He gives a languid shrug, looking way too pleased with himself as he grins at me. He opens his arms again and I hesitate before returning to my former position. “Now kiss me and let me go to sleep.”
Still smiling, he pulls me to him and kisses me long and deep. Moments like this—when he’s in my bed with me pressed up against him and he’s kissing me breathless—make it hard to believe we’ve been together almost a month and have done just about everything together except actually have sex. I thought for sure after that hot and heavy night in his bedroom at the student house our physical relationship would progress quickly, but it’s actually refreshing to take our time. Explore each other in every sense.
I like sex as much as the next girl, but I have to admit, it’s exciting seeing how many different ways we can pleasure each other without going all the way. And just because we’re not having sex doesn’t mean there are no orgasms. Because there are. Multiple ones. But the thing is, even though it feels like we’ve known each other forever, we’re still new in each other’s lives.
It’s like my recent conversation with Ivy about people’s expectations of how thingsshouldbe and what’s expected. I think sex is on that list too. Couples on TV and in movies jump into bed together so quickly, people have begun to think it’s the norm. And while it may be for some people and that’s totally fine, the truth is sometimes sex upsets the balance of things. I’m still finding my feet in this new life without my mom, and Kieran and I are delving deep into each other. I’ve never felt such an intense emotional connection with someone. My relationship with Kieran is the one thing that quiets my mind and makes things seem more manageable.
It’s working for us. For now, anyway.
My body grows heavier with the need for sleep, so I release Kieran, giving him one last peck on the lips. We say goodnight and I snuggle against him.
As I drift off, I feel myself smiling in amusement. Sleeping together beforesleepingtogether. I think romance TV and movies could learn something from us.
*****
On Saturday, there’s an open house at Loyola College put on by the Early Childhood Education program. When Kitty and Kieran informed me about it one night during dinner in the cafeteria, I wondered why they were telling me until they explained it wasn’t for children, as you’d expect—it was for adults to ‘explore their inner child’.
Kieran had looked at me with glistening eyes and a playful smile as Kitty told me about it. The fact they were both surprised I agreed to go reminded me it’s been way too long since I’ve let my inner child out to play. During my European travels, I was always hopping on carousels, delightedly wandering street fairs, and stopping at parks so I could jump on the swings. During the winter months when I took a break from traveling, I was an elf to Hugh’s Santa at Santa’s Village. I’m no stranger to the concept of letting your inner child run free.
My mom always fostered my curiosity and my enchantment with all things whimsical. The last year or so has weighed me down so much I’ve all but forgotten what it’s like to revel in the fantastic. A fun fair for adults sounded like exactly what I needed to get back to my formerly playful self.
On the morning of the fair, Kieran and I meet Kitty and Petra, along with Ivy and Hugh at the Loyola campus. When I mentioned the fair one day at work, Hugh informed me Bellevue Village was one of the sponsors, so I asked if they wanted to come with us. I invited my other friends at Kieran’s suggestion, but Bridget and her husband David are away for the weekend, Piper is hosting an event at the bookstore, and Celia basically laughed in my face and said a resounding “nope”.
It’s a perfect day. The sun is shining, it’s warm enough for just a light sweater, and trees and flowers are blossoming everywhere, brightening the city with splashes of color. As the six of us walk toward the field at the back of the main campus, I admire a seemingly random group of daffodils along a stretch of grass.
A memory pops into my head from the spring before my mom took a turn for the worst. It had rained for days, and as soon as the sun peeked through the clouds, we ventured out to sit in the backyard of the house I grew up in. The daffodils that sprouted every year had popped up seemingly overnight, and my mom gazed at them for ages in silence, wearing what I always called her Mona Lisa smile. Whenever I saw that enigmatic curve to her lips, I knew she was about to dole out some Mom Wisdom.
“I always liked daffodils, but it wasn’t until after you were born that I truly appreciated them,” she’d said.
“Let me guess. It’s because their sunshiny color reminds you of me?” I’d said, laughing.
Her smile turned wistful as she focused her attention on me. “That…and because of how strong daffodils are. They’re always among the first flowers to bloom in the spring, no matter how long or dark or cold the winter was. They stand tall and strong even after taking a beating from the rain. There’s something so hopeful about them.”
She’d reached for my hand, clutching it in both of hers. I remember wondering if she suspected things were about to get worse for her and she wanted to plant seeds of a different sort—the kind that would sprout when I needed to remember not only our good times together, but also that I was strong enough to get through anything. “Daffodils are resilient, and so are you, Meredith Cormier. Never forget that.”
For a moment, I swear I feel her squeezing my hand until I realize it’s Kieran. With a soft sigh, I come back to the present. We’ve almost reached the fun fair; the sound of laughter and music comes from up ahead, bringing a smile to my lips. Kieran looks at me with his head cocked to the side.
“All right, Sunshine?” he asks. “Those daffodils send you off with the faeries?”
My smile stretches. “Something like that.” Giving his hand a tug, I pull him to a stop and plant a kiss on his lips. I take a moment to enjoy the pleased surprise on his face before moving ahead to catch up with the others.
The next few hours are a blur of bubble machines, bouncy castles, old-school games I remember from elementary school gym class, and working on a giant mural that will be hung in the hall outside the Early Childhood daycare. My face hurts from smiling so much, and Ivy and I have burst into countless bouts of giggles. I feel good.Reallygood. This day is exactly what I needed after so much darkness and time in my own head.
Kieran and I settle in at the shirt-painting station, him with a blue raspberry snow cone, and me with a stick of pink cotton candy. I’ve eaten more junk food today than I have this whole year combined. In this moment, I can’t even bring myself to care about the stomachache or breakouts I might have later as a result. I’m having too much fun.
“How ’bout I paint you a shirt and you paint one for me?” Kieran suggests.
“Deal.” I grab two white t-shirts for us from the center of the table and survey the supplies—paints, fabric markers, glitter, sequins, and stencils, among other things. I peer at Kieran, who’s contemplating the art materials with a pensive expression while eating the rest of his snow cone.
His lips twitch at the corner before he turns his head slightly to meet my eyes. My gaze flicks to the shamrock painted on one of his cheeks; we both had our faces painted earlier, opting for something small rather than having our whole faces painted. Ivy, on the other hand, is around here somewhere sporting a full cat face.
“No peeking once we get started,” Kieran says.
“That might be difficult since we’re sitting right next to each other.”
“Well then…” He starts to rise, but I yank him back into his seat.
“Fine, fine, no peeking.” My eyes return to the shamrock on his face, and inspiration strikes. I’m going to go full-on cliché for his shirt. I gather my supplies and get to work. From the corner of my eye, I see Kieran starting on his shirt—myshirt—and it takes all my willpower not to sneak a glance at his handiwork.
