I stepped forward, forcing Derrick to move a few steps back. I needed to make sure I was out of Josh’s view—at this point, I could not risk losing either of them. I ran my fingers through my old man’s hair, whispered sweet nothings in his ear, and gave him a kiss on the lips. His lips felt dry and lifeless, not the lips that I once loved. The more I stared at him, the more wrinkles and gray hair I noticed. He was once attractive to me, but lately, he just looked old.
“Let me finish studying tonight and tomorrow we can go to our sushi place,” I told him. “Sound like a plan?” He nodded and then turned and left. My heart sank and my eyes clouded with tears. I felt like I could no longer recognize myself. I was caught between a lost love who gave me financial stability, and a new man who could potentially offer me the kind of love I could never have with Derrick.
When I walked back into the house, I realized why Josh had been so demure—he had assumed that Derrick was my father. When he heard the car speed off, Josh grabbed my waist and his hands slid down my sides and over my behind. His hands were soft and they reminded me of my first time with Derrick. At one point in time, I really loved the old man, and I yearned for his touch. But now, everything had changed. Josh spent the night and we had passionate sex. There was a connection with him that I never had with Derrick.
After Josh left the next morning, I went outside to pick up the mail. I sat at the table and started to sort through it. I put all the bills in one stack for Derrick, and my personal mail in another. At the bottom of the pile I noticed a manila envelope. My heart began to race. It was similar to the one Mrs. Friedman, Derrick’s wife, had brought to my office the day she confronted me with pictures of me and Derrick.
When I opened the envelope, my heart felt like it stopped. There, in my hands, was a picture of Josh and me in the living room kissing. My hand was on his upper thigh and his hand was pulling my hair back. My eyes were closed and I was biting his lip—you could see the passion of what was going on in the picture.
I ripped open the manila envelope, but there were no other pictures, just the one. When I went to set it down, I missed the table and it fell to the floor, landing face down. On the back of the picture was a handwritten note that read, “You are f***ing the wrong man. Starbucks at 3 p.m. tomorrow.”