Sadie's mother always told her to kiss like she meant it, even though Sadie's mother only ever pecked her husband's cheek in public, her face too tight and her lips pursed in a permanent look of distaste. So Sadie just had to assume that it was the kind of advice you gave to others only after it was too late for you to follow it yourself.
Maybe her mother's premature warning is why Sadie never brought her boyfriends around for dinner; maybe it's why the only affection she can manage is the kind that isn't even affection at all, just the impersonal fumbling with each other's clothes in the dark.
Her mother has to beg her to bring a date to Christmas Eve and to her cousin's wedding. Just to appease her, she brings Paul, from work, to the annual family Fourth of July cookout.
When he tries to interlace their fingers, she shies away. Paul doesn't remember that she hates mustard, so she has to scrape it off the hot dog he brings her.
Sadie's mother is looking at them expectantly from across the table, because she thinks that Paul is "nice" and "stable." Sadie tries to forget that these are the same words she uses to describe her favorite dining room chair.
Just so she'll look away. Sadie leans over and plants a kiss on Paul's cheek.
She doesn't kiss like she means it. She kisses just like her mother.
YOU ARE READING
Osculation
Romance"As far as I can tell, there are two basic (kissing) rules: 1. Don't bite anything without permission. 2. The human tongue is like wasabi: it's very powerful, and should be used sparingly." In which Anna writes about a lot of people kissing.
