"Done," Sam said.
"I played at an event one night, and it was so great. I performed well, the music sounded good, the people enjoyed it…I was floating ten feet off the ground. It was one of the first moments when I felt like I belonged."
My finger brushed the tattoo above Sam's heart, the new sunburst one with my name woven into the shape.
"You know when you're young, and you overhear adults talking about things you don't understand? I was always listening to my family while I worked, and I never thought much about it. But that night, I remember walking down the hallway to the back office after I performed, and stopping before I got to the door. My mom was crying, and telling my aunt that she didn't understand why I was such a difficult kid. Why was I hyperactive? Why did I hate Greek school and church groups? Why couldn't I like the same things as my cousins? Why did I always have to be different? Why couldn't I be more like Agapi? Why was I only willing to come to the restaurant if it was to play that screechy violin?"
Sam held me tighter, and I clung to him as if I was warding against a slide into another time and place. "It's because you can't be anyone else. There's no forcing you into a mold. You're rare and wild, Sunshine."
"I didn't go in there. I went out into the alley and played The Who's 'Tommy' album until it was time to go home. And then…I overheard the same conversation last Christmas. Like nothing had changed, in all these years."
I touched the sunburst as I blinked away tears. I wasn't crying over this; me and my big girl panties were beyond this bullshit. But I couldn't dip my toes into wedding planning waters until I'd conquered something—fuckinganything—with my family. Ultimately, this visit to New Jersey was going to determine whether my family had a place in my life. I was holding out hope that this would be the moment when they looked at me with new eyes, and accepted that, while my choices were different, I was worthy.
"Sometimes I walk away from things I don't want to deal with. I do my own thing, I avoid, I hope it gets better while I'm not paying attention. But…I've spent every day this week worried that you were going to realize I wasn't enough for you, and—"
"Tiel," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "Donotfinish that sentence."
I shifted to meet his eyes, and when I did, I found every shade of anger and hurt on his face. "I can't walk away anymore."
Sam's lips were pressed together in a tight grimace and his eyes were cast down. "We need to go back to the part about you feeling like you're anything less than my everything," he said. "I won't let you talk about yourself, or us, that way. Let me be your safe space, Tiel."
"You are my safe space, Sam," I said. "You always have been. But this isn't about me. I think I understand that now, and I'm trying to remind myself of that, but I have to deal with it this time. I can't walk away."
"If you're sure you want to do this, believe me when I say that I'm not letting anyone hurt you," he said. "I'm not going to stand for any of that shit, Tiel. If we're doing this, we're only doing as much as you're comfortable with. And we're not staying at your parents' house. I need to be able to rip your panties off and spank you without concern for who might be listening."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Sam sat up and gestured to my neon pink polka-dotted panties. "Allow me to demonstrate."
A couple of months ago, Shannon and Lauren threw down over the topic of panty-ripping. Shannon argued that underwear weren't made of paper, and they didn't tear as easily as some liked to believe. Lauren insisted that Matt had been known to rip a pair or two, and when the right fabric was in the right hands, the task wasn't insurmountable.
I didn't wade into that argument, but not because I didn't have strong feelings about it. No, my greater concern was suffering a bout of word vomit and accidentally mentioning that I'd been sitting at brunch bare-assed because Sam tore my last clean pair off me that morning.
Much like the ones he tore off just now.
"Are you going to be quiet?" he asked, my shredded panties hanging off his finger and the gleam in his eye telling me that every answer was the right one.
3
Tiel
November
Ihadto tell Sam we weren't pregnant this month, and that was difficult for a few reasons.
To start, I hated talking about my period. With anyone. Ever. I didn't have major issues associated with menstruation or anything, but it wasn't something we discussed openly in my home when I was growing up. Ladies were supposed to keep those things to themselves.
Second, Sam was disappointed. He allowed it to flicker over his expression for a quick moment, but it was there.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, we were operating under the assumption that this was going to be easy. While this was only our third month of trying, our approach totryingwas the definition of weaksauce. It was limited to no condoms, lots of sex, and hoping it all worked out well.
There was never a time in the history of Sam and Tiel that things simplyworked out well.
We needed strategy, we needed timing, and we needed to stop with "Sunshine, I just want to come all over your tits right now."
That was how I ended up sifting through bulk bins at an herb and spice market in Somerville when I was supposed to be harassing Shannon. My portion of today's plan involved me stopping by her apartment, and cajoling her into joining us for lunch. She could ignore calls and texts, but she couldn't ignore a Saturday morning pop-in.
Shannon and I weren't close, and I wanted to change that. Our relationship was rocky from the start, and plenty of that was my fault. I didn't want to put Sam in the position of having to choose me over his siblings, and if that meant I was inviting her along for holiday weekends when she was sad and lonely, or conspiring to get her mimosa-drunk on the weekend, I was doing it.
