The Blooming Season

"Mom, you are coming, right? I need your help with my hair. Clarissa wants to do a spa day. Female bonding and all that. But, I want you to do my hair and makeup."

"Baby, I'm not sure that's a good idea." I'd love to spend time with my daughter doing girlie things like hair and makeup, giggling and talking like we used to when she was younger. But, as much as I'm into pain, I'm not masochistic. I have no intention of hanging out with my ex's bride to be on her wedding day. I'm tempted to fib and tell Janie I have to work that day. But, I'm not a liar either.

"Mom!" I pull the phone away from my ear to keep from bursting an eardrum at the whining pitch of Janie's over the top wail. "You have to!"

"No. I don't."

"Don't you want to see me all dressed up? And what about Jack? He's going to be Dad's best man. Don't you want to see him too?"

"Of course I do." Jack didn't mention it the last time we talked, but naturally, he wouldn't. Jack is the polar opposite of Janie. He's more like me, quiet, reserved, and sensitive. He'd never think of putting me in this position. Janie sometimes doesn't see the forest for the trees. She's still so young. She doesn't understand that she's hurting me.

Being a mom sometimes means making sacrifices in the name of keeping the peace. "Tell you what. I'll come out and the three of us will go to lunch. Just you, Jack, and me. Afterwards, we'll go back to the house and I'll help you get ready for the wedding. Then I'll get to see my favorite daughter and son all dressed up. How does that sound?"

Janie sighs and I know my idea of a compromise and hers don't match. "What if I trip going down the aisle? What if something needs sewn or my hair falls? Mom, I need you there."

Dane comes down the stairs. He's a sexy disheveled mess in the morning. His hair sticks up at all sorts of crazy angles. I've decided he's impervious to the cold. But damn, does he look good wearing boxers and nothing else. He casts a raised brow in my direction. Luckily, he's quick and doesn't utter a word. Ambling to the kitchen, Dane gives me my privacy. "Janie, you'll do fine. Besides, I haven't exactly been invited."

"Daddy says it's ok. He told me to tell you that you can come."

"You talked to your father about this?"

"Yeah." I can hear it in her voice. The little girl she once was. Whenever she was in trouble. She'd run to her father to avoid my wrath. Whenever she wanted something...anything, it was her father she asked. And of course, since she was daddy's little girl. He never once told her no. He left being the bad guy to me.

Dane brings me a mug of coffee and places it into my grip. I need the liquid fortification to say what I'm about to say. I take a deep drink and let the coffee warm me to the hackles of my soul. "Chingele," I mutter under my breath. It's the one word meant to keep me safe. The word that's supposed to immediately stop whatever I can't endure. But not even my safe word can help me this time.

"What Mama?"

"Nothing. Ok, fine. I'll be there. But, I'll be the one sitting in the very back wearing black."

Janie giggles. "Mom, I want my hair..."

"Janie, I've been doing your hair since before you had your first baby curls on your bald little baby head. I know how you want it."

"Mom, you're the best and I think you look awesome in black."

"Thanks."

"Well, I gotta go. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

"Ok, bye." I make kissing noises into the phone. "Love you, baby." I disconnect the call and drop the phone into the labyrinth of my purse. I feel guilty about giving in. Janie is an adult and it's time she learned to think like one. But, someplace deep inside of myself, I still see her as my little girl. I suppose that's how I let her twist my no into a yes. My mom died too soon. I missed out on so many mother daughter moments. I guess it's all those missed opportunities that made me finally cave when I know I shouldn't have.

I can handle it. The wedding is just a few unpleasant hours out of my life. I'm sure I'll have worse moments to contend with before I die. Too bad I'm not into humiliation as a means to get my kicks. If I were, this wedding would make me positively orgasmic.

Dane leans against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee and eyeing me speculatively. I'm not comfortable discussing the phone call or my feelings about it. He isn't a prying man, but senses that something is wrong. Talking would help, probably. I just simply can't. Nobody else in the world respects my safe word except for him. I know he's curious about the call. I have to stop anything that I consider as potentially causing harm. That would be this conversation. "Chingele," I utter. Dane is a man who keeps his promises. He tips his coffee mug at me and keeps his mouth shut and questions to himself. And that's the end of it, for now.

