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“You could never ruin us, Soph,” Caitlin says. “I’m not saying this is the most conventional setup in the world, but if it works for you two, it works for me.”
“It does,” Sophia says, looking over the top of Caitlin’s head to aim her shimmering eyes at me.
I love you, Sophia Clarkson, I think but don’t say.
Something holds me back.
Just like taking her virginity, I want the time to be right.
Caitlin turns and faces me, adding her smile to the happiness that Sophia brings.
“Dad, I hope you know how lucky you are,” she says.
“I do,” I tell her firmly. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sophia
“I think it’s wonderful,” Mom says, flipping the pancakes with so much flair her fluttering summery dress dances around her. “I know it’s not the most conventional thing, but I can see how happy you are, Sophia. I can see how changed you are. No—not changed. I don’t mean that.”
I giggle, delighted Mom’s taken this news in her stride. After telling Caitlin and the possible pain I thought it might bring, the task of telling Mom reared up inside of me with the aura of a threat.
“What do you mean, Miss C?” Caitlin asks from beside me.
The morning is bright, as though nature knows how much lighter my heart feels after the scene on the balcony.
It’s been a few days since then, and I’ve spent as much time as possible with my man, exploring a sexual side of myself I never could’ve guessed existed before we came together.
The dinners and the small private moments have been just as important, though, filling me with so much light I feel as though I could burst with it.
“She’s not changed, exactly,” Mom says, giving the pancakes another flip. “It’s more that she feels confident enough to be more herself. Your father – her boyfriend – he’s helped her feel more comfortable in her own skin.”
“I can’t deny that,” Caitlin says, smiling over at me.
Part of me expected her to regret her acceptance of mine and Solomon’s relationship after the revelation on the balcony, but in the passing days, she’s only become more enthusiastic about it.
“I can see the change in both of you,” she said to me on the phone last night. “I went to visit Dad at his office earlier, and he was humming. Do you know how weird that is, how amazing?”
I keep waiting to jolt awake and discover that everything after the fight, telling Caitlin and the love-filled moments, has been a crazy fever dream.
Everything’s just going so perfect.
I don’t want anything to spoil it.
Love.
I suppose that’s the only root of anxiety still twisting its way through me, the way the L-word hovers on the tip of my tongue every second I’m with my man. I’ve almost blurted it out during sex several times, just throwing the words out there in the heat of our unleashing on each other.
But somehow I’ve managed to restrain myself.
What if I say it and he doesn’t say it back?
“You don’t know how much this means to me,” I say. “I was so scared I’d be forced to choose between my best friend and my soulmate.”
“Soulmate,” Caitlin smiles, shaking her head indulgently. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No,” Caitlin rushes to add. “Not in a bad way. What I meant is …”
She pauses, chewing her lip, and then her eyes get that just-Caitlin playful quality, the look I remember from countless times in my childhood.
“It’s never going to stop sounding special,” she says. “It’s never going to stop sounding amazing. I’m so happy for both of you.”
I blink back budding tears as love brims into every part of me, so much it feels as if I could explode in a big ball of soul-soothing emotion.
“Are you okay?” I ask Caitlin. “About Kenny, I mean.”
She sighs and shrugs. “I chose the wrong man and it got me into some trouble. It happens. I’m seeing it as a learning experience. Plus, he’s going to be in prison for a long, long time, so I don’t have to worry anymore.”
I smile.
“You know you can call me, day or night, and we’ll talk for as long as you want. You know that, right, Cait?”
Now she’s the one with tears glittering in her eyes.
“Of course I do,” she smiles. “That’s why you’re my best friend.”
“Okay, you two,” Mom says, bringing a tray of pancakes over. “Enough of this emotional stuff. Who wants syrup?”
When I wake up the next morning, I stretch my hand across to the broadness of my man’s back like I always do. It’s like my internal body clock knows to wake me up a few minutes before the alarm goes off so that I can run my fingers over the ridged fullness of his muscles, over his shoulders, down the taut tightness of his lower back.
