We let go to grab my bag to leave the airport. She had a bear strapped in the seatbelt of the passenger’s seat. Our first child. Christian Malik, we named him together. I presented her with a bag of her favorite candy.

During an unplanned tour of the city, she told me about how she wasn’t where she was supposed to be on 9/11 and because she wasn’t, she was alive to tell the story. I leaned towards her to kiss her cheek, she turned and presented her lips instead. It was a moment. I was nervous because I didn’t know what she was thinking. I didn’t know if this felt the way she had imagined and this moment put me a little at ease.

Once we finally got settled in, we both started pulling things out of our suitcase. She had packed a fun bag. And the fun bag didn’t contain one sex toy. She had packed puzzles, crayons, coloring books, board games. We starting sharing pictures from photo albums. We started making drinks.

Drinks led to me being “fresh,” as she calls it. Me straddling her lap and kissing her. I kept trying to behave myself, but I couldn’t.

At some point, sex happened. I wish I could give more detail, but thanks to the drinks, I don’t really remember the details.

I woke up the next morning in her t shirt and no panties with a sore pussy. Her arms were wrapped securely around me. I vaguely remembered throwing up. With that memory, I got up and brushed my teeth. I had another memory, that I was hoping was wrong. I had told her I loved her while we were sexing. No, no, no, no! I struggled to figure out how to bring this up without embarrassing myself.

There was no way. I just brought it up. At first, she didn’t seem to pleased that I didn’t remember. I felt bad, I felt guilty. And I was concerned. Had she said it back? I think she realized I felt like shit because she started to tell me the details of our night. I had screamed out, “I fuckin love you…” while she was giving me head. She looked up to say it back and went back to handling her business.

She loved me. I felt it before she admitted it. It was in the way she touched me. The way she twirled my hair around her fingers, the way she rubbed my shoulders, the look in her eyes when she looked at me. Even if she had never said it, I would’ve believe that she loved me just based on her actions.

 

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