After a hearty breakfast followed by plenty of kink, he took me back to the club. I still haven't talked about Janie's call and he hasn't asked. I'd rather think about all the amazing things two people can do with cinnamon and sugar on a kitchen countertop.

We end a very pleasant morning and early afternoon with a kiss and plans for our next date. We're not going to see each other for a couple of days. We both need some time for a little breathing room and perhaps some mental housekeeping.

On the drive back to the apartment I decide that I'm too restless to be confined by four bland walls. I'm all about giving Dane some space. I need a little distance from him right now too. Dane is a fixer. It's in his nature to do anything he can to repair what he thinks is broken. If I call him, I'm going to talk, and talk, and talk. And the last thing I need him trying to fix is an unfixable situation such as being forced to attend this wedding.

I'm only doing it for the kids. They're all that matters. I call Cassandra and luckily, she's off work today. I need a little girl time right now. We agree to meet at the mall for supper. I'm closer than she is so I shop while I wait and find myself wandering into a gift store. I don't know why I do it, but I buy a little keepsake trinket and a card for my ex and his bride to be. I suppose I should pick up a sympathy card for her. After all, I was married to the man. I know, even if she doesn't yet, what she's getting into.

I hate Valentine's Day. Always have. Has there ever been a more useless holiday that really isn't a holiday? The wedding is a bad cliché. Hearts and roses, red satin dresses with matching shoes, and promises of eternal love. Nauseating. Luckily, I don't think Dane is a Valentine's Day kind of man. I'm certainly not a Valentine's Day kind of girl.

Dane

Cassandra is a very useful asset. I wanted to order Amy to tell me what was going on inside her pretty little head. But she safe'd out and that ended any chance of me getting her to talk. Cassandra is my go to for all things Amy related. I could tell that Amy needed to talk, but it wasn't me she needed to talk to. Cassandra is meeting her for dinner tonight. She's doing a little recon mission for me in the process filling me in on everything I need to know.

I like to cause pain. I like to watch people giving and receiving pain for pleasure. But I don't like to see people suffering. Whatever that conversation was between Amy and her daughter. I sensed her suffering. Kids. Sometimes I'm glad I never went down that road. I keep people safe. Strangers I don't even know. How much deeper does that need run with someone I consider as mine? There isn't any level I wouldn't stoop to in order to keep Amy safe and whole. Including drafting her best friend to take up the cause.

I will fix whatever is wrong. I don't know how I'll do it yet. But I will.

God, how I want that woman. It takes all the willpower I posses not to call Amy and demand that she come over right now. Cassandra needs time to work her magic. Amy needs space. The only thing I need is more of her. Last night, she almost had me to the point of begging. I would have gladly surrendered everything to her just for the privilege of feeling her hands on me. It's a farce, this illusion of dominance and submission. I'm powerless against her charms. She owns me and I'm happy to be owned. I just wish I could coax her over that final hurdle. Amy trusts me with her body. But when will she finally trust me with her heart?

I'm delusional to think that Amy wants to walk down the primrose path to the tune of wedding bells ringing. Hell, I'm not even certain I want that myself. I mean. I do, in theory. But, reality sometimes falls short of the theory.

It's too soon to be thinking about marriage anyway. Sometimes what a person wants isn't necessarily what's good for them. There are things to consider. At our age, having an equal amount of days both ahead and behind us, the future is as stable as a molded gelatin ring at a family picnic on a ninety-degree summer's day.

I sound like my dad, carrying on about things unpredictable and unknown. The truth is. I don't need a piece of paper to tell me I belong to her or to prove my ownership of her. I'm happy just being with Amy and content to let the rest fall into place however it does.

Amy's apartment is a teeny, tiny, overpriced, Cracker Jack sized box. I have plenty of extra room here. I'm kidding myself to think that I'd let her sleep in a guest room or simply cohabitate the space out of nothing more than financial convenience. I want her in my bed every night.

I add cinnamon to my shopping list and chuckle under my breath. Amaryllis is an adventuresome girl. I think cinnamon-sugar sprinkled pussy is my new favorite dessert. The mental image of her pretty ass parked on that countertop. Her legs spread wide resting on my shoulders as I licked her clean has me hard and aching for more.

