“You might not notice, but I always spritz myself with vanilla-scented body mist on my birthday,” she tells me. I notice. I hate that I notice. She continues, pressing her forehead to mine. “I picked it up at a bath and body shop years ago, and the bottle is still practically full. I only use it once a year. It’s called Sweet Desserts.” Her thumbs massage just below my ears, and her breath kisses my mouth as she speaks. “I bought it because you used to tell me that your mom smelled like desserts. I know my birthday is the same day she…” She swallows, glances up at me. “Well, you know. I wanted
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