“Iamright about this, though,” Emma whispers, her breath teasing the sensitive spot on my neck. A blaze of heat shudders down my spine, and I tug her closer because having her pressed against me is the only way to contain that sensation.
“Fine,” I whisper, “you’re right.” I brush my lips against her neck, and she melts into me instantly. Her eyes flutter closed as my hand finds the soft curve of her hip, grazing the skin just under the hem of her silver top.
A gust of cold air jolts me back to reality as the door to our karaoke suite swings open. Mom and Dad pile in with the rest of us, holding a plate of fries and a pitcher of dark-red liquid.
“We got the room for another hour.” Mom beams as she grabs the songbook.
“An hour?” Jay groans. “I have work in the morning.
“Oh, come on, I only turn sixty once.” Mom pouts, unleashing her well-practiced puppy-dog eyes on each of us one by one.
No one fights back, though we all want to. We’ve been belting out classics for the last two hours. Her eyes widen, lingering on me specifically. She knows I’ll crack first.
“Let me check with the sitter,” Emma says, giving my thigh a supportive squeeze. “I think we have another hour in us. Right, babe?”
I nod, reluctant but trying for enthusiastic, and take a long swig of my coffee. The coffee I had to order at eight-thirty at night because my parents wanted to hit a karaoke bar ‘likeold times,’ conveniently forgetting the early morning waiting for all of us.
Mom does a little dance in her seat before helping herself to the fries. Dad puts on his glasses and peruses the songbook, and everyone else shares the same mournful-for-sleep look before masking it with an eager smile.
“Who’s next?” Dad asks, eyeing me expectantly.
“Steven hasn’t gone yet,” Emma announces, then as if she realizes what she’s just done, her hands jump to cover her mouth.
Mom’s eyes grow twice their size, and Dad smirks. My sisters start chanting my name while Emma just stares at me, secretly loving everysecond of it. I only do karaoke for her. Otherwise, I try my darnedest to stay quiet in the background when we do it as a family.
“I’m sorry,” she giggles behind her hands. “Forgive me later?”
“It’s too late,” I mutter. “What’s done is done.”
She gives me the most reassuring, but also not-hating-this-situation-as-much-as-you smile, before gently nudging me toward the stage. Dad tries to hand me the songbook, but I wave him off.
“I don’t need that.”
The group lets out a collectiveohhhhat my confidence, and it’s enough to propel my feet to center stage. Not quite enough to settle the nervous energy prickling at my fingertips, though. I cue the song on the screen and curl my hand around the microphone. My shaky breath booms through the speakers as I lift it to my lips. A ball of nerves twists in my stomach, sloshing against the coffee.
“No, you didn’t!” India yells as the first note of “I Will Always Love You”flows out of the speaker.
I ignore their laughs and wide eyes as I clear my throat, pinning my gaze on Emma, and let the words flow. I have no idea how I keep finding myself in these kinds of situations, but as her smile grows and her eyes mist over, I know it’s worth it. The ridicule I will have to endure for the rest of the week will be worth it. For her.
The group jumps in, singing loud enough to drown out the music, and I take it as my chance to slip out of the spotlight. It flickers between fluorescent blue and green, off-beat and blinding.
I blink against the pulsing lights, reaching for Emma’s hand. She pulls me down beside her on the couch while everyone else is on their feet, singing,dancing.My parents bop in their seats, grinning at the chaos as they watch my sisters belt Whitney at the top of their lungs.
“They’re the best!” Emma shouts over the music.
“They’re alright,” I tease then chug aglass of water.
My eyes snag on the sparkle of Emma’s top, catching the shimmer of her eyeshadow and the red of her lips. My throat tightens. “You look beautiful,” I manage. “Did I…mention that already?”
She laughs, leaning closer as her hands slides up my thigh. “A few times.” Her wedding ring catches under the neon as her fingers toy with the edge of my pocket.
I tug gently at the hem of her top before pressing a kiss to the soft curve of her collarbone. A shiver of goosebumps erupts across her skin, and I follow it deliberately, up her neck, along her jaw, until I finally meet her mouth with mine.
“Get a room,” Jay groans.
“It’s not their fault you left your husband at home,” Tamara shoots back.
“Let them love each other,” Mom pipes up from her seat, sipping her mocktail. She’s not allowed to drink alcohol since starting her new medication. It’s too risky. She was never much of a drinker anyway, so she’s not missing anything, but somehow it makes me want to skip drinking too. In solidarity, I guess. Dad seems to feel the same, sipping on a soda water.
