52 - Car-Pool Tunnel

Sheridan shut off the garbage disposal, then the kitchen faucet and tore off two paper towels to blot the moisture from the freshly prepped asparagus.  Wiping her hands on the towel that was tucked into the waistband of her candy-cane-striped apron, she turned to the refrigerator for the salad ingredients.

Soft Christmas music, candle-lit table, dinner preparations are under control, his gift is wrapped and under the tree…  Everything’s just the way it should be.

Her stomach fluttered with anticipation.  Unable to stop thinking about his naked body pressed against hers, she had found herself in a lingerie shop yesterday, shopping for something a little special.

She hadn’t seen him since leaving Rockefeller Center three days earlier, and she was looking forward to seeing a lot of him tonight. 

On second thought, she realized that wasn’t exactly true.  She had seen him.  Several times a day in the pictures the paparazzi had snapped of them at Rockefeller Center.   There was one in particular…  He had just kissed the inside of her wrist and was giving her the smoldering gaze that spontaneously dampened her dainties.  She’d gone through a lot of panties in the last three days, courtesy of that immortalized moment in time.

Her panties would have to wait though.  She would finish getting this salad ready, toss the potatoes in the oven so that they were ready to bake.  Then she would be free to change clothes and into that new silk teddy. 

Checking the clock, Sheridan found that she had just enough time to do all that.  Jon was supposed to be here around six o’clock.

Merry Christmas to me.

❧❧❧

Jon grumbled at the snarl of traffic preventing his re-entry into the city.  Technically, it wasn’t preventing it so much as hindering it to death. Cars moved at a slow crawl into the tunnel, and he presumed getting inside didn’t grant a magic wormhole that would instantaneously transport him to Tribeca.   The whole thing was an ugly obstacle to a beautiful woman that he had been without for too long.

Five days and he’d gotten to do nothing more than kiss her cheek, kiss her wrist, talk a little dirty to her on the phone at night, and…

And memorize that damn article nearly word for word. 

To say he was frustrated was putting it mildly.

With a helpless sigh, he draped one wrist over the steering wheel and absently counted the number of tail lights between him and a much anticipated Christmas Eve reunion.  Even worse than the mess detaining his reunion, it gave him way too much time to rehash – and stew over – the brief visit with his ex-wife.

It was all fine and dandy at first.  The kids piled into the house with their bags of ‘stuff’ that they couldn’t leave at one house or the other, bestowing  happy hugs and kisses on Mom.  All the kids except Romeo, who begged that Jon carry him in.  Of course, he hadn’t minded a bit.  After spending so much time with them in the past week, Jon was feeling a little clingy himself.  Particularly with Romeo. 

In an effort to reinforce the idea that his youngest never had to worry about being abandoned, Jon had spent extra time with him, even resorting to playing the video games he so despised.  He’d gotten pretty good at Mario Kart, if he did say so himself.  Jake and Romeo only beat him half the time now.

Not only did he soothe the desertion fears, but Jon thought he had also brought a healthy dose of reality to the littlest Bongiovi’s world by laying out the facts about Christmas.  All of the Christmas Day activities that wouldn’t involve Mommy, because Mommy was staying at her house while they went to Gramma and Grandpa’s.

The outcome of his efforts remained to be seen, but he was hopeful, and was riding that proud parenting buzz as Romeo rode his back into the foyer.  The buzz was tragically short-lived when Dorothea zapped him with her disdainful what-the-hell-have-you-done-now look.

He hated that look.

“Jon, could I talk to you in the kitchen, please?”

Letting Romeo slither to the floor, he patted his boy on the back and sent him after his siblings.  “G’wan, buddy.  Lemme talk to your Mama.”

Worried brown eyes looked up at Jon, ripping at his heart.  “Santa comes tonight, Daddy.  We open presents in the mornin’.  You’ll be here won’t you?”

“Yep,” he comforted his son with a reassuring smile and affectionately ruffled his hair.  “Eight o’clock, just like I promised.  Now scoot.”

Appeased, the little guy shuffled off to his room and, probably, another one of those blasted video games.  Jon shook his head with a smile and then turned to the woman who had – regrettably – become his personal ball-buster as of late.

“What’s up, Dottie?”

