Nata

The shade of the umbrella stuck in the middle of the outdoor table progressed far enough to leave my feet, propped one of the four deck chairs, in the sun. I should move but removing my IUD yesterday got me to this chair this morning instead of my usual three-mile run around the office campus. I mark the date on the app that's supposed to help me track my cycle and will alert me of the most fertile window.

My calendar for the next two weeks looks like a game of whoever has the least white space left on schedule wins. After we signed the contract, I had a plan of actions: OBGYN appointment, hire the new lab assistant, figure out a running route, assure my parents I will have the money to buy the tickets to visit them for Christmas, discuss the timing of sex with Phillip and add it to my calendar. My phone in my hand buzzes with an incoming text.

Whoville: Did you know there are lubricants that are recommended when trying to conceive.

Whoville: I told Dustin to order Pre-seed and BioSeed.

Phillip's assistant not only has my work, personal, and ovulation calendars now but apparently is in charge of ordering lube. Although the timing of having sex with Phillip to increase our chances to conceive has been on my mind a lot as I waded through research papers on the topic, I didn't allow myself think of the actual mechanics of the act.

I'm a scientist. I've had sex hundreds of times in my life. I know what goes where and the mechanics will be exactly the same with Phillip's body there instead of Samson's or anyone else's. It'll be like 'riding a bicycle.' I don't even use lube when 'riding a bicycle.' If Phillip's expecting some kind of marathon sessions, he'll have to lower his expectations. This is sex for procreation, not fun. I set my left foot on top and squeeze my thighs. My stomach tugs in a low ache. Hopefully cramps isn't something I'll have to get used to again. Lack of period cramps is one of the positives of an IUD. And of pregnancy. My phone buzzes again.

Whoville: Good morning. Are you home?

I turn the device to silent and flip it face down. Figuring out the hiring situation is more important than imagining Phillip's expectations of us making a baby.

The resumes of the candidates for the full-time position at the lab might as well be copied and pasted, the candidates' names the only significant difference between them. Same pedigree, same colleges, same lack of the qualities I'm interested in. The three people I'll be interviewing tomorrow are my last attempt at finding someone who matches what I'm looking for: people from background that don't have an easy way getting into STEM, who didn't have the support of their families or safety net, yet chose to follow this path. People who fought for where they're at because they want to be here, not because someone told them they should.

The door to Phillip's side of the house slams shut. I lift my head to a sight of Phillip in swim trunks standing on his side of the deck behind the railing that separates his portion of deck from mine. For two weeks streams of people were carrying items into his side of the duplex like ants. Some days the hammering was loud enough to cover up the gurgling of the basic drip coffee machine as it butchered my nice medium roast Arabica into a mediocre brew. Yesterday the cars that were taking up the street parking cleared. I should've seen the event for the sign it was.

Phillip isn't covered in showy muscles I admire on male models. He looks surprisingly ... normal. Thin, like his clearly lanky frame suggested. A marathoner vs a sprinter. The eighty percent of Phillip's body is on full display, the swim trunks low on his hips. Heat from my toes jumps to my cheeks. Not like I haven't seen men without clothes on before. And not like Phillip is naked. Although if, no, when we proceed with the plan, I'll be seeing him fully naked or naked strategically below his waist. Which is something we need to go over.

This is nothing more than biology. Something I'm an expert in.

Phillip stretches his arms up and the leans right, then left, allowing me to admire the freckles on this shoulders and biceps. His back doesn't have any visible hair but when he lowers his arms and swings them side to side, twisting his torso, I catch a glimpse of the trail of hair that lead to the top of his trunks. This stomach is lean, and the movements flex his abs and the tendons on his forearms. I swallow. Phillip continues his stretches, standing on one foot, then the other, pushing the heel of each foot into his butt, no, glut. His stretches are practiced, measured, and mesmerizing.

As if he feels the weight of my stare, Phillip turns and notices me, one of his heels digging into his...glut. "Nata."

My gaze jumps from his lower half to his face. Why is he smiling? Apart from braiding my hair, I have not a stitch of makeup on my face. No Kate in my back pocket to transform me into the version that is worth smiling at in the morning.

"Whoville." I succeed at looking mostly at his eyes. I can't do anything about the fact that my peripheral vision is so good I can see his chest that looks even better without the clothes.

Phillip's smile grows as he takes two steps down from his deck, two steps up mine, and strolls my way, holding his gaze steady on me. How do I neither avert my eyes nor seem like a blushing girl with a crush? I'm a reasonable and experienced 35-year-old who is planning to spend time with him in a much more intimate situation than beachwear. I can keep my composure. My face remains unmoving. Nata one, Phillip- zero.

