“Let me know if I can help you.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, baby. It’s almost done. We’ll have more time together this weekend in Chicago.” He takes his jacket in his hand, the veins of his forearm flashing under his tattoos.
Dear lord.
“I’m off.” He steps toward me and kisses my forehead.
This is so…domestic. We look like a real couple now.
You were never meant for this.
You can’t handle this.
“Bye,” I say between parted lips.
Maybe I’m not meant for this, but perhaps I can try one more time.
-
“So?” Kiara's excited voice lingers on the phone.
“So?”
“Did you guys…?”
“Kiara!” I shout, hoping to get her to stop asking me aboutthis.
“C’mon, I need to know. Nothing’s happening here. Dad keeps me under lock here. I haven’t seen a boy in decades,” she complains, like this is the end of the world.
“You’re going to school every day, Kiara. There’s boys there. Stop being so dramatic.”
“Yes, but it’s different. The guys here all have acne and no muscles, like none,” she argues, pleading her case. I laugh at my little sister, seventeen and way too eager to hang out with bad boys.
“We kissed,” I admit on the phone.
“Kissed? How was it? Passionate, short, gross, awkward, hot as—”
“Seriously?” I chuckle, “You gotta stop watching rom-coms. Real life has nothing to do with them.”
“Says the married woman with a hotter-than-hell husband.” She giggles, and I’m pretty sure she’s lying down on her bed, her feet up and bouncing behind her.
“We just kissed a few times, and it was…sweet.” A smile spreads on my face as I remember how good my husband kisses me.
“Sweet? That’s all? We’re talking about the same tall, mountain of muscles, covered in tattoos, looks like a criminal, right?”
I chuckle. “What do you want me to tell you? It was, I don’t know…, he’s gentle with me,” I tell her, enjoying how my sister turns everything into a soap opera.
“Gentle, you mean in a hot way?” Her voice is full of hope for crusty details.
“Kiara,” I chide, swallowing a laugh. “He’s gentle with me, it’s, I like it.”
She sighs. “I’m happy for you, Mia. You deserve it.”
“I don’t know where it will lead, but—” I hesitate.
“How come?”
“Nothing I’d want to bother you with.” I remember her age and how carefree of my marital issues she should stay.
