Chapter 115: Jealous of mom

She stayed under me on the entry mat until the fern’s ten minutes of sun started to feel like a distant achievement.

Evelyn pushed at my chest, not to move me off, just to breathe. "Floor’s done," she said. "My back agrees with my knees now. Bed. I want to be on top and not bounce. Grind only. Slow enough that I can talk about the plant without losing the sentence. Then we order food that arrives at the door so neither of us cooks. New rule for the hour: no eggs. After the food we see if the delivery person existing in the world makes us weird. It might. Or it won’t. Up."

We made it to the bed. She sank onto me facing me, stayed deep, and rolled her hips in a lazy grind that never became a bounce. She talked about the fern needing less water than she had given it. I answered. She clenched when she made a point. The grind built anyway. She came once, soft, still talking through the tail of it, then kept rolling until I came inside her. She stayed seated, leak and all, and reached for her phone.

"Food," she said. "Something with noodles. You’re not choosing. I’m preventing eggs by force. Twenty minutes. We can shower or stay filthy. I vote stay filthy and tip well. Thoughts?"

"Stay filthy."

"Good vote."

The twenty minutes were spent with her still in my lap, scrolling, grinding once when the menu bored her, coming small from that, then settling. The knock came. She eased off, pulled my shirt on and nothing else, and answered the door with her hair wrecked and her thighs shining. The delivery person did not comment. She tipped, closed the door, and looked at me.

"Not weird," she said. "Excellent. Kitchen table. We eat. Then I want you to fuck me on the table again while the containers are still out, because the mess on the mess feels right. No ritual. Just because the noodles are here and so are we. Sit. Eat. Don’t let it get cold. I’m serious about the cold part."

We ate. Noodles. She stole from my container. After, she pushed the boxes aside, lay back on the table, and pulled me in. I fucked her there with the smell of food still in the air. She came looking at me, same as before but faster, and I came inside her while a noodle clung to the edge of the wood. She laughed, reached for it, ate it, and said, "Disgusting. Perfect. Couch for a while. Not joined. I want to digest and then decide if the day needs one more surface. The windowsill is free. The fern can share. Or we nap. Both legal."

We napped on the couch, not joined, her head on my chest, the fern silent. When we woke she decided the windowsill after all. She bent over it, hands on the frame, fern to her left. I pushed in and fucked her there, careful of the plant, less careful of her. She came twice. I came inside her. She straightened, watered the fern with what was left in the cup, and looked back at me.

"Day’s strange enough," she said. "Bed for real sleep soon. Or one more in the dark if you want it. Your call this time. I’m done inventing surfaces. The house is running out. Choose."

"Dark," I said. "Then sleep."

"Dark it is."

She killed the lights. We found each other. Slow in the black. She came. I came inside her. We slept tangled, the fern in the other room, the noodle containers still on the table, the entry mat crooked, nothing requiring a list.

Morning started with the noodle containers still on the table and her already clearing them, naked, humming.

"Evidence," Evelyn said when she saw me. "We’re disgusting. Coffee, then I want the shower again but sitting on the floor of it. You in front of me. I ride you under the water until it runs cold. Then we actually wash. Then we take the fern for another ten minutes because it looked less dead and I’m superstitious now. After that, no plan. The delivery person can live in our heads as a non-event. Get the cups."

We did the coffee standing amid the cleanup. Then the shower. She sat on the tile, pulled me down, and sank onto me under the spray. She rode slow, water in her face, until she came and the hot ran out. We washed fast in the cold and got out laughing. The fern got its ten minutes. It did not thank us. Inside, she set it down and looked at the couch arm.

"One more new-old surface," she said. "Then I’m done for the morning. Bend me over it. Not hard. I want lazy. Then food that we cook, because delivery twice is how people forget how pans work. You’re on the pan. I’m on distracting you. Fair?"

"Fair."