“Let’s talk over a cup of coffee,” she said, leading the way toward the kitchen.

He grimaced, unhappy about curtailing his return trip, but maintained a light and friendly tone.  “Alright, but I need to keep it short.  I’m supposed to be back in the city by six.”

“And I’m sure what I want to talk about is the same reason you’re supposed to back,” was the wry speculation she offered over her right shoulder.   

“Dorothea…”

“No, Jon,” she interrupted, calmly pulling mugs from the cabinet.  “You don’t get to ‘Dorothea’ me.  Not this time.”

“And why exactly is that?  Did my love life get rezoned into the jurisdiction of your sovereign reign while I wasn’t looking?”

The bottom of a heavy earthenware mug scraped against the marble countertop when she pushed it his way and gestured for him to fix his own coffee.  “Cute.  Amazing what you can come up with when the blood is flowing to the big head.”

“For Chrissake, is this what I’ve got to look forward to for the rest of my life?” he complained, replacing the coffee pot with a clatter.  “We.  Are.  Divorced.  At your request.  Now can we move on and be adults?”

“Oh, I’m very much being an adult.”  She curled her fingers around her own mug, casually leaning against the cabinet and sipping.  “Better yet, I’m being a parent.”

Dark, droplets made almost no visual impact on the black marble when he clunked his coffee onto it with annoyance.  “Stop playing word games and just tell me what God-awful travesty I’ve committed now.”

“I saw the pictures of you playing kissy face with Buxom Barbie while our children ice-skated in the background, unsupervised.”

“Jesus,” he hissed, valiantly trying to keep his pique in check.  Would it be too much to ask that she found a guy to date, so she’d be less obsessive about his dating?  The divorce sucked, but at least there was a definitive end to it.  This had the potential to go on forever.  “You’ve never been a snarky bitch before, or unkind to somebody you don’t even fuckin’ know, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start with Sheridan.  You don’t know shit about her, so drop it.”

“You’re right,” his ex-wife unexpectedly concurred.  “And I apologize.  It’s not her I’m put out with anyway, it’s you.  You don’t have the kids that often.  Why is it so hard to give them your undivided attention?  Or to keep them out of situations where the damn vultures can’t help but swoop in with their cameras?”

Apology or not, he wasn’t any less tweaked with her.  “For your information, that whole thing happened because our oldest son was chasing after a pretty little blonde who happens to be Sheridan’s niece.  He was the one who begged me to invite them skating after he scoped her out the restaurant where we were all coincidentally having lunch.  Stephie, our child who's legally an adult, had Jake and Romeo right there with her.  If Sheridan hadn’t been there I would’ve been on the outside of the rink, further away from the boys than I was on the ice.”

“But –“

He held up a silencing hand.  “No.  That’s the last time I will explain myself to you.  My kids will never take a back seat to anyone.  I’m a damn good father, and you know it, so stop givin’ me a ration of shit that I don’t deserve.”

“I don’t want them in the tabloids!”

“Neither do I!”  A deep breath staved off a full-on CEO flare-up, and continued in a much more even voice.  “But you and I both know that, with my job, there are no guarantees it will happen.  We had this conversation eighteen years ago and agreed that it’s not fair to deprive them of the closest thing to a normal life we can give them.  That includes ice skating.”

Her eyes were still dancing with indignation, and the set of her mouth precluded any kind of Hallmark moment.  Dorothea would love to rip him a new one.  After thirty years, he recognized the signs as plainly as a bright red stop sign.  She opened her mouth, then closed it.  Not once, but twice.

She wasn’t going to give into the urge, though.  Couldn’t. 

Because he was right.

An hour-and-a-half later, he was still hovering on the edge of being pissed, but he was confident he wouldn’t have to address the issue again.  Jon had made his point clear and if Dorothea had any inkling of who he was, she would let him mind his own business and trust him to take care of their children.

Anger and impatience were slowly giving way to anticipation as the hood of his car eased out of the tunnel and into the brightly lit holiday skyline of New York City.  Minutes now.  It would only be minutes until he was knocking on Sheridan’s door.  Minutes until he pushed his way into her apartment and knocked the breath out of her. 

I’ve missed you, Kitten.