With my free hand, I reach up and swipe my thumb across her bottom lip, smearing her red lip gloss. “What are you doing?” she asks, her mouth moving under my finger. “Taking off this lipstick stuff.” “Why?” She’s turned the volume of her voice down to secret. “Because I like your lips the way they always are.” Her smile dwindles into a straight line, and the laughter drains from her eyes. I trace her top lip with my index finger, swiping until the red tint of gloss is mostly gone. Even after there’s barely color left, I touch her mouth unnecessarily, so soft and pillowy. I should feel
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