I receivedanother good morning text.
Deacon:
Morning Doc. You should know I dreamt about your tits last night, but not in a sexual way. They were behind bars. Or maybe it was me behind bars. Doesn’t matter. Your tits were in my dream last night.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face, and the giddy feeling from overtaking me.
Me:
Is that so?
Deacon:
I’m old enough to know they’re serving a bigger purpose than for me to fantasize about, but dream me apparently didn’t get the memo. You are stunning, Claudia, so I partially blame you as well. But enough about that, they’re strictly Savannah’s. How is she? Did you two get enough sleep?
Me:
We did good. You?
Deacon:
I’m always good Doc.
Me:
If you dare say so yourself.
I smile and figuratively pat myself on the back as I hit send
Deacon:
In six days, I can serve you a reminder if you need it.
Me:
Promises, promises.
I attempt to hit backspace, but end up sending that damn text.
Deacon:
I never break them.
Me:
Good to know.
Deacon:
And I promise I owe you an orgasm on Wednesday. In fact, I owe you multiples.
TWENTY-TWO
Claudia
Nalani is meetinga professor to talk about law school and me, I am so grateful to have this time, just me, Savannah, getting ready to leave for our first day with the Bears.
Savannah sits on the bed watching me with big, curious eyes while I get her dressed. I put her in a soft oatmeal colored long sleeve onesie with tiny, embroidered hockey sticks over her heart, then pull on stretchy caramel knit pants that will not bunch or pinch or ride up, and little baby boot socks that match the teddy bear sweater. The outfit was a gift from the aunties, given to her last night while we watched the Bears beat Seattle before her first day at childcare.
