EPILOGUE
March 7th, 2021
“Zaira! Hey, come on; it’s about to go live!” I called out from my home office. I was sitting in a chair in front of my laptop, and every few seconds, I’d unintentionally bounce my legs and tap my fingers against the mahogany table out of anxiousness and anticipation.
Zaira walked into the room and placed her hands on her hips as she scowled at me. “I’m not deaf, Gall. Why are you screaming like a 13-year-old Shawn Mendes fan?”
“Because I’m excited?” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Try again.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Because I wanna share the moment with you?”
She pushed her glasses up. “Close. Go again.”
I put my tongue to my cheek. “Because I’m a starving bastard when it comes to you and I can’t bear not having you by my side at all times…?”
She smiled victoriously. “There you go; there’s the truth. Wasn’t so hard to admit, now was it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Come here.”
She shook her head. “Answer my question first.”
Oh God.
I groaned. “Do I have to?”
She gave me a wink. “Yeah. That’s your Privilege Pass, after all.”
“Seriously?” I raised a brow at her.
“Seriously.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So, do pigs smell like bacon when they fart?”
Jesus H. Christ.
“Do they even fart in the first place?” I asked her.
She clicked her tongue. “Yeah…I think.”
I chuckled. “Just come here, you.”
She grinned and skipped over to me, and with a look that tugged at the strings of my soul, she sat on my lap and wrapped an arm around my neck. “Heyyy,” she sang.
I placed a hand on her bare knee. “Hey.”
The soft skin of her thighs rubbed against my jeans, and her orange t-shirt dress lifted just enough when she pushed back against me and brought herself closer. “Do I feel heavier than usual to you?” she asked.
I glared at her. “No, you don’t. Why would you even ask that?”
She shrugged. “Because I’m trying to gain a few pounds. The more I weigh, the lesser the chances are that one of your clothing-world rivals will kidnap me to get back to you. Smart tactic, huh?”
I gave her a scowl. “Not funny, Zaira.”
“This is what you get for peeling apples so brutally,” she said. “I was staring at them while unboxing my clothes and felt strong sympathy towards them. Not only did you peel their skin, but you also peeled away the actual…fruit.” She frowned. “The pulp? The beef? The…thing that is the actual apple? I don’t know. You get what I mean though, right?”
I nodded, because what other choice did I have?
“I peeled them because I wanted to make a pie for you,” I told her.
