If This Is Love

by Jewel E. Ann

“What do you see when you look at me?” I whisper before risking another glance up at him. “My grave, Indie.” He shoves half the sandwich into my hand and brushes past me. “I see my fucking grave.”

“I love your touch. I’ve always loved your touch, Milo. For different reasons. You’ve touched me in ways I’m sure you can’t imagine, maybe in ways you never intended. Your arms absorbed the grief I felt after Ruthie died. Your fingers have wiped so many tears from my face. Each swipe is like a salve to my soul, healing it with something as simple as a touch. And when your hand pressed against my cheek and down my leg in the grass by the pond…” I glance over my shoulder, resting my chin on it without fully lifting my gaze to him “…it made me feel beautiful. For that fleeting moment, I thought maybe you felt something for me. Something more than duty. Something more than loyalty. More than sympathy. Then you were gone. But your touch is still on my skin. I wonder if a day will come when I don’t feel your touch?” I laugh a little, and it’s a pain in the pit of my stomach. “I hope so because it hurts.”

“Indie girl … I’m gonna kiss you. And it’s not gonna change anything, but it’s gonna mean everything. Okay?”

“Had I known I was gonna be invited to a formal breakfast, I would not have engaged in … the butter incident.”

“I don’t need much. We can live out of a car for all I care. We’ll be broke and happier than we ever imagined. We’ll make love every day.” Only now do I realize I’m crying happy, hopeful tears. “We’ll never fight. And when we save up enough money, we’ll buy one of those panini makers and burn the hell out of our grilled cheese sandwiches.”