Sweet Filthy Boy

wear anything for him, but I know I could be myself for him, just as easily. I want to spend every night loving as much as I love right now.

But in a way, it’s true. I love him, so they do, too. I love them, so he does, too.

So we’re talking the big L-word, aren’t we?”

“Lesbians?” I deadpan.

Hang in there, Lola says. Life is built of these little horrible moments and the giant expanses of awesome in between.

But fuck, did I want this to be now, yes, forever.

can’t wait to tell everyone how I tricked you into proposing to me. We’ll ignore the pesky detail that you’re leaving me soon.”

“Hide my passport and I’m here for good.”

“You think I haven’t already thought of that? Don’t be surprised if you come home one day and it’s gone.” He leans in, kisses me before pulling back. “Okay, that’s creepy; it’s in the top of the dresser where it belongs.”

I’ve been helpless before: trapped beneath a car, under the sharp command of an instructor, burned by my father’s heated disdain. But never like this. This kind of helpless is liberating; it’s what it feels like to have every nerve ending rise to the surface and drink in sensation. It’s what it feels like to be touched by someone I trust with my body, trust with my heart.

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about that.”

He makes a point of looking over his shoulder, back in the direction we just came. “I respectfully disagree.”

You’re married, no?” he asks. “You have a husband?”

“Yes.”

“A husband who makes a good living now.”

I shrug and look away. Money talk is exceedingly awkward.

As playful and goofy as he can be sometimes, there is nothing but sincerity in his voice when he asks, “Then why would you need to depend on your father to do what you want?”

What you feel, Cerise? I feel it, too. Fuck, Mia, I feel everything for you.”