Damn it. That was certainly the abridged version of her story. No brain injury. No husband. No suicide attempts. No Casey revelation. No court-mandated therapy. No Sarah. She actually didn’t tell me about herself at all—she gave me Manda’s story and nothing more. And just like that, any hope I had of the truth coming out tonight vanishes. I guess it’s a step in the right direction, but damn. I had high hopes for this conversation. Selfish hopes, but high nonetheless.
She pulls the box over in front of her and begins fidgeting with the lid. I grab my beer off the table and head to join her, but just before I sit down, she stops me.
"Wait. Do you have any wine?" she asks with a small smile.
My eyebrows pop up in surprise. "I think I have a bottle of something white."
"Can I have a glass? Manda and I used to sit and drink wine for hours, and well, this might be the last time I ever get to have wine with her. It just seems fitting."
"Yeah, absolutely. Let me go grab it."
She nods and goes back to staring at the closed box.
A few minutes later, I come back into the room with the bottle of wine in an ice bucket. It wasn’t cold and I figured she might want more than just one glass.
"Sorry. It’s warm," I say, setting the bucket down on the table next to her then handing her the glass I poured.
"That’s okay." She reaches into the bucket, scoops out a few pieces of ice, and drops them into her wine. She smiles at the glass for a second before lifting it up with a trembling hand and weakly saying, "Cheers."
"Cheers." I clink her glass with my beer and watch as she takes a sip of the fruity wine.
No sooner than the liquid passes her lips, her chin begins to quiver and tears pool in her eyes. I immediately sit down on the floor behind her and pull her between my legs. Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I hold her tight, wishing I could magically piece her back together.
"I lost someone once," I whisper into her ear. "It almost destroyed me, and every time I think back on those days, it shreds me. It still hurts, no matter how much time passes. You know what though? When I focus on the good times, it makes all the pain melt away. Tell me about the good times with Manda, ángel."
She reaches up with one hand and rubs my arms, which are crossed over her chest. Her whole body relaxes as she leans back against me. She lifts the wine to her lips once more before setting it down and opening the box. As soon as the lid clears the box, she lets out a loud laugh. When I peek over her shoulder, she's holding a bottle of wine with a yellow sticky note stuck to the front.
For the next two hours, Sarah pulls the contents one by one from the box. It seems to have a little of everything packed inside—a few pictures, some earrings, random knickknacks, and even some clothes. She tells me random stories about the stuff she recognizes, and some things make her laugh before she puts it aside. Finally, she packs it all back inside and closes it.
Her second glass of wine is almost empty by the time she turns around to face me. "I’m done." She sighs. "Thanks for, you know, listening to all that."
"Thanks for telling me. I like knowing who you used to be," I say pointedly, but she doesn’t react. I give her what I expected to be a gentle kiss, but her tongue snakes into my mouth unexpectedly. I moan loudly when she boldly reaches down between us and into my pants.
"Take me to bed, Leo James. I’m ready for my birthday sex." She giggles. Clearly, the wine has gone to her head. It’s cute, but it concerns me how quickly she switched as soon as that box closed.
"Why don’t we just go to sleep? I’ll give you birthday sex all weekend." I wink.
"No way. I’m happy. Like, really happy, and I want to be with my man now. So please. Take. Me. To. Bed." She kisses me after every word, and it makes me feel a little better about her current mindset.
She’s happy.
It’s funny. When I’m with Sarah, I’m happy too.
"Yes, ma’am." I salute her and quickly rise to my feet, dragging her up with me.
"You know about birthday spankings, right?" I tease.
"You remember my ninja knee, right?" she responds, and I bark out a laugh at the memory.
Yeah, really fucking happy.
One week later…
"WHAT TIME is it?" I ask as Sarah’s cell phone alarm starts beeping from the nightstand.
"Seven," she answers.
Seven’s not early at all unless you spent the entire night before buried to the hilt inside Sarah Erickson. Then, in that case, seven is damn near the crack of dawn.
"I’m going to go start the coffee. I might even have a cup with you." She yawns then pushes to her feet. "What time does our flight leave?"
"Eleven," I mumble burying my face in the pillow.
"Get up, baby. It’s time to take your girlfriend to Puerto Rico."
"Cancela los boletos. Déjame dormir unas horas más y yo reservaré un vuelo privado donde podemos unirnos al mile high club." (Cancel the tickets. Just let me sleep a few more hours and I’ll book us a private flight where we can join the mile high club.)
"I have no idea what you just said, but I understood ‘mile high club,’ so I penciled us in an extra twenty minutes in the shower so we don’t get arrested on the way." She drags her hand over my ass.