Page 19 of Untangled
He tips his face to see her and a smile creeps up his cheeks.
“What do you think those kids on the green couch would say about us now?” he asks. “I think they’d be horrified wemoved to the suburbs.” It’s accompanied by a laugh that he quickly quiets.
“You would’ve spent the last eight years in mourning if you’d known the gray was coming for your hair this early,” I answer.
He huffs in agreement. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe those people were us, and that we grew into this version. I think they’d be proud that we figured it out.”
“Havewe figured it out?” I ask.
“I think we’re closer than we’ve been, and that feels like more than enough.”
As we round the corner to our street, I let his words linger. Wearecloser than we’ve been. As silly and frustrating as these daily cards are, we’ve had more honest communication and more freely-given affection in the past week and a half than in the past year.
“I think you’re right.”
Day 12
Explore what feels good to your partner using only your hands.
“Let’s consider this a do-over of day six,” I say as I sit on Daniel’s butt. He’s lying face down in bed, shirtless and groaning as I knead the muscles in his back. “That one didn’t count cause we were fighting. Let's hope we can get through this one without Violet's cough starting up again.”
“She'll be fine…and I’m not complaining,” he replies, but it’s muffled by the pillow under his cheek.
“Of course not, you’re the one getting the massage.”
“For now. I’ll get my hands on you later.”
The words prompt a swoop in my belly; they’re both a threat and a promise. And after the night we had on day ten, I’m eager for either, both, anything. Ever since, pieces of memory hit like lightning strikes. I’ll be picking up the dry cleaning and get a flash of Daniel spitting in his palm, or folding Violet’s tiny laundry and hear hiseyes on me, baby.
It’s a problem.
It’sdistracting.
And this PG-rated massage isn’t nearly enough.
“Ooomph, that knot’s been there forever, you don’t have to fix it tonight,” he says, and I realize I’ve been digging my fingers too deep around his shoulder blade. I switch to scratching and run my fingernails along his back. It leaves red, raised track marks, parallel lines that brand him as mine. He used to wake up every Saturday with them—evidence of aproductivenight before.
“Okay, my turn,” he says.
“You sure?”
“Fully. Come here.”
He scrambles up the bed, leans his back against the headboard and pats the spot between his open legs. I shuffle over and sit, my back to his front.
“Can I take this off?” he asks while tugging at my shirt, with no hint of presumption or pressure. It’s sweet. But I’m not feeling sweet.
“Please.”
He says, “Arms up,” and gently lifts the shirt from my body before tossing it on the floor. The cool air on my naked skin makes me shiver. The warmth of his palms landing on my shoulders helps.
“That’s better,” he says, and starts working. Firm swipes of his thumb to the base of my neck, then gripping my shoulders to press his fingers there. I can feel some of my tension melt with the pressure.
“Much better,” I reply.
“You know, if the card didn’t say hands-only, I’d kiss your neck right now. That’s one of my favorite things about having you in front of me like this—nuzzling right here.” He runs the back of his hand down the length of my neck before stopping at my collarbone. “This spot in particular.”
I lean my head on his hand for a moment. “I’d like that.”
