Page 102 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Please don’t bail. Not now. Not when I’m all in.
She stands up, lifts my face, and kisses me. “I want you too. I want it to always be you.”
A bug chirps. That moment on the swing feels like staring into eternity. I could type my hobbies into a dating app, let an algorithm find me a perfect match. Flora could walk back inside and pick anyone she desired. But it wouldn’t be the same. Because despite everything, we put each other first. We make each other laugh. We get each other.
As unimpressive as that sounds, it’s everything.
No one makes me feel the way she does.
She glows under the night sky, eyes twinkling, wind in her hair, and, if given the choice, I’d choose her all over again.
We stay outside for a long time, unable to decide if we want to go back in, and does it even matter?
Everything I feel that night, I know Flora does too.
That’s more than enough.
Chapter Thirty-five
Flora
Lately, my brain’s falling apart, but not in a floaty, sighing-at-the-rain, pressing-your-forehead-to-the-window kind of way you see in romantic period dramas. Everything sets me off, especially Sean. My aspiration is to be a rare blue parrot, soaring through the skies of Rio, and I get angry at him for being a house cat, content to stay at home and eat the same kibble every day. It’s unfair to blame him for not flapping his wings.
Therefore, I tell myself,Don’t ask what your boyfriend can do for you, ask what you can do for him. This is my new relationship motto, and here are a few things I (willingly) do for him:
1. I eat at his house and marvel over his dad’s cooking. Sean thinks he’s doing me a favor by bringing me home, and sure, his family is awesome, but what starts out as a warm gesture soon turns into a performance. They expect me to be a one-woman comedy special. Meanwhile, I’m itching to check my texts without looking rude.
2. Fine dining? Not anymore. The second Sean sees the price, he gets this panic-stricken twitch around his temple, then he stares, unimpressed, at the tiny portions, while I sit there, deeply offended on behalf of the sous-chef sweating in the back. Sean’s palate is as adventurous as a kids’ menu—chicken tenders, club sandwiches, buttered noodles. I tone it down and take him to a perfectly affordable Indian restaurant, and he drowns the spice level in three gallons of water.
3. We’ve retired from parties. Couples don’t need them. Parties are an excuse for drunk people to hook up anyway, and since I’ve “graduated” from Solo-cup life, what’s the point?
4. I’ve started working on Sean’s Christmas gift. At first I aimed for a Brunello Cucinelli wallet since it’s classy with understated luxury, but he has no money to put in there. So I ended up—don’t laugh—knitting a scarf.
Sean appreciates my effort, even though he constantly worries if I’m happy. I assure him that I am, because after all, what’s there to complain about? We have everything a solid relationship offers: stability, trust, affection, and understanding, even though it lacks a few other things, such as possibilities, surprises, unlimited choices, and that sense of open-ended freedom.
Sean reminds me of stepping onto the balcony on a crisp winter morning, the air sharp against my skin, my breath visible in the stillness, then coming back inside, warmth settling over me, like it was always waiting.
Whenever he smiles at me, I still think he’s the greatest guy ever and I’m beyond lucky to have him. That’s when I remind myself,forget choices.
I’ve already chosen the best.
* * *
Two weeks before winter break, it’s right before lunch, and Sean’s in the hallway, heading for the cafeteria. When I call to him, he stops and waits. Every girl in the vicinity envies me. He’s oblivious, but their stares heat my skin, a scorching spotlight tracking our every step.
Sean smiles at me, andonlyme. Ligands bind to specific receptors, and I’m the only person who melts the aloof front he puts up. A few steps ahead, Wayne, the janitor, exits the storage room. The door doesn’t close all the way, scratching to a halt against the floor.
A sudden spark of inspiration hits. Even old married couples find ways to keep things exciting, and why shouldn’t we? We’ll make it work.
All we need is some spontaneity!
Before Sean can protest, I yank him into the storage room. I’m not even horny, but the thrill of doing somethingbadwith him is exhilarating.
It’s pitch-dark inside, the air thick with bleach and a hint of mold. It doesn’t matter. I push him against the door, his body hot and solid against mine, familiar yet foreign at the same time. Muffled voices filter in from the hallway. Out there, it’s bright, open, public. In here, it’s dark, hidden, electric.
A long-lost rush of excitement floods my veins. My nerve endings crackle.
I find Sean’s lips and kiss him hard.
