Thoroughly Whipped

As my laughter died off, my attention became fixated on my hand on his. Harry’s hand had flipped over and his fingers now linked through mine. I wiped my eyes, and then the car suddenly became quiet.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, breaking the silence. His voice sounded so relaxed and smooth. He was so often uptight and as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I used to believe that to be condescension to those below his elevated social status. Now I believed I knew better. He had just needed someone to see through the hard shell he wore like a repellant.

“I’m ready,” I said. “And I should be asking you that question. You’re about to have Sunday dinner at the Parisi household.” I reluctantly moved my hand from his and patted his shoulder. “Godspeed, young sir.”

I got out of the car, and Harry reached into his back seat, pulling out a bouquet of flowers, a wine bag, and something in a bigger gift bag. I raised an eyebrow. “Trying to make a good impression?”

But Harry didn’t smile or laugh at my joke. He simply said, “Yes.” My heart flipped in my chest, did a split-leap, a back handspring, a somersault, and an expert finish. Harry held out his arm for me. “Shall we?”

I linked my arm through his and, shaking my head, said, “Pussy is a cat.” I laughed at that sentence, still replaying our argument in the car.

“Or a kitten,” he said as we stopped at the door and I took my key from my pocket. I looked up at Harry. “A little kitten. I could see you as that,” he said nonchalantly, and goosebumps broke out all over my body.

Mon petit chaton…my little kitten.

I felt my heartbeat in my throat and heard it echoing like a dance drumbeat in my ears. Harry couldn’t know that was what Maître called me. But why would he say that? Out of everything he could have said, why would that be it?

I was ripped from my thoughts when Mom opened the door with her usual dramatic flair. “Faith! Harry! Why are you standing out here sweating your pants off? I saw you pull up and you took so long I thought you’d been mugged or something.”

“No, as you can see we’re in one piece,” I said, and Mom ushered Harry inside first. He glanced back at me with a furrowed brow, clearly noticing something was up. As they disappeared into our apartment, I took a deep breath. “All these orgasms of late are fucking my brain as well as my…” I trailed off, laughing again over Harry saying lady garden. It was the worst damn thing I’d ever heard. But trust a viscount to use the name of something so floral and innocent for a vagina. “Lady garden,” I huffed, just as my mother came to the door.

“Why are you still out here, alone, talking to yourself about vaginas, Faith?” She shuddered. “And never say it in that way again. Your granny McIntyre used to say that to me when she came to visit from Scotland. It never sounds right. Ever.”

I followed Mom into the apartment. “I got these for you, Mrs. Parisi.” Harry handed her the flowers. Mom positively melted.

“Thomasena, please,” she said.

“And Mr. Parisi. Faith told me you came from Italy.” Harry handed over the wine bag.

When Papa pulled it out, his eyes widened. “The Bella Collina Merlot from Savona Wines.” He was speechless. That didn’t happen often. “It is too much. It is so rare. I could not accept it.”

“Please,” Harry insisted. “I had this at home. I thought a man from Italy would enjoy it more than I would.” I swore there were tears in Papa’s eyes.

“Grazie mille,” he whispered, holding the bottle like it was the most precious gold.

“And Thomasena…Faith, of course, told me of your Scottish heritage.” He handed her the bigger gift bag. Mom looked inside it and gasped. I leaned over to see what was inside. I laughed, seeing cans of Irn-Bru, haggis, and oatcakes.

“Harry,” Mom said, eyes shining now. Oh, Jesus Christ! My vision shimmered at the kindness Harry had bestowed on my parents when all they had been dealt of late was bad luck and sadness. Seeing them this touched was like witnessing a rainbow after a storm.

As I looked at Harry, something inside me shifted. Like a tectonic plate moving under land, forever shifting the earth above, my heart seemed to switch to a new kind of beat. One that finally heard Harry’s.

“Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

“Fuck, Harry,” Mom said, shattering the heavy moment. “You can move in if you keep us in this kind of supply!”

“Harry,” Papa said, patting Harry’s blazer, which was looking all kinds of shabby with a half-ripped pocket and an incredibly limp pocket square. “Your jacket. I’ll fix this for you.”