Chapter Eleven

The next morning, I found Vivian eating breakfast in the breakfast nook nestled in the corner of her kitchen.

“Good morning, Lavender,” Vivian chirped cheerfully as I walked through the door.

“Good morning,” I mumbled back from the doorway. I stood there for a long moment picking at my hands; I was suddenly overcome with awkwardness over the disparity of our appearances. Vivian in her black silk pajamas with matching robe, looking every bit the mature and dignified academic she was even first thing in the morning, and me in my pale purple, ruffled pajamas…not to even mention the sodden pull-up underneath them.

“Please,” Vivian gestured to the spread of fresh fruit, English muffins, and jams on the table, “do help yourself, darling.”

I shuffled over to the table, extremely aware and very self-conscious about the rustling noise coming from under my pajamas. Briefly, I wondered if Vivian could tell how heavily the pull-up sagged between my legs, but quickly pushed the thought away before it could set my cheeks ablaze. I took a seat on the bench across from Vivian, my pull-up squishing under me as I did.

Why didn’t you just take off the pull-up?

I…didn’t know what to do with it…

You’re sure it’s not just because you wanted to savor the feeling? Or maybe because being in a wet pull-up in front of Vivian was…thrilling?

“Did you sleep well, Lavender?” Vivian asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I couldn’t help but blush at her question, feeling an unsaid question underneath it: did you have an accident? But, of course, Vivian meant the question at face value…right? Helping myself to an English muffin and some sliced strawberries, I nodded, “I slept wonderfully, thank you.”

Vivian smiled and took a bite of her own English muffin, smeared with what looked like blackberry jam. “Did you have pleasant dreams?” She asked when she was done chewing.

“Not that I recall,” I lied with a small, forced laugh even as I flashed back to the dreams I’d had that had picked up where my fantasies had ended. Dreams in which Vivian peeled off my wet pull-ups and put me in thick diapers, just as she had promised. “What about you?”

Vivian smirked, “nothing interesting,” and took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, may I offer you some coffee?” She asked as she set her cup down, “or maybe some juice? I have orange juice, but only with pulp.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” and it did—most people thought I was weird for it, but orange juice without pulp never tastes as good.

“You know,” Vivian got up and set about making me a glass of orange juice, “the topic of pulp tends to be divisive amongst orange juice drinkers, but I’ve always thought the stuff without pulp tastes…artificial, if that makes sense.”

“It does!” I exclaimed with a genuine laugh, “I absolutely agree.”

“A girl after my own tastes,” Vivian said as she set the glass down in front of me, “but now for another divisive question: crunchy or creamy peanut butter?”

“Oh, crunchy, one-hundred percent.”

“One-hundred percent!” Vivian agreed.

“Pineapple on pizza?” I asked as I smeared some of the blackberry jam on my muffin.

“Yes, but only if there’s something spicy on the pizza to balance out the sweetness.”

“Like…pepperoni, pineapple, and jalapenos?” I offered.

“Sounds lovely,” Vivian smiled and reached across the table to gently take the hand I wasn’t using to eat in her own, “just like you.”

I blushed and tried to hide my utter speechlessness with a gulp of orange juice.

I wonder if she’d still be saying you’re lovely if she knew you’re still wearing your soaked pull-up.

“What about,” I said, trying to keep the conversation moving, “the crust? Thick crust or thin?”

“I see that someone isn’t very good at taking compliments,” Vivian smiled and squeezed my hand, “when someone calls you lovely, you say thank you, isn’t that right?” Her voice took on a tone of gentle condescension that—quite frankly—clouded my brain with thoughts I would’ve rather not been having at breakfast with Vivian. My wet pull-up didn’t help.

“Yes,” I nodded with my eyes downcast like a penitent child, “that’s right.”

“So?” Vivian said expectantly.

“Thank you, Vivian,” I was all too aware of the conscious effort it took not to slip a ‘Miss’ in before her name.

“There we go,” she exclaimed warmly, “and you are quite welcome, my dear.”

