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No, but they’re dancing.
They’re having fun.
Is she faking it?
The thought sends a dark cloud hurtling over my head. I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone.
Dad grunts as he enters the kitchen.
Mom brightens when she looks at him, love pouring from her eyes. “How was the trip.”
“Successful,” dad says.
Asia glances at our empty hands. “I don’t see any fish.”
“Because we didn’t catch any.” I stalk around the counter.
“Then why was it successful?”
“Because he got to say everything he wanted to say.” I drop my hands on her shoulders and lean in for a quick kiss.
She kisses me back, her eyes fluttering closed and her hands hovering above me so she doesn’t get any flour on my T-shirt.
Kissing her is the most natural move in the world.
And I find myself wanting to do that everyday.
Every morning.
Walk in and see Asia.
Just Asia.
In my kitchen.
In my living room.
In my bed.
And, I want to kiss her.
Touch her.
See her smile.
It’d be easy to lose myself in her, but I don’t let the kiss linger. My parents are only five inches away. Though it kills me, I keep it short.
The way she sighs when I pull back, I start to wonder if I imagined her stress-chewing her bottom lip.
Her expression flickers and darkness flashes in her eyes again.
It’s there.
A wall between us.
One that wasn’t there before.
Asia and I have always been transparent with each other. Since the moment we first met, we tackled hard conversations and exposed our scars. She’s holding herself back all of a sudden and I don’t get why.
