The Pillow Treaty

The door clicked softly shut behind Evan, the cool of the handle on one hand, the feel of the wood on the other. Behind him waited a conversation he dreaded, but one he had no way to avoid. Turning to look at the woman who used to be his stepmother, he ventured a small smile.

It was not returned.

"So," she said.

"So," he replied.

They stared at each other from across the room. The student, back pressed against the door, afraid to approach, and the beautiful blonde, arms crossed under her sizable chest, daring him to challenge her.

If he let this be a battle of wills, Evan was sure that Stacy would win. In the early days, when she had first married his father, he'd tried to push back against her. Refusal to listen to her, passive-aggressive comments, ignoring her requests, all strategies that hadn't stood up to the intensity with which she was willing to fight.

His dad hadn't been a help, either.

"Just try to get along," he'd say in placating tones. "I know it's a big adjustment, and she's not trying to be your mother, but she's a part of this family. I expect you to welcome her."

Eventually, Evan gave up.

But their current situation needed more than a capitulation. It needed cooperation.

"Listen," he began, taking a small step away from the door, hands held out front of him to show he meant no harm, "what happened before wasn't cool."

"You're telling me," she said, ice in her voice.

"I didn't mean... I'm just... I don't know how to have this conversation," he said, eyes dropping. "I'm trying to say sorry. For, you know, the potion. And whatever that was in bed."

"You're sorry?" she laughed.

"I'm sorry, alright?" A little fire entered his voice. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen, but that doesn't change anything. It happened. It's happening."

"I just had pizza downstairs with a man who used to be my husband," she said very slowly. "A man who I loved. Who loved me. A man who had promised to love and support me, and now he looks at me like I'm his daughter-in-law. Because I am. Do you know how that feels?"

"I've already said that I'm sorry! How many more times do you want me to say it?"

"Say it again!"

"I'm sorry!"

Evan closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. This wasn't working. Everything was too raw, too fresh. There was no way to reconcile, to move past the hurt. What they needed now was pragmatism.

"I want to sleep in here with you tonight," he blurted.

"What?"

"In here," he said, waving his hand toward the mattress, "with you."

"Evan, I..."

"I can't go through another day like today," he said over her, not giving her a chance to reject his proposal. "It was hell. I was exhausted, but it was more than that. Every time I fell asleep at school, or in the spare room, I was jolted awake, and... you don't even know what that's like."

"I think I do," she said quietly.

"You do?"

"I know exactly what it feels like," she fired back. "It's ****. Smacking, pinching, and hitting, over and over. It's like I'm being punished for not being next to you."

Confusion cut through his urgency. "Wait. It hurts you?"

"Yes, it hurts me," she snapped. "And it shows me your fucking face every time, reminding me why. Doesn't it hurt you?"

A pause.

"It doesn't hurt. It... uh... does something else," he admitted quietly.

Suspicion narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Heat crept up again, unwelcome and stubborn.

"It wakes me up aroused," he said finally. "Like, super aroused. Like huge-boner aroused. Every time. And it shows me your face."

Silence.

Then, unexpectedly, a sharp, incredulous laugh.

"It gives you a boner?" She laughed. "I'm getting smacked around, and you're complaining about a boner."

He bristled. "I'm not choosing it."

"Of course you're not," she said. "What a tragic way to wake up, turned on by your stepmother. Fucking pervert."

"You think waking up in class like that is fun?" Frustration cracked through. "That's exactly what people will think of me, that I'm a fucking pervert!" He looked her in the eye. "And just so you know, that reflects on you, too. You're the one married to a fucking pervert."

The laughter faded as she studied him more closely.

"I'm sorry," he said again, sounding real this time. "I don't want to fight. I just want to work something out."

"Whatever," she said. "Nobody's happy. I get it. This all sucks."

They stood in silence again, both staring at the bed. It was still unmade from their nap. Evan felt a strange pull as he looked at it, a need to ease himself onto the soft mattress, to warm up under the blankets. He could feel his eyes get heavy just thinking about it.

"When we woke up this afternoon," Evan began again, "that wasn't cool. I mean, I didn't want to wake up like that, with you dressed like that, and me..."

"Rubbing your dick on my backside?"

"That was... I mean..." he stammered, "Shit. That was the magic. I didn't do that on purpose, just like you didn't get dressed like that on purpose. But even though it looked bad, nothing really happened, right?"

She didn't say anything.

"I mean, we didn't have sex or anything," he clarified. "And we did sleep. And I don't know about you, but it was, like, the best sleep I've ever had."

Stacy sighed, rolled her eyes, then admitted, "Yeah. It was."

"Okay," he said, "we can work with that, right? We can try to sleep apart, put pillows between us or whatever, but I don't know if it'll work. But when we wake up, no matter how we wake up, we just make sure that's it. We wake up, shake it off, and get on with our days. Rested."

"And if you're touching me," Stacy said quietly.

"I stop," he said quickly. "No problem."

"And if I'm touching you?" she said, even quieter.

He paused, confronted with an idea that hadn't occurred to him. Stacy's eyes held something he hadn't seen from her before, a nervous vulnerability that looked foreign on her beautiful face.

"Same," he said firmly. "I'll let you know, you let me know. We work together and keep it professional."

"Professional?"

"Mutual benefit. Rest for both of us while we figure this whole thing out."

Evan held out his hand and took a step forward. She looked down at his outstretched arm, pursed her lips, then locked eyes with him.

"Deal," she said, "but put down your fucking hand. We just said no touching."