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“So, I have a question,” Morgan stated, taking her legs off Chloë’s lap and crossing them under herself. “Where do your parents think you disappear to every night?”
“I’m twenty-four, Miss Banks. I don’t have a curfew.”
“I know, but surely they’re curious?”
Chloë shrugged. She supposed Morgan was right but luckily her parents were not the nosy and smothering types. Though she still technically lived with them, ever since she had turned eighteen, they had never once tried to pry into her comings and goings. In fact, it had been the opposite; they had almost gone out of their way to let Chloë know that her adulthood came with complete freedom.
“Have you told them about us?” Morgan asked.
That surprised Chloë. What exactly was Morgan asking with that question?
“Um…no,” she admitted. “Actually, I don’t know what I would tell them. I mean, have you told anyone about us?”
“My friend Naomi,” Morgan said. “But I couldn’t help that, she’s the only person I trust with this information.”
“But what did you tell her?” Chloë asked, suddenly feeling nervous. “I mean…”
“I think I know what you mean,” Morgan said, looking down at her hands. “You mean, have I put a label on us, right?”
“Right.” Chloë’s mouth felt dry.
“No, I didn’t. Naomi has mainly been helping me sort out this big shift in paradigm vis-à-vis my sexuality. But I didn’t, like, label us.”
“Sure, that makes sense.”
“Do you want me to?”
Yes! No? Maybe…
Chloë decided to go with instinct.
“We’ve only been dating since Saturday,” she said.
Morgan laughed.
“Actually, we’ve only been on one date,” she said. “The rest of the time we’ve been here fucking like rabbits.”
Chloë giggled.
“That’s true.”
Morgan sighed and then took Chloë’s hand, Chloë loving how perfectly their fingers felt together when they were intertwined.
“Look, we don’t have to slap a label on us now,” Morgan began. “But I really want to keep seeing you. Do you feel the same?”
Chloë could only nod. The Morgan Banks was telling her that she wanted them to keep seeing each other.
“I’d also like to keep…doing all that other stuff,” Morgan added.
Fucking like rabbits.
“Do you feel the same?”
Chloë cocked her eyebrow.
“Who just accosted you when you let me in the house?” she asked with a smirk.
“In that case,” Morgan continued, “at some point, I will want a label. I know you younger people seem to hate labels and so maybe you think I’m an old-fashioned dinosaur but—”