My great-grandmother is probably rolling in her grave over all the many ways Amaryllis and I defiled her kitchen. As for my great-grandfather, the old codger I barely remember would probably give me a pat on the back. But out of respect for the ancestors that built the house. And for all the egg noodles, sugar cookies, and holiday piecrusts that loving hands have rolled out on that cracked, aged formica. I give the countertop a thorough going over with cleanser.

I'm impatient, trying to watch TV as I wait for Cassandra's call. I know how it is when women get together. The two of them will talk for hours. I'm a little jealous of Cassandra. That she has something with Amy I never will. I can be Amy's lover. I can be her best friend. I can be her protector, her dominant, and possibly someday, her husband. But I will never be her best girlfriend. There will always be things she can tell Cassandra that she could never tell me.

It seems like weeks before the phone rings. I listen with unbreakable intent as Cassandra fills me in. I try to put myself in Amy's shoes. It wasn't a lack of trust that had her using her safe word. It wasn't shame that had her keeping this to herself. Amy is an avoider. She doesn't like discomfort, especially mental discomfort. She didn't tell me because she didn't want to confront her feelings. I can't help but be angry with Amy's daughter. Cassandra calms me down by reminding me that despite her age, Janie is just a kid and there isn't anything a mom won't do for her children.

I know Cassandra is right. She can't go with Amy to the wedding because of work. Maybe, it's the dominant in me, but I decide Amy shouldn't have to face her demons alone. She was there for me and I will be there for her. I can always clear my schedule. Whether or not I've secured an invitation doesn't matter. I will be there for Amy.

I fill Cassandra in on the plan. She agrees with me wholeheartedly. Amy would never ask it of me. She doesn't need to. I'm there for her whether she wants me to be or not. I have all the details. The date, time, and place of the wedding. After a quick Google search, I find a little bed and breakfast not far from the church and book a room. I will replace Amy's pain with pleasure. After all, it'll be Valentine's Day and what kind of girl doesn't love a romantic surprise on Valentine's Day?

I'm nervous about meeting her kids. Believe me, I could care less about meeting her ex husband. In fact, I'd like to shake his hand and thank him for handing me over such a rare and precious gift as Amy.

The Internet is a wonderful tool. After a few keystrokes I've put names with faces. I see Amy's imprint on her children. My God, have two kids ever resembled their mother more than Amy's kids do her? It brings a smile to my face to browse Amy's past through her daughter's Facebook page. I'm going to have to talk to Janie about tightening up her Internet security. There are bad people out there. Bad men. She doesn't even know who I am and she accepted my friend's request without batting an eye.

I already feel as protective of Amy's kids as I do her. I guess it's because I see her in them. My anxiety over meeting her family dissolves into nothing. I've won over tougher people than Jack and Janie. Besides, I have a feeling we're going to get along famously. If they're anything like their mother, it's going to be love at first sight.

Amy

I'm trying to roust up some excitement about going to this wedding. Unfortunately, no matter how much self-talk I bombard my psyche with. I fail to hit the mark. I remind myself that there are going to be times when I simply must deal with Bob. I divorced him, but I can't divorce our past. We have two kids together. Encounters are going to happen. I've gotta agree with Cassandra on her proclamation that ex's are like tumors. You never completely get rid of them.

I've managed to avoid Bob successfully for the past year. Maybe it is better to get it over with and face him now rather than later. To date, I've volunteered to work all the holidays rather than put the kids through the awkwardness of choosing which parent they want to spend the day with. It is time to rip off the bandaid and let the wound finally heal.

Cassandra was fishing for information. No matter how hard I tried to steer the dinner conversation away from the wedding. She kept wheedling her way back to the topic. I have no doubt Dane knows by now. I used my safe word. In our world that one little word has more value than gold. After Cassandra and I parted ways I still wasn't quite ready to call it a day. I was just kidding about wearing black to the wedding. I would, however, like to find something drop dead, fem-fatale, gorgeous to wear.

I used to think red was too bold for a woman with my figure flaws. It made me stand out in a crowd and that was the last thing I wanted. I've been flaunted around on stage in a corset. Dane was proud to have me at his side. He left no doubt in anyone's mind that I belonged to him. I wonder what Bob would think of me now that I'm no longer his demure, mousy, little wallflower of a wife?

