The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

She turned out better than Reggie, at least. He hit rock bottom the night he threatened Andrew a

nd me—and kept going. He did his best to hurt us, but no lawyer would take him seriously when Reggie accused Andrew of being a bad father. He had no real evidence, and no charges could be pressed. I later learned that on top of losing his job, he’d invested most of his savings in a failing start-up. Though I can’t excuse his behavior, I understand a little better what drove him to my place. Reggie thought I was the one thing he could control that night.

Ultimately, he wouldn’t budge on avec. I had to let it go. It fell apart soon after I stepped down.

Since I didn’t have anything left to fight for, the divorce went through smoothly without Reggie doing too much damage. He tried. He went to the press with the videos he had, but once I stepped down from avec, nobody cared enough to run a story about two people in New Jersey who’d once had sex in the privacy of their own home. It was an embarrassing few months while Reggie tried to slander us, but we burrowed ourselves in our home. We used that time to strengthen our unit.

I moved in with Andrew a year later.

Andrew drops our luggage in the living room, and Shana and I move into the kitchen to give him a moment alone with Bell. I’m sorting through a stack of mail on the counter when Shana clears her throat. “I guess I’ll take off.”

I look up. “Thanks again for helping us out. How’d everything go with the,” I lower my voice, “you know?”

She smiles. “Good. Pico and Randy oversaw the entire thing, and I cleaned it this morning. It looks great.”

“I can’t wait to see his face.”

“Um. There’s one thing I wanted to ask you,” she says, tapping a finger on the tile. “It’s not about Bell.”

I set down the mail to give her my attention. She looks nervous, which is rare for her, no matter how tense things have gotten between us over the past two years. “It’s just—I haven’t mentioned it because I wanted to make sure I would follow through. When I graduated from cosmetology school, I started thinking about opening my own salon. Now that I’ve been hairdressing over a year, I want to pursue my own thing.”

“Oh.” As much progress as Shana has made, I brace myself. If she asks us for money, I know Andrew won’t give it to her. I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that either, even though she’s fierce with enough street smarts to run her own place. I would know.

“I just—I know you’re a PR consultant, but Denise said you helped one of her friends restructure her thrift store, and I was hoping maybe we could sit and talk about a business plan. Sometime. When you’re free.”

I’m relieved. “We can do that,” I say. “As long as you’re serious.”

“I am. It’s not exactly easy for me to ask you for help,” she points out. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t need it.”

“True.” I’ve only ever wanted Shana to do well. She’ll always be in Bell’s life, and Bell’s happiness is as important to me as my own. “How about we sit and talk next month when you pick up Bell for the weekend? You can even stay for dinner.”

“That’d be great. I don’t have much saved yet—”

“Don’t worry about it. You can pay me back when your salon opens by doing my hair.” As soon as I say it, we both laugh nervously. I’ve taken it a step too far. I don’t think Shana nor I would ever be comfortable in such an intimate situation. “Let’s just stick to business,” I suggest. “I’ll put next month on my calendar, and I’ll make sure Sadie’s here too.”

Once Sadie had her little girl and avec closed its doors, she and I partnered up for PR consulting. We’ve had small business clients all over the tri-state area, from florists to cafés to a grungy but successful Jersey auto shop—despite its stubborn owner’s protests that they were doing fine without “bullshitting people.” We’ve even taken on a couple charities pro bono, something I’d never considered doing with avec.

Between my biweekly visits and Andrew’s insistence on getting us a hotel in the city one night a month so I don’t feel trapped in the suburbs, I haven’t even had a chance to miss New York.

We say goodbye to Shana, and as soon as the door closes behind her, Andrew’s and my attention goes to Bell. We can’t help it—she’s nearly vibrating with excitement. “Can we show him now?” she asks me. “Please? I’ve been dying all morning.”

I nod my permission, and she grabs his hand, pulling him away.

“Ah.” Andrew looks back, lifting one eyebrow. “The big surprise.”

“I think we should blindfold him,” I say, covering his eyes from behind, sweet revenge for all the times he’s blindfolded me.

He groans.

“Maybe gag him too,” I whisper in his ear, earning myself a chuckle from him.

We pass through the bedroom to the bathroom. Sensing our location, Andrew says, “If you guys put that goddamn Little Mermaid shower curtain in my room when I told you not to—”

I remove my hands and watch his face. He blinks a few times, scanning the bathroom that’s double the size it was when he left. “What the . . .”

“Surprise,” Bell squeals, jumping up and down. She runs over to the shiny new bathtub and perches on the edge. “For your bubble baths, Daddy!”

He looks from the tub to me. “You did this?”

“They installed it while we were away. Rush job.”

He shakes his head, his mouth open. “I can’t believe it. This must’ve been a huge project.”

“It’ll be worth it.” I lower my voice. “I’ve missed it, taking a bath with you.”

“And look,” Bell says, lifting a bottle of Glenlivet from inside with both hands. There’s a red bow around the neck. “Adult juice.”

Andrew grins, taking the whisky from her. He unscrews the cap and raises it in the air for a toast. “To my girls,” he says. “I’m the luckiest son of a you-know-what around.”

“Bitch,” Bell says. “Son of a bitch.”

“Language,” I say with a defeated sigh. There are years of damage done from growing up around crass men that even I can’t undo.

Andrew takes a swig, then passes it to me. I do the same, and like every time we settle in with a glass of Glenlivet, the first taste reminds me of our first night together.

Andrew sets the bottle on the counter and puts a heavy arm around my shoulders. “You’re the best, you know that?” he murmurs, pulling me into him. He kisses the tip of my nose and whispers, “What better gift could you give me then more naked time with you?”

I tilt my face up to his, asking for a real kiss. He gives it to me, sliding his tongue along the seam of my lips and slipping it into my mouth.

“Not in lust with you, babe,” he says.

“No,” I agree. “You love me.”

“You love me too.”

We’re gazing into each other’s eyes when Bell speaks again.

“Hmm,” she says to herself. “This stuff smells funny.”

Andrew and I whip our heads to her. She’s picked up the bottle from the counter and is two seconds from taking her first sip of whisky. We lunge at the same moment, yelling in unison, “Don’t drink that!”

There’s no doubt about it—Andrew and I have our hands full, and that’s not changing any time soon.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.