"That's where you're hiding." Philip stands by my table, continuing his stretching routine. His hand is on his shoulder as his arm, angled down, crosses his chest, that also doesn't have any visible hair until his happy trail starts. I snap my gaze back to his smile and squeeze my thighs tighter. I'm wearing sunglasses, he couldn't see where I was looking, could he? "I rang the front door. Texted. Called you. I thought we could have breakfast together now that I moved in."

If I did my usual run, instead of giving into the desire to rest, I could've avoided him seeing me this way. My I'm-hibernating sweats are most definitely not the way I was planning on seeing Phillip again. Do I still have the pimple patch on my chin? I set my jaw on my hand in an attempt to hide the stupid thing.

At least I brushed my teeth, although the two cups of the barely acceptable coffee I've downed are sure to give me coffee breath. Not that he would care about my breath. We're not going to do anything today that would allow him to care about my breath. Technically kissing is not needed in our type of a relationship, so I can enjoy my coffee and my coffee breath.

"Morning." I take off my sunglasses and stealthily remove the pimple patch off my chin in the process. How red is it? I should've left the damn thing in place.

Phillip sits on the chair next to me. "What's the laptop for?"

"Work." Today is the first day since I started living here that I stayed home instead of going to the office. Doesn't mean I'm not working, but I needed a day without moving much and both of my interns agreed to check on two current project and record the progress for me.

He gives me a one-sided grin and a head shake. "It's Saturday. I thought it's your day off."

"You're monitoring my calendar?" I didn't move out form Samson's supervision to be under Phillip's. Samson would never have chided me for working too much.

"You shared the calendar with me. You have mine as well."

I chew on my bottom lip. Maybe I should unshare it. "For scheduling . . . time . . . together, not monitoring my life."

"I get it. You work hard." Phillip lifts his hands up and shakes his head again. "But I've seen nothing on your schedule that suggests time for entertainment. What do you do for fun?"

"Work." I lift my laptop. "I like my work enough to think it's fun. How many people can say that?"

Phillip makes a popping sound with his lips. "Not that many, you're right." He sets his foot on his knee and relaxes into the stiff back of the deckchair as if he's at a SPA. "There must be a way you blow off steam."

Running takes care of my steam, and many other of my needs. I tug the elastic out of my hair, undo my braid, and fun my fingers through the messy strands, trying to get them in a semblance of straight. "What's yours?"

"Uhhm." He averts his eyes as if I could read his answer in them.

"You asked me and now you don't want to reply?"

He squints up at me. "Honestly?"

My heart sinks. I'm so tired of lies. "That's probably the first rule we need to establish." I uncross and recross my feet. Establishing boundaries is the healthiest thing I can do for us. Our relationship might be unconventional but for it to work out we need to know where we stand even more than if we were actually dating.

I school my face into a this-is-a-serious-conversation mean. "Honesty is what I expect from you and from myself. If something isn't working. If you don't want to do something or if you really really like a thing, just tell me. We don't have to agree on them, but I'd like to know you, the real you, and not to have to hide behind anything, not to expect that in a day or a month or a year it'll turn out that you were pretending. I don't want to waste any more time."

"Brutal." He crosses his arms. "Yet I get it."

Good. "So, what's your way to unwind?"

"Sex."

My breath catches in my throat. I'm glad I'm not currently drinking my coffee. I'm also glad that the umbrella under which we are sitting is red and was coloring me that shade before I heard his words. "Like, with people?"

He lifts his eyebrows as the corner of his mouth curves up. "Yes, with people."

"Right." Asking him how many people feels wrong. None of my business as long as currently it's just me. Because he and I will be having sex. Eventually. Sooner than eventually. Now that my IUD is out the OB said I can technically get pregnant at any moment, but once I know my cycle better I can time the sex parts better. All we are waiting for is for me to have my first period. I recross my legs one more time and shove my palms under my thighs. "So you're not very relaxed currently then."

"Huh. I mean. I guess not. Not very relaxed. But not because of not having sex for a while," he mumbles the last part. What's a while? The thought in my brain is unbidden. I shove it away, while Phillip sets his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the pool. "Although that's a factor. With Dad's health, moving here form New York, taking over most of Dad's responsibilities at VdH, and trying to set up a new internship at work, and there's this situation with this Professor I'm working with. There're plenty of stressors."

"What situation?" I'd much rather talk to him about a professor situation than the impending sex act we will have to do together. Thinking about Phillip's work life instead of sex acts with him might calm the rapid heartbeats at the bottom of my throat, that make me extra aware of how close Phillip's forearms are to my legs. I need to drive our conversation as far away from sex as possible. "What professor?" I ask.

Author's Note

4.3.23

Didn't have much time for edits, with being sick, kids on spring break, and writing new words for the Camp NaNoWriMo challenge, so if you see mistakes, please comment. On this chapter and any chapter, I appreciate your eagle eyes.

Love,

GR