Page 77 of The Cost of Love

“You’re still here,” he says in awe before wrapping his arms around my waist.

I spin and pull him in for a kiss as searing as the hot pan cooking the steak. We don’t stop until my internal timer tells me it’s time to take out the New York strips and let them rest.

“What’s all this?” he asks, putting down his laptop bag.

“This is my love language,” I say, pulling him to the dining room table.

There laid out is pesto bacon-wrapped pork, three mushroom risotto, candied brussels sprouts, and ricotta mashed potatoes. His eyes widen as he takes it all in.

I guide him to sit and then go and get the steaks and wine.

“You made all of this?”

“I wanted to show you what you mean to me.”

This gets a smile out of him before he unwraps his napkin and places it on his lap. I make his plate and pour his drink, all while looking at him like I’m incapable of staring anywhere else.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of me, either, even when he drags my chair closer to his at the table. When I sit, our knees bump and our arms touch. Especially as he takes bites.

After each one, he moans and looks at me again like it’s the first time he is seeing me.

“You like it?” I feel like I am asking if he likes what I am trying to say. The words really mean: Do you know how I feel?

He smiles, and I let out a breath. Grabbing my hand, he holds it through the whole meal, squeezing it like at any moment I might disappear. But I know that I won’t. I’m here for as long as he will have me.

When I bring out the three-layer chocolate cake with raspberry filling, my chest tightens from lack of oxygen again. Putting it down in front of him, we both look at the words spelled out on top.

I love you.

I want to say more. I want to give all the words I have and hope they write out the future I see for us, but I’ve never been good at expressing my emotions. So instead, I watch as he watches me. He rubs his eyes, and I know, like me, how much those words mean in this context.

“Truly?” he asks.

“As you are,” I say.

He pulls me up and holds me tight against his chest. His heart is beating fast, and I hope the heavy beats are it learning a new rhythm. One that pumps this love throughout his whole body, fixing the parts of him that have been lacking the oxygen of acceptance since his birth. I want the transfusion of my affection to make up for what his parents didn’t give. If this won’t be enough, I will work each day to show him how much I mean it. Just like he is doing for me.

He pushes everything up on the table and feasts on me like he did the food. When he’s done, we make love in a way that can only happen when you have shared your heart with someone else.

Lying there after, tangled together, I can’t even begin to separate myself from him. And honestly, I don’t want to.

Having viewed the townhouse by myself to avoid getting their hopes up, this is the first time the kids are seeing their new home. I know, much like me, they are going to lose their minds at having four bedrooms and four baths, because honestly, it’s like a movie ending. Between this place, my job, and him, everything would be perfect if it weren’t for this pending court case.

Pushing that thought to the side, I choose to instead pay attention to their reaction. Seeing how nice the street is made them instantly quiet down, like they have to be on their best behavior. When we reach our place, they hesitantly look around.

“This way,” I say, leading them towards the door. I give the key to Gabby to do the honors, and she takes too long based on Jamal’s sigh.

Once she gets it open, their collective gasps are the only noise. Rushing in, Gabby doesn’t wait for us to explore. Jamal looks at me for permission before he runs off after her. I already put signs on the doors, marking which one belongs to them to stave off fights, but it doesn’t stop them from going from room to room.

The whole place is spacious, with large windows in the living area. All the bedrooms are huge with walk-in closets, and Imani’s and Jamal’s rooms branch off into their own bathrooms. The kitchen is my own personal fantasy with a gas stove, island, and washer and dryer. The whole place is a blank canvas waiting for us to build our lives in.

There is a small ache at leaving the only home I have known for the whole time I’ve had the kids, but this was the better option. Thankfully, Lenny understood and accepted an extra month of rent as an apology. Forever grateful to him for his help all these years, I also offer to work at the pizza shop whenever he needs. This is the amends I make to be able to give them a better life.

Imani takes her time, returning to the living room last. She is just in time to hear Jamal say, “You sellin’ drugs?”

Not quite sure how to explain this to them, I beckon for us to all sit on the floor.

“So before we talk about this, I just want to say the full year is paid for.”