“You bring it out of me.” I move onto my back and she curls against my side, her fingertip back on my chest, making a slow circle.
“I don’t want to get out of this bed,” she says softly.
“We don’t have to.” I brush the hair away from her eyes with my fingers. “At least not yet.”
“I like this world. Just us. Let’s live here for a little bit longer.”
I pull the covers over us and try not to think about her applying for jobs in other states.
“Thanks for breaking your dick off in my ass, cocksucker!” Isaac yells at the TV.
It’s an hour later, and the smell of brewing coffee got me and Talia out of bed. We came down to find Isaac had been up all night playing Call of Duty with his online gaming friends.
He has dark circles beneath his eyes and his coffee table is crowded with empty energy drink cans, dirty dishes and open chip bags. Some of the stuff has been on the coffee table since we got here a couple days ago. Isaac is not a good housekeeper, and that’s putting it mildly.
Talia is currently loading dishes from yesterday into the dishwasher.
“Hey. You don’t need to clean his house, babe,” I say.
“I can’t look at these any longer,” she gripes. “They’re about to grow legs and walk away.”
“What the fuck, man?” Isaac yells. “Are you new here?”
Talia shakes her head. “He’s a fourteen-year-old trapped in a twenty-six-year-old’s body. Does he bring women here?”
“I have no idea.”
“He’s the kind of guy who offers to cook you dinner and then microwaves a couple of Hot Pockets.”
“Hot Pockets are delicious!” Isaac yells from the other room. “Don’t walk in here for the next minute, I’m pissing in a Gatorade bottle.”
Talia makes a face. Isaac refuses to leave his matches to use the bathroom, so he pisses in empty bottles while he’s playing. It’s disgusting.
“I don’t care if there are photographers outside your place, we’re staying there tonight,” Talia says.
“Yep.” I glance at my watch. “Isaac, we have to leave for practice in five minutes.”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Talia looks at me over her shoulder. “I’m staying here to clean this place.”
“Don’t. It’ll be a mess again in a few days.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Probably. But I’ve got nervous energy, and I feel like cleaning.”
Yesterday, she called her dad and told him she won’t be coming to help out with the team anymore. She doesn’t want to bring any negative attention on us from the viral video. He said he understands, and that even though she’s welcome to stay with him as long as she wants, he’s glad she’s ready to move forward and look for a job.
I’m not. I’d prefer she move in with me, but I know she wouldn’t be happy just being my live-in girlfriend.
It sounds perfect to me, having her waiting in my bed when I get home late from road trips, and looking for her in the stands or the boxes at home games, wearing my jersey.
I don’t want to come on too strong, though. My mom wrote me a letter when she knew she was going to die, and I’ve read it dozens of times. She told me the right woman won’t cling to me and expect us to do everything together. She’ll have her own friends and interests. Her own career and hobbies. That’s the key to a lasting relationship, she said. Both of you leaving the bubble of your relationship. Trusting the other person is doing what they want and need to be happy and healthy. And then coming back together to hear about the other person’s life outside the relationship, and spending time together.
My mom was wise. I miss her every day, but her letter helps me feel like she’s still with me. She knew what challenges and choices life would throw at me.
She’d love Talia. Mom volunteered with Special Olympics because one of her close friends had a son who was part of it, and she loved it so much that she kept volunteering. She’d light up if she could talk to Talia about her work, and she’d approve of the way Talia shut my shit down the night we met.
“Feel like going out for dinner tonight?” I ask Talia.
