And if there is, he’s a cunt, making billionaires richer while kids starve.
So, it’s a rare feeling when gratitude blossoms inside my chest. That I’m grateful the universe decided to throw Maren and me together like it did. Because I would have gone my whole lifetime without experiencing the rightness of this moment.
By the time the clinic comes into view, a part of me almost regrets it, because it means pulling the bike over and breaking the spell we’re under.
I slow us down, gravel crunching beneath the tires as I do, and kill the engine.
Silence drops heavily around us without the drone of the engine.
“Wow,” Maren says. “It’s wild how you eventually settle into the noise of the bike and forget it’s even there until you turn it off.”
“You okay?” I ask, encouraging her to use my shoulder for support as she swings her leg over the back of the bike. I grab her bicep when she wobbles as she lands.
“Ah. No. My legs don’t seem to be working properly.”
She places her palm on my thigh as she regains her balance, but her laughter brightens her whole face. I grab my phone real quick and take a photo of her. The first one I’ll have of many.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Think it’s obvious. I just took your photograph. You look real pretty when you laugh.”
She stamps a foot. “Oh my God. I need to get a spine.”
Now, I laugh. “What do you mean by that?”
“You keep saying things, and I keep melting.”
Confused, I pull her to me. “Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?”
“No, I’m supposed to set boundaries. Like, tell you to ask me if you want to take my photo.”
I kiss her tenderly. “Who the fuck came up with these boundaries you’re supposed to enforce? I want a picture of your pretty face, one I can look at when I’m away so when I’m fucking my own hand, I don’t have to imagine your smile. What’s the problem with that?”
“See?” she says, throwing up her hands. “Hi, I’m Maren. I’m an ice cube that turns into a puddle every time my boyfriend says not-suitable-for-work sweet things. Pleased to meet you.”
“Dork.” I reach for the zipper of the jacket and slip it off her shoulder. Then, I shove it and my own cut into one of the panniers on the bike.
“Why did you remove it?” Maren asks as I take her hand and walk into the clinic with her.
“Figured you might want some privacy about this. And my cut makes me recognizable and public.”
She stops and turns to face me with an indignant look on her face. “You just need to stop talking, right now. You won all the brownie points already, and now, you just sound like a try-hard.”
I squeeze her hand. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
The tests are quick and efficient. Different antiseptic smelling rooms, different nurses. Same prick in the arm and then Band-Aid. I paid extra for us to get the results fast, but that still means two days for a full spectrum.
I’m out, first, but in fairness, I didn’t talk much with my nurse.
Maren, on the other hand, walks out talking to the nurse like they’re long-lost besties.
“You good?” I ask when she makes it to me.
“I am. Thank you for not making a big deal out of doing this.”
I take her hand and place a kiss on her knuckles. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to get used to the idea that you could pretty much ask for the moon and I’d give it to you. You feel like coming back to my place for the night?”
“The clubhouse?” she asks, and I hear the hint of wariness in her tone.