We spent the rest of breakfast discussing our food preferences, which were often nearly perfectly in line, though Vivian definitely had a more…well, let’s call it a more refined palette than me. In other words, I was quite a bit pickier about food than she was.

“Well then,” Vivian said after I had admitted that, most of the time, I’d rather have chicken tenders or pizza over a fancy meal, “perhaps I should start serving more simple foods when we have dinner.”

“No, no,” I tried to backpedal quickly, “both of the dinners you’ve made me have been excellent, I promise!” And they were! But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have preferred a plate of chicken tenders.

“I’m so glad you think so, but maybe next time I’ll prepare something off the kids’ menu,” she smiled to show she was teasing. “Homemade chicken tenders with mashed potatoes and maybe some zucchini, something nice and simple, how does that sound?”

I couldn’t help but blush and bit my lower lip, “next time?”

It was Vivian’s turn to blush, “well, I had hoped…if it’s not so presumptuous, that is…”

“I’d love to,” I interjected, “and that sounds delicious.”

“Really, Lavender,” Vivian continued, her confidence seemingly restored, “I was actually hoping we could maybe…make this a weekly thing from now on? I have so enjoyed having you for dinner; I’ve even enjoyed our mornings together.”

“Vivian, about last night…” I began, suddenly overcome with humiliation over everything that had happened.

“Oh,” Vivian said when I didn’t continue for a long moment, “unless, of course, you have regrets or second thoughts about…what we did last night.”

“What we did?”

“The…you know…in the parlor?”

“Oh!” My face got hot thinking about Vivian on top of me, her lips locked with mine. I had been so busy thinking about everything that had happened after that that I had nearly completely forgotten that we had made out. “No, no, no regrets, that was…” I bit my lower lip, “magnificent.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Vivian said, visibly relieved. “What did you want to talk about then?”

“Well, it’s just…about the rest of it…like, what happened after that…”

Vivian waved her hand in the air dismissively, “There’s really no need to mention it, Lavender. I told you, I don’t think any less of you, and the whole thing will be our little secret. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, and I only want to do whatever I can to help and support you. I never want to make you feel bad for anything, and definitely not this.”

She’s only saying that because she thinks you have a bladder problem; she’s only saying that because you’re lying to her.

I’m not…exactly lying…

You aren’t exactly telling the truth either.

I knew this was my last chance to come clean; if I didn’t do it now, I’d quickly find myself in too deep with no way back.

Or was I already in too deep? I thought about the wet pull-up I was wearing and how hard it would be to explain why I had worn it—and, more importantly, why I had wet it—if I came clean now.

“Thank you, Vivian,” I said after a long silence, “that really means a lot to me.”

So you’re really doing this? Committing to letting Vivian think you have a bladder problem?

But what else could I do?

She smiled warmly, “and did…they help?” She asked a little hesitantly.

My face was burning as I nodded my head.

“Good,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’ll make sure to have some on hand for you when you stay over from now on, so there’s no need to feel shy about sleeping here.”

The topic was, thankfully, quickly dropped and conversation moved on to less mortifying subjects. The morning quickly passed and it was early afternoon but the time I changed out of the pajamas Vivian had lent me and back into the now-freshly-laundered clothes I had been wearing the night before. My sodden pull-up went into the bathroom trash can, covered with a layer of toilet paper out of some weird sense of trying to maintain a little dignity.

“Next week, then?” Vivian asked as we stood by the front door.

“It’s a date,” I replied, then immediately began second guessing my choice of words, but Vivian just smiled, seemingly unfazed. Instead, she cupped one hand on my cheek and leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

“I’m very much looking forward to it.”

It wasn’t until I got to my car and went to fish out my keys that I noticed something strange in my purse: three pull-ups and a handwritten note. I unlocked my car and climbed inside before opening the note.

“Lavender,” it began, “I hope you don’t find this presumptuous or overbearing, but I figured you might want some for home until you can get some more.” It was signed, “with love, Vivian.”

I smiled, suddenly giddy, and drove home. The whole way there, I prayed Elyse would be out of the apartment.