“Your dad is an asshole.”
“I know.” I see tears fill her eyes, so I walk around the counter and hug her. “Z is perfect, amazing actually, and I worry this is going to push him away.”
“He loves you, honey, and I have a feeling there is nothing that would ever keep Z away.” And that was the truth. Even Kayan’s overbearing parents were no match for Z, who had found a woman to spend his life with. “You’re not allowed to cry. You know Z freaks out when you cry,” I remind her.
“Z’s not here right now.”
“No, but like a damn dog, I swear he can smell when you’ve been upset, and I would rather not give him a reason to be pissed off at me.”
“You’re right,” she agrees, and I pull out a couple of tissues and hand them to her while rubbing her back.
“It will all work out. When the baby gets here, I bet they change their tune.”
“If they don’t stop what they’re doing, I won’t let them see the baby.”
“Really?” I ask surprised, not that Kayan has ever been really afraid of her parents, but they have been known to push her into things she really didn’t want to do.
“Really. Z’s the man I’m going to marry one day, and he will be the father of our children. He deserves respect, much more than they have given him, and if that doesn’t change, I won’t be allowing them to see our baby.”
“You know, I think if you tell them that, they might come around a little quicker than you think,” I tell her.
“Do you really think so?”
“How could anyone not want to be a part of your baby’s life?”
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“’Cause I’m the smart friend.”
“Whatever, that just means I’m the hot one.” She shrugs, making me laugh before I head back to my office.
I look at the clock, see it’s midnight, roll over, grab Wes’ gift from under my side of the bed, and sit up. I turn on my bedside light then look at Wes, who is sleeping with his hand, which was wrapped around my waist, now over my thighs.
I run my hand over his hair, and his eyes open slowly and he looks up at me, looking sleepy and confused.
“You okay, baby?”
“Merry Christmas.” I smile and he double blinks.
His eyebrows come together and he looks over me, glancing at the clock, then smiles as he lifts up and kisses me, saying, “Merry Christmas, baby,” against my lips.
“Here you go.” I hand him the box I have been holding onto for weeks, but then I want to take it back and rip the paper off for him when he just looks at it. “I know technically we open gifts tomorrow, but I just can wait any longer,” I tell him excitedly. He sits up completely, the sheet landing at his waist, so the expanse of his chest is visible. I turn towards him, sitting on my calves with my knees tucked against his thigh. “Please, open it.” I bounce a little, which makes his eyes drop to my breasts, which are not covered, since after he made love to me, I didn’t take the time to put anything on.
“Not sure I can focus on this with your tits bouncing in my face,” he says, and I roll my eyes, pulling the sheet up to cover my chest. “Should have kept my mouth shut,” he mutters, and I cry, “Open the box!” which makes him laugh.
He pulls my face to his with a hand wrapped around my nape, and then he lets me go and drops his eyes to the box, ripping the paper off slowly. Finally, he opens the top of the box, moving the tissue paper out of the way and pulling out the leather wallet I had designed for him. When asked what he wanted for Christmas, he would repeat over and over that he wanted me in a bow, naked in bed, waiting for him. Since he could have that any day of the year, I gave up on asking him, and actually gave up on finding him anything at all until I was talking to my Aunt Liz, and she told me about a shop in town where the guy custom made silver jewelry and leather goods. So I talked him about what I wanted, and a little about our story, and he created a piece of art that Wes could carry with him always and add things to it as time went on.
“Jesus,” he whispers, and I bite my bottom lip, watching the way his fingers travel over the designs in the leather, which if you’re not looking closely, you would miss. I chose things I felt repressed us: the Taser and bird from the first time we met, the motorcycle that is a huge part of our lives and who he is, and then on the back, his name, Silver, in the shape of a motorcycle, and on the end, where the medal hook is that holds his chain, is the date he asked me to marry him.
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to carry it—”
I’m cut off when his mouth crashes down on mine and he rips the sheet away, pulling me over to straddle his lap. The feel of his tongue and his taste work through my system as he adjusts me slightly, filling me with him. I rock against him slowly, wrapping my arms more tightly around him, our mouths never leaving the other as he brings me to a slow orgasm that doesn’t explode, but burns, feeling like it never ends. Tears spring from my eyes and I taste salt in our kiss as his orgasm slides down my throat.
When he leans his head back, his hands hold my face gently and he whispers, “I love you, babe.”
“I know,” I reply, because I do know; I feel it all the time. Even when we’re apart, I feel it.
“Gonna carry it always,” he says while wiping away another stray tear, and I know he’s talking about more than just the wallet. He’s also talking about the love and connection we have. I cuddle closer to him as he leans over with us still connected and turns off the light, and then he adjusts us, with me still on top of him, him still deep inside of me as he pulls the covers over us. He rubs my back for a long time while I listen to the sound of his breath. When it evens out, I follow him off to sleep.
“You’re glowing,” my mom says, walking up to me and wrapping her arm around my waist.
“I’m happy.” I smile at her and wrap my arm around her. I lean my head on her shoulder and look at my family and Wes, who are all sitting in my parents’ living room, talking and laughing. When we got up this morning, we fed Capone and Juice then sat around our Christmas tree and opened the gifts we had gotten one another. Wes got me a beautiful gold necklace that is an exact replica of his dog tag he wears, just smaller. The small metal plate has the same information his dog tag carries, but unless you flip it over, you would never know it is just for me. He will always be pressed to my skin, the same way he’s wrapped around my heart.