Kiss and Cry

I snuggled under Henry’s duvet and breathed in his rich scent from the pillow. Eyes closed again, my head still painfully heavy, I listened to the occasional scratch of the pencil and wondered what he was doing.

I slept more. Henry’s pillow-top mattress was amazingly soft yet still supportive. I was dozing lightly when I felt a cat jump up. I’d noticed a fleeing feline butt earlier, and now it was apparently curious about who was in Henry’s bed.

It was weird that thinking those words—in Henry’s bed—excited me. I’d been in my fair share of beds, but now the thought of someone else between these quality sheets—not just here, but with Henry in bed too instead of sitting nearby—had jealousy spiking through me.

I imagined him holding me. Kissing me. Touching me all over, both of us naked—even though his PJs were really comfortable, and I loved wearing them.

I imagined coaxing moans of pleasure from him and finally making him smile. Clearly the electrical storm in my brain was causing a misfire.

The cat brushed my bare skin where I’d stuck out my foot, the PJ leg bunched up. After a while, I always got too hot to sleep all tucked and bundled.

I didn’t want to open my eyes or move and frighten it, so I stayed motionless in that twilight state. At some point, a rough little tongue licked my shin experimentally, and I smiled.

“How do you feel?”

I opened my eyes at Henry’s question, the black, orange, and white Calico cat leaping down to safety. Henry made a little clucking noise that apparently beckoned it. The cat jumped onto the love seat and walked across the back before settling by his head.

Realizing I hadn’t answered and was staring at Henry like a creeper, I said, “Better. Thank you. Who’s that?”

“Esmeralda.”

“Big Hunchback fan?”

He seemed surprised. “Yes.”

“What? I know literature. Okay, fine, I know cartoon musicals. We had the DVD when I was a kid.”

His eyebrows shot up even higher. “It’s under-appreciated.”

“It is!” So Henry liked cartoon musicals too? It was weirdly comforting, though for all I knew he also read ancient books. “She’s sweet. A little skittish?”

“Mm.” He shifted to face me, stroking her idly with his left hand. I could hear the low vibration of her purr.

“What are you working on?” I nodded to the clipboard on his lap, relieved that my head felt more normal.

“Crossword.”

“Oh, that explains the pencil. I’ve never really done one. When I was a kid I liked word searches. They’re probably super easy for you. Is that the New York Times crossword? I saw a video on YouTube about how it gets harder every day of the week. Also, crosswords have themes? I had no clue. Heh, clue. I’m surprised you don’t do it in pen and force yourself to start over if you make a mistake.”

For a second, I thought he was going to get pissed. But a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Yes!

He said, “Touché.”

It wasn’t a real, beaming smile, but it was major progress. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. Being here in Henry’s darkened condo in his pajamas felt so comforting. Like we were in a little cocoon. It was surreal and strange but kind of amazing.

“You must be hungry,” he said.

I stretched and yawned. “Yeah. What time is it?”

“Four twelve.”

“Shit, really? I’ve taken up your whole afternoon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I swear I didn’t have any chocolate. Or red wine. Sometimes citrus can be a trigger, but I didn’t have any this whole week.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “It’s not your fault you have a migraine.”

“I shouldn’t have had that roti, but I don’t think there was anything in there that would do it. Sometimes the migraines just seem to happen even if I do everything right. Honestly.”

“I believe you.”

“Oh. Right.” I cringed. “Sorry. I get defensive about food. Have I mentioned that?” I plowed on before I lost my nerve. “I was an asshole yesterday.”

He pulled Esmeralda into his lap, eyes on her as he stroked. “I shouldn’t have criticized your food choices.”

“Look, we both know a donut for breakfast wasn’t the smartest start to my day. I’m supposed to be an actual adult, but sometimes I think I’m still rebelling against my mom when I eat junk.”

“She always seemed…challenging.”

I barked out a laugh. “That’s a nice way to put it. If she was here now she’d be ripping me a new one for having a migraine. She’d insist it was my fault and search my room for evidence of cheating on my diet and grill her spies at the rink for intel.”

Henry watched me with his brow extra furrowed. I shrugged. “She was always really invested in my skating. When I grew and got zits in middle school and put on a bit of weight, she started locking the fridge and pantry.”