We Met Like This

by Kasie West

“Why are you here?” This wasn’t the closest coffee shop to his house. He ran a slow thumb over my palm as he continued to hold my hand. “This is where I go for coffee now.” “Really?” I said. “The one closest to my house?” “Yes,” he answered. “I wanted to see you, if only for a minute.” “And what if I want to see you for more than a minute?” I asked. “Do you?” he asked. “Can you forgive me?” We stopped next to his car, which was parked along the curb, and he opened the passenger door for me. “My car is in the parking lot,” I said. “Meet me at my house?” “Can I drive you? Please.” I smiled. “Are you worried I’m going to change my mind?” “I’m not even sure which side of the aisle your mind is on yet,” he said.

“We could just talk, Margot. If there’s more you need to say.” “I love you, Oliver. That’s all I need to say right now.”

“My whole life I’ve been compared to her and come up short. She’s always been better than me, older, prettier, smarter, more successful.” He started to object but I held up my finger. “She excels at everything. She even had two babies at once! And honestly, it was fine because we had such different interests that I could tell myself that I didn’t want the things she had anyway. But when I found out she had you first, loved you first, I didn’t think I could get past it.” “And now?” he asked, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Now I realize that I can’t live my life constantly trying to impress my sister, trying to live up to the bar she set. And she doesn’t get to run my life along with her own, no matter how successful she’s turned out to be.” “This is a very good realization.” His finger traced a slow line along the lace edging of my bra, the only piece of clothing left on either of our bodies, sending a shiver through me. “Also, you are the smartest, prettiest, funniest woman I’ve ever known.” His finger continued its line to the strap of my bra, where it slid beneath it and coaxed it off my shoulder. All the nerve endings in my body sang with pleasure. “Is talking about my sister turning you off?” He laughed. “It normally would, but you lying here in just your bra is having a counteractive effect on the words coming out of your mouth.” “Good.” My eyes roamed down his strong arms, then I ran a hand along the smattering of hair across his toned chest. “I missed you. I...

“How are you when meeting parents?” he asked, curious. “I imagine they love you.” “Are we stalling?” I asked. “We are absolutely stalling,” he said. “Should we leave?” I asked. “We could get out of here and go get some tacos and then have shower sex. We haven’t had that yet.” He laughed. “You make a very compelling case, but no, we’re not going to leave. We’re here. We can do this.” He opened his door first. I was still sitting inside when he walked around the car and opened my door. “It will get easier after this,” he promised again.

“You want to move in with me?” he asked. My mouth fell open. “Did Sloane just text you?” He turned his phone toward me: Ask your rock star girlfriend to move in with you already. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You know Sloane.” “You want to move in with me?” he repeated. I studied his face, trying to read his expression. “Are you asking me or asking me?” After a year, Oliver knew me well, because that question didn’t confuse him. “I didn’t need this text from Sloane. I was going to ask you as soon as we got home.” “Really?” “Really,” he said. “Yes.” “Yes?”

“Yes, Oliver, I want to move in with you. I want you to be annoyed that I turn that nice chair in the corner of your room into my clothes chair and that I stack piles of books on the nightstand by the bed and that I only do dishes when the sink is full.” “And you can be annoyed that I don’t hit the snooze button and I run every morning at the exact same time and I eat the exact same thing for breakfast regardless of my feelings.” “That is pretty annoying,” I said. “But I’m already used to all that.” He kissed me softly. “You’re good for me.” I laced our fingers together. “I get to use your toilet all the time now.” He let out a groan. “Toilet still doesn’t mean what you’re implying it to mean, Margot.” I laughed. “It will always mean that to me.”