I paw through the racks of dresses designed for women of my size. Apparently, I'm not the only woman who thinks red is too bold. The dresses are mostly made of loose, billowy fabrics in drab colors or standard basic unnoticeable black. I hate them. The dresses scream wallflower. Well, I'm nobody's wallflower, not anymore. I'm an amaryllis in bloom. I want something that reflects my inner change.

I work up the courage to wander into some of the trendier shops. I'm a clearance sale kind of girl and head straight to the discount racks in the back of the store. I'm about to give up on the wild prints and teeny-tiny clothing when something catches my eye.

I can't believe my luck or resist trying the red dress on. I steel into the dressing room. It takes me a minute or two to wiggle everything into place and to figure out how to secure the wrap around dress nice and snug around my waist.

The dress is held closed by one tiny silver buckle at the waist. The hemline is daringly short, the skirt flared, and the neckline plunges brazenly low. But somehow the dress doesn't manage to make me look cheap or slutty. I look like a woman who has her shit together. One that's confident and comfortable with who she is.

The dress and the image it creates aren't a lie. For the first time ever my insides match my outside. I am that woman. I don't want to take the dress off, but reluctantly do. I practically skip to the checkout, paying the outrageous price on the tag without complaint. This dress is more than just a dress. Like the corset, the dress has become a sort of declaration of independence for me.

Despite the fact that it is snowing buckets by the time I leave the mall and the roads are slick and hazardous. I'm giddy as a schoolgirl. I feel light as air regardless of the freezing temperatures and the snow clogging my windshield wipers. Traffic is slow, almost at a crawl. A drive that would normally take me twenty minutes is going to end up taking twice as long.

To distract myself from the terrors of being caught out on the road in this weather. I call my son. Jack is reasonable, as always. He dodges any conversation having to do with the wedding. I don't know if he's talked to Janie or not. Probably not since the two of them mix like oil and water and sometimes distance is the only sensible way for the both of them to keep from killing one another.

I reassure Jack that I'm fine. He doesn't sound convinced, but he lets it go and doesn't probe. We make plans to meet for lunch on the day of the wedding. I promise him that if the weather is bad I won't make the drive. I think he is secretly hoping for a snowstorm. He's a sensitive type, that kid of mine. Would have made a great nurse or even better, a doctor. But, kids never do what you want them to. Jack is no exception.

I end the call as I force my way through the snow and into my parking space.

I question my sanity. Maybe, I'm not fine. I don't think so though. I really and truly feel ok about going to the wedding. This dress and the situation leave no room for self doubt. I have to be fine. I will be fine. I've survived worse than spending a few hours with Bob and his bride to be. Maybe, I should escort him up the aisle and give him away. Deliver him into her eager, waiting hands, but I've already done that. I did it when I signed the divorce papers over a year ago.

I'm not planning to stick around in the oz that is suburbia any longer than I have to. This is going to be a quick in and out trip. I'll go and conquer and head straight home afterwards. It'll be a lot of driving in one day, but that's ok. I hang the dress and begin to stuff the things I'll need into a bag. I've got two weeks to prepare myself. Plenty of time. But to solidify things in my head I go ahead and wrap the present.

I have no other plans for Valentine's Day. It's the one day that I'm persona absentia. It's probably a good thing I'll spend most of it alone driving on the open road. Otherwise, I'd lock myself in the house all day and do nothing. I don't care if Dane understands my hatred of the holiday or not. This year, Valentine's Day is on a Saturday. Last year I spent it at the courthouse, signing away my old life and wondering how in the hell I was going to build a new one.

I have my new life now. I won't begrudge Bob his new life or his happiness. I won't be that woman. I am going to be a woman of grace and dignity, wear my red dress, and hold my head up high and be proud of who I have become. In part, I think I owe Dane a measure of thanks. He forced me to face my biggest demons through confronting myself. He saw me when I didn't see myself. When I didn't want or have the courage to. I realize I did all the work. But he forced me to look in the mirror at the reflection of the woman I truly am. She is no wallflower. She is a woman in full bloom.

Amy

I thought I had plenty of time to prepare. Wow, was I wrong. The couple of weeks I thought I had passed in the blink of an eye. A sudden bout of the flu settled like a dark cloud over the hospital. With all the staff out on sick leave, I found myself without any free time to spare. It seemed that I didn't need to feel guilty about buying that dress after all. Luckily, I didn't get so much as a sniffle and my paychecks were very healthy from working the extra shifts.