With the ice still pressed to my jaw, she leaned in and kissed me, her lips buttery and soft and dizzying. It was a slow, glacial kiss, our lips barely moving. We tasted the sweetness of the soda on each other. We stayed very still; we didn’t dare break apart. We were married, would stay married for all of eternity, would die together, would have our ashes mixed together. We were afraid. Liv pulled back, lowering the ice, and with a manic smile said, “Happy fortieth anniversary.”
