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“Well, that’s a fun analogy.”
“I’m just assuming Aiden is tasty.”
“Oh, gross.”
Wanda chuckles, shrugging at me. “But am I wrong?”
“You are just entirely too old to be this horny.”
“Don’t be ageist.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So, are you ever going to tell him? You know I’m right. The longer you wait, the uglier it could get.”
“I know that. I know. I’m going to tell him. I am. I just... I’m not ready yet.”
“You might never be,” she tells me. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.”
I groan. “Why do you always have to be so right?”
“It’s because I’m—”
“Old,” I finish. “Yeah, I know.”
“Just give him a chance. People can surprise you, if you let them.”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” she says forcefully, grumbling as she pushes up from her rocker. “You know why?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I huff, waving her off.
“You want a drink?”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“You think time matters when you pass seventy?”
“I have to pick up Sophie in a bit.”
“More for me then,” she says.
I watch her shuffle into her kitchen, pulling at her terry robe and belting it tighter around her waist. I’m left staring at the popcorn ceiling of her apartment as she begins to rummage through her fridge. I know that she’s absolutely right, that continuing to keep things from Aiden will only make it that much harder when he inevitably learns the truth; it’s not like I can keep the scar on my back a secret forever, after all. And given its size and its meaning and that he’s one of maybe four people who know it exists—I don’t think I can explain it away easily.
You can’t plan your whole future just because of one bad day from the past.
I hate that she’s always right.
—
I don’t tell him that night, or several nights after, and a week later, I’m still vacillating between whether or not I should tell him at all. I could argue that there is hardly time for a discussion like that since all our alone time is filled with secret kisses and touches that make me lose my head, but I’m well aware it’s a threadbare excuse at best. How in the hell do I even start a conversation like that?
Oh, by the way, you actually used to watch me touch myself. I thought you liked me, but then you ghosted me. Isn’t it funny how we found each other again?
Even in my head it sounds ludicrous.
I’m frowning at the coffee maker on this particular morning, watching coffee drip into the pot while my thoughts are far away, and it’s probably for that reason that I don’t hear him comingdown the stairs. I don’t realize he’s there until I feel Aiden’s arms sliding around my waist to pull me against a solid body, and I can’t help the silly grin that forms when I feel his lips at my throat.
