On Rotation

by Shirlene Obuobi

“Yeah,” he said, his voice still hoarse. He coughed, then tried again. “Let’s go.”

The woman in the mural was looking down, as though gazing at the garden below her. The corners of her ample lips were turned up in a subtle smile, her head resting on one shoulder and giving a decadent view of her swanlike neck. She was surrounded by clusters of peace lilies, every one of them turned to face her in reverence. Her cropped curls were artfully rendered, and her dark brown skin was even and bright. She was beautiful. She was . . . me?

HOLY HONK

My trembling hands came up to my mouth, trying to hold back words that were stuck in my throat anyway.

“You know, art therapy, and all that. But really, I think part of me was hoping that you’d walk by and see it. And then, maybe you’d realize that you were wrong about me. And that maybe after that . . . you would come back.”

SO ROMANTIC

know. You came and found me, right? Even though you knew you might not be welcome?” He grabbed my other hand, sandwiched it between his. “I’m never going to forget that, Angie. I’m going to wake up every day for the rest of my life and look at your face and remember that, when I needed you most, you were there for me. For my family.”

Every day, I choose, his grandfather had said.

“Oh yeah. She gives me the look every time too. Like, Get on with it, mijo,” he said. He winked. “I told her that I was working on it.” I gaped at him even as he grinned back, clearly proud of himself. “You’re working on it,” I repeated, my gaze flicking from his smiling eyes to the bit of lip that he’d just wet with his tongue.

Oh fuck

I imagined drinking him up like this every day, and for once I didn’t feel guilty letting that image blossom into something more in my head. Because I knew he was even crazier than me.

I laughed as a throng of excited Korean women surrounded Michelle, all clamoring to be the first to see her sheet.

“Nope,” Nia said, her lips popping on the p.

“Well, speaking of crazy,” he said. His smile turned coy. “I . . . may have also made a little trip to the ’burbs with the abuelos while you were away for interviews.” I pulled back, not entirely understanding. “There was a long debate about whether we should go with gin or schnapps,” Ricky continued. “I tried to tell them that you were a Peppermint Patty girl, but Abuelo talked me out of it.” He gave me an earnest look, and the pieces clicked together. The man I loved, sitting across from my father in my family’s home, sipping Muscatella. Asking permission to be mine forever.

Fucking chokinggg

I let my toes curl from the sensation and wondered if kissing him would always feel like this, like the heat of the sun on the first day of summer or a sip of hot chocolate on a frigid winter day. Like letting myself freefall in love, and for once not searching for where I might land.

Justin: Love of my life. You don’t even read rom-coms, but you let me read every chapter of OR out loud to you and offered suggestions that I often summarily rejected, thus sparing the readers your truly awful puns. When I was shaking with anxiety about the process, you were steadfast, like a rock. When I sold, you acted like it wasn’t even a big deal, like Of course you would sell, because you really do think I can do anything. What an honor to love and be loved by you.

Oh fuck