Me: You didn't say no.
More dots, then nothing.
Another idea takes shape, and my butterflies kick in so much that I have to take short breaths.
Me: What if I sneak in and you have an office meeting with Amy?
Red: What?
Me: How hard are you right now?
Four minutes pass.
Me: You could give her a performance review. Before I go under your desk, you could put the vibrator egg inside me. You know, the one with the remote? Then you can restrain my hands behind my back with the handcuffs. I could be at your total mercy and take my time with you.
Another short pause occurs.
Red: Jesus, Bluebird.
Me: It's okay to say you want it.
He hesitates again.
Red: You've done a great job keeping the boundaries in my office.
Me: That's for therapy. This is for pleasure.
My grin widens, and tingles race down my spine.
He wants it.
When the time is right, I'm going to make it happen.
Before he can respond, I change the subject.
Me: I have to get ready for work.
Red: Dinner tonight?
Me: I can't. I'm having dinner with my parents tonight.
I should tell him I'm going to tell them I'm in love with him.
Tonight is a milestone, important in a way that makes my hands shake just a little. But I don't tell him. Red will freak, but I'm going to handle my parents. Aunt Kora said to give her 24 hours, and I know she'll calm Mom down, and then Dad will come to grips with it. So this isn't a risk; it's a formality.
Red: Have fun. Call me after. Or better yet, sneak into my house and slide into my bed naked.
I smile so hard, it borders on painful.
Me: Figure out when Amy's performance review is, and I will.
I toss my phone onto the bed, jump off, head into the bathroom, and get ready. The entire time, I picture dinner, then stepping outsideafterward, the cool night air against my skin, my voice bright as I tell Red how we have no more worries.
I move like gravity has loosened its grip on me. I shower faster than usual, barely noticing the heat of the water or the slick tile beneath my feet because my mind is already racing ahead. I practice the conversation without realizing I'm doing it, rehearsing tone more than words to keep it casual, confident, and mature.
While I'm brushing my teeth, I catch my reflection and pause. My skin appears luminous. I look like someone who's already been validated and who's confident that only good things will happen to her. It takes me by surprise, but also gives me more assurance. Tonight is going to be perfect.
As I get dressed, I'm deliberate in a way that feels ceremonial. I want to look like myself, like the version of me who deserves this happiness. I imagine my mom noticing immediately, commenting on how good I look, how rested, how happy. I imagine her connecting the dots before I even have to spell them out.
