I lean my back against the headboard. “I’m asking you to tell your dad now. Before Rich’s family comes over.”
“I can’t. It’s Christmas. It’ll ruin everyone’s holiday.” She looks at her hands. “I’m sorry. We’ll all spend a polite weekend together, and then I’ll come home to you.”
“Weekend?”
“I’m going to take the train to Westchester tomorrow after work. My mom baked on the twenty-fourth, and I think my dad would really like if I started that tradition again.”
I look out the window. Dinner with the ex and his family isn’t how I want my girlfriend spending her holiday weekend, but I’m doing the exact same thing. I’m not sure how else to tell her what I want. “Let’s forget about it for now,” I say. “We’ll spend a few days apart, make our families happy, and before we know it, we’ll be back in bed, fucking in the new year.”
She launches herself at me. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”
I catch her and lie us back on the mattress. “But what’ll we do until then?”
She straddles me. “I can think of a few things.”
“You know people can see us?”
She looks sidelong out the window. “Does it bother you?”
I lift her t-shirt to steal a peek at her breasts, appreciating their round fullness, the pretty pink peaks.Mypretty pink peaks. “A little.”
“Aw.” She reaches between to touch me. She’s not as timid as she was when we started sleeping together. I liked her timid sometimes, but I also like her bold if it’s because I’ve made her comfortable. She sinks down on me. “You’re jealous?”
“You would be too if—” I groan as she swivels her hips. “If you had someone others could only dream of having.”
She drops her forehead to mine, looks me in the eye, and says, “I do.”
I try to focus on how her warmth envelops me.
I try not to wonder what Christmas at the Fox’s is like.
Or if I mistakenly worried about Rich when it’s becoming clear Halston’s dad is the one pulling the strings.
20
Iwake up early to pack for Westchester so I can spend the morning with Finn. It occurs to me as I bag up tampons that I’ve hardly been to my apartment the last few weeks. I’m not bringing much, most of what I’d need is already at my dad’s, but it’s still strange to pack here rather than at home.
I put my overnight bag by the front door and take my phone into the kitchen. I check inside the refrigerator. I haven’t ever made Finn breakfast, but that’s usually because he’s up before me. I get out some eggs and find bacon in the freezer. While I wait for it to defrost in the microwave, I check our latest post. Only thirty-two photos in and we’re nearing three thousand followers. It’s incredible. I have friends who’ve been using the app for years and can’t crack a thousand. I’ve started tracking the number of followers we get a day. If the photos are good, we can double our numbers by posting twice in twenty-four hours. We can quadruple them or more if a bigger account shares our work.
Not every photo works. I’ve inspected the ones that don’t—the angle, my pose, my words—to see what’s missing. I don’t have enough data to identify any patterns yet, but the sexier the photo, the more attention it gets. The peek at the tops of my stockings has been one of the most successful ones, but one of just my hair and bra strap fell flat.
I put the phone away to search for a frying pan and bump the coffee maker with my hand.
I forgot.
Aboutcoffee.
It’s not the first time this has happened. One day last week, I didn’t think about it until three in the afternoon, and that point, I didn’t feel like making any. Even before I drank it like water, I still had a cup a day.
This must be what it feels like to be satisfied. Happy. I stopped the antidepressants on the seventeenth—the anniversary of my mom’s death—and I can’t help but think it was the right choice. Aside from some headaches, mood swings, and minor anxiety, I’ve handled the transition well.
I get a pot going. I’m scrambling eggs when Finn zombie-walks into the kitchen wearing only boxer-briefs. His burnt-butter hair sticks up on one side, and his eyes are heavy with sleep. He yawns. “Eight solid hours, and I still feel like I was knocked out with a two-by-four.”
“That’s the power of good pussy.”
“The power ofyourpussy.” He grins. “What’s all this?”
“What’s it look like?”
