Whispering With You

36. A safe bubble for us to exist in.

Kelly

I SHAMELESSLY GAWK AT MY GIRLFRIEND AS we sit outside on the café patio in Maybury for brunch, taking advantage of her distracted state. Her attention is across the street at the black wall of windows of the law firm. While she undoubtedly thinks about the asshole who mistreated her mother decades ago, my focus is on her rosy cheeks and the little puffs of breath that can be seen every time she sighs.

It's probably a little too chilly to be having brunch outside, but neither of us wanted to suffer through a stuffy restaurant scene. Instead, Sutton bundled up in one of my lined fleece jackets she found in the backseat of my truck, the thing nearly drowning her petite frame. She warms her hands on her steaming coffee mug, occasionally lifting it to her lips to take a sip.

The moment has a full circle feel to it. Or, maybe more accurately, a semi-circle feel to it. Months ago, when we were still in the thick of the suffocating heat of summer, we sat at this very spot together. Her attention was also focused across the street at the law firm that day. But back then, unlike today, we played along in the façade where we barely tolerated each other. Now I have the aftertaste of her pussy on my tongue, a souvenir from our morning activities.

I've always loved the weekends, but now that they're filled with long hours of alone time with my girl, they've become sacred in my mind. After we survive yet another brutal Friday night of ignoring each other at Roxy's, we rush home to start our weekend together.

Something is off this morning, though. Actually, it's been a little off since the impromptu visit from my dad a few days ago. I'm not sure if Sutton is picking up on my mood, the lingering doubts my dad planted taking root, or if she's stuck ruminating in her own feelings. And, to be completely honest, I'm a fucking coward and don't want to find out. I'd rather pretend the remnants from his visit don't exist. Because what if I ask her and she's honest and then we can't unknow the unsaid thing between us?

Sutton worries the heart pendant on the delicate chain around her neck, her eyes still focused across the street. When the waiter approaches our table with our food, she blinks herself back into the present, remembering her manners with a gracious thanks. She pushes her eggs around her plate with a fork, her gaze wandering back across the street.

"Baby girl," I say quietly and wait until she's looking at me. "Forget that asshole. He was a blip in your mom's history. She came back home and made a happy life for herself. That guy means very little in the grand scheme of things."

"I know. I was actually thinking about that pesky safety deposit box my uncle left us." She stuffs a heaping pile of eggs into her mouth, chewing a few times before continuing her thoughts. The right side of her mouth is puffed out with food, and I grin at how she resembles the cutest hamster. "If the mystery birth certificate wasn't for my mom's baby with the dickhead lawyer, then whose is it?"

I demolish the food on my plate, letting the question sit between us. Honestly, I couldn't give less fucks about the topic, but I know it's something she won't drop. She'll keep picking at it like a scab that never quite heals.

When I take out my wallet to pay at the tabletop kiosk, I snicker at the pale yellow Post-it stuffed between the folds. Peeling it off, I hold the crinkled paper in my hand, waving it in my girl's face. Immediately, she palms a hand to her mouth, but I see evidence of the smirk she's trying to hide.

"What's this?"

She grabs for it like she wants to steal it from me, but I hold it out of her reach. "You weren't supposed to find that while we were together." If her cheeks weren't already pink from the cold, I suspect they might be flushed with embarrassment.