary’s name flashing on the screen. Taking the call, I swiftly told her I should be there in an hour or so. Ending the call, I took a deep, stressful sigh.
Preparing for this event was an exhausting process that I wished I didn’t have to deal with, but this had already been pre-arranged months back, before Ava had come back into my life. Then there was the fact that, although there was no question that I liked being with Ava, a major part of me wanted space from being too close to her. I had meant to tell Ava as much, yet I somehow ended up not going through with it.
Earlier in the day, her father had actually called me, asking how Ava was doing and wondering if I had any idea when his daughter would eventually call him so they could build their relationship again. I was actually surprised that she hadn’t reached out to them yet. However, I understood—when she was truly ready, she’d go see her father.
He wasn’t a bad man, not really. I didn’t blame him for doing what he had to me, because he had believed he was protecting his daughter. I loathed him for being so intrusive, but I had ended up learning a lot of things from him. I had learned what it was like to really work hard to achieve something great, something remarkable that affected other people’s lives.
His occasional calls had initially brought out so much ferocity in me, but as time had worn on, I had realized his direct approach that usually came out harsh was actually constructive criticism. Never underestimate an opposition or a business threat, always pay heed to the small details because those were essential in intense negotiations. When millions and billions were on the line, people could get very creative with their not so honorable intentions. Those comments had been made to shape me up mentally, to keep challenging me to never get comfortable in whatever situation I was in.
In an odd, twisted fashion, I saw him as my mentor who had never given up on me. Even if I hadn’t been sure whether I possessed the potential to succeed, he had. He had been confident I would one day become successful, pouring money into funding my school and extra classes that were not school related, yet essential to understanding the global business market. We had developed civility between each other through all of those dealings.