Page 91 of The Wild Man

I don’t answer with words. I reach out and pull my big sister into my arms. She falls against me, her arms going around my middle and pressing her face in my shoulder.

“Never ask,” I rumble in her ear. “Always hug.”

She cries against my shoulder, her tears soaking my shirt. “I’ve missed you so much, Fey.”

The warmth of momor’s hand touches my back, and I hear her soft sobs behind us. I don’t want her to cry, but I can’t stop it. Not when my own eyes have tears in them.

“I’m going to get us more coffee,” momor says when Cammie and I pull apart.

I grab her hand before she can walk away and bring it to my lips. “Thank you, momor.”

“Momor? Is that what you call Ever?”

We both look at Cammie.

“Dad used to call Mom mon amour. It’s French for ‘my love’. Dad’s father was French, and he lived there for the first fifteen years of his life, until he and our grandmother, who was American, moved to the States.” She looks from me to momor and then back. “Even if the endearment is altered, he would really like that you use the same for the woman you love.”

Mon amour. Now that Cammie has said the word, it does sound right. I can almost hear Peepa’s voice saying it.

But Ever will always be my momor to me.

And she agrees when she looks down at me with a smile and says, “I like momor better.”

thirty-three

Everlee

I fight back my laughter as I watch Wild Man fiddle with the remote for the television. He gives the thing a look so dark I’m surprised it doesn’t melt in his hand. Mr. Bones lays across both of his bare feet. My cat doesn’t like new people. He’s skittish and hides any time someone unfamiliar is in the house. But he took to Wild Man right away.

It’s been a few days since Wild Man broke into my window and took back what was his. It’s strange to have him here, seeing him wear clothes, attempting to do modern things. His life up to this point has been so simple. He lived off what nature gave him. I know his adjustment will be a struggle, but I’ll help him every step of the way.

Once things settled that first day, I was concerned he would want to go back to the wilderness. While a part of me misses the simplicity of that life, and I probably always will, I can’t imagine staying there forever. And I want Wild Man to experience the way life should have been for him. For everything he’s been through, he deserves that. The thing with love is, sometimes you make sacrifices. I was willing to go back with Wild Man if that was what he truly wanted. I didn’t want to force this life on him if it would make him unhappy.

When I brought up the subject to him, he firmly and quite literally growled the word ‘no’.

“We stay. Better. Momor miss family.”

My heart melted. Is it really no wonder why I fell in love with the man? While I was willing to sacrifice my entire life to be with him, he was willing to do the same.

But just because we won’t be living in his tree hut anymore, doesn’t mean we’re leaving that part of his life forever. Next week, we plan to go back. There are things there he wants to get.

Cammie left yesterday to go home to Oklahoma. She’s coming back in a few weeks and she’s going to bring her boys. We learned through her that the boys’ father was some guy she met while she was on vacation in Key West. They had one wild night and the next morning he was gone, never seen or heard from again. She had no way of contacting him to tell him about the pregnancy because they never exchanged numbers and they only shared first names.

I bring the two bowls of cinnamon applesauce with me to the couch and sit beside him. I’m tempted to take the remote from him and find something to watch myself, but he’d just scowl at me and wouldn’t give it over. This isn’t the first time he’s become agitated at something new and complicated, and each time he does, he refuses help, stating he wants to figure it out on his own.

It takes him another minute of him pressing buttons before a movie starts to play. I have no idea what it is because I’m too busy watching him. That’s what I do when he’s in the room. My eyes are always riveted to him. I’m fairly certain I could look at him until the end of time, and I would still want to gaze at him in the afterlife.

Ethan came by a couple days ago with a suitcase full of old clothes. He’s the one closest in size to Wild Man. Tonight, he’s wearing a pair of ratty, faded jeans. The material is so worn that there’s a couple of spots so thin holes are beginning to form. The jeans may be old and should probably be thrown away, but damned if Wild Man doesn’t look good in them. He’s barefoot and has no shirt on. His long black hair is mostly down his back, but with his body bent as he rests his elbows on his knees, some falls over his broad shoulders. I don’t know if Wild Man has plans to ever cut his hair, but if he does, I think I might tie his ass to the bed so he can’t. I love his hair. The same thing with his beard.

Typically, when we’re in the house alone, we both go naked. I grew used to not wearing clothes, and I find wearing them now is irritating and uncomfortable. Of course, Wild Man doesn’t complain. He says he loves looking at my body and me not wearing clothes makes it easier for when he wants to fuck me. Or make love to me. The only reason we’re wearing them now is because we just got off a video call with his sister.

I sit with my back against the arm of the couch and my bowl of applesauce in my hands. When he settles back, I tuck my toes under his thigh and give him his bowl. I watch his face as he takes the first bite. This is his first foray with applesauce. Well, he probably had some as a small child, but he doesn’t remember it.

“Well?” I ask, licking the bottom of my spoon as I wait for his reaction. With each new food he tries, I sit on pins and needles. I want to learn all his favorites and dislikes.

He’s half turned toward me. He looks down at his bowl as he scoops up more and brings the spoon to his mouth. His jaw moves back and both as if he’s assessing the flavor.

“Good.”