She bent over the arm. I pushed in slow and fucked her lazy, deep, until she came with a sigh and I filled her. We cooked after. Real food. She distracted me twice, once with a hand, once with a kiss that turned into nothing because the pan needed her. We ate at the cleared table. Ordinary. After, she pulled me to the bed and did not name a position. We ended up on our sides, slow, finishing inside her, sleeping with the sheet half on and the fern in its sun.

The day had been noodles and a windowsill and a cold shower and no eggs by force. She slept through the afternoon. I stayed. When she woke she kissed my shoulder and said the evening could be nothing at all. It was. We watched the light go. We did not fuck again. The nothing held, and she called it a win without making it a speech.

Night came without a round. She noticed and did not fix it.

"See?" Evelyn said in the dark. "We can skip. The world continues. Morning might want the table again or it might want a walk with no fern. I’m not deciding now. Sleep. If you wake up needing me, wake me. If you don’t, don’t perform the need. Both fine."

She slept. I slept. Morning wanted the walk with no fern. She said so over coffee, already in shoes. We walked further than the corner. She bought bread and did not buy a plant. On the way back she waited until the door closed, then dropped to her knees in the entry and sucked me until I came in her mouth, swallowing, then stood and kissed me.

"There," she said. "Walk tax. Paid. Now the table if you want it, or the bed, or nothing. I’m easy. The fern survived another night. We can too. Choose or don’t. I’ll still be here."

I chose the table. She lay back. I fucked her while the new bread sat in its bag. She came looking at me. I came inside her. We stayed until the bread needed to be not symbolic. Then we ate it. The day moved. No list survived the eating.

Afternoon brought the fern back into it only as a witness.

She carried it to the bathroom, set it on the closed toilet, and looked at the shower floor. "Again," she said. "But you sit. I face away. Reverse under water. Then we dry off and don’t fuck for at least an hour. I want to prove the hour is possible. Start the tap."

We did the reverse in the shower. She rode until the water cooled and she came, then let me finish inside her. We dried. The hour held. She read the boat book on the couch with her feet in my lap and did not climb on. When the hour ended she closed the book, smiled, and said the proof was done. Then she climbed on anyway, slow, and the rest of the afternoon disappeared into her grinding until she couldn’t and I filled her and we napped joined by accident.

Evening was leftovers and the dark. She wanted the dark again. We found each other. Slow. Finish. Sleep. The fern stayed in the bathroom overnight by mistake. In the morning she rescued it, laughed, and did not apologize to it. "Priorities," she said, and poured the coffee. The day waited for a first word. She did not supply one. She waited for mine, naked at the counter, the plant dripping on the sill, the house still only ours.

She waited, and I gave her the word.

"Windowsill again," I said. "But you facing me. Legs around my waist. Then we leave the fern alone for the rest of the day. It’s had enough attention. After that, nothing planned."

Evelyn set the cup down. "Facing you. Good. The plant can recover from our personalities. Come here."

She hopped up onto the sill, careful of the pot, and pulled me in. I pushed into her standing. She locked her legs around my waist, arms around my neck, and we fucked there with the morning light on her face. She watched me. Came once, biting her lip, then again when I rubbed her clit. I came inside her, holding her up. She unwrapped her legs, leak running, and laughed.

"Fern’s seen worse," she said. "Shower. Real one. Then I want to go buy something useless. A mug. A stupid mug. We drink from it later and don’t talk about where it’s been. Hands to yourself in the shop. After the door, you can put the mug wherever you want, including in me if that’s the joke. Deal?"

"Deal."

We showered. Dressed. Bought the ugliest mug in the shop. On the walk back she swung the bag and didn’t touch me. Inside, she set the mug on the table, stripped, and bent over the same table.

"Joke’s available," she said. "Or just fuck me. Both work."

I fucked her. The mug watched. She came. I came inside her. We left the mug clean and used the table instead. Later she drank from it, naked, sitting in my lap on the chair, not joined yet, talking about nothing. When she sank down onto me it was slow, and the mug stayed on the table where it belonged, unused for anything but coffee.

The day stayed light. The fern dripped and was ignored. She rode me until she couldn’t, then stayed, and did not name what came after the mug.