Page 34 of We Are Okay

Wet lips.

Soft tongue.

Her legs wrapped around my waist and we kissed harder. Soon we were lying in the sand, her salt-thick, tangled hair through my fingers.

She unzipped my parka. Her cold hands found their way under my sweater as she kissed my neck.

“What would Sister Josephine say?” I whispered.

I felt her smile against my collarbone.

It took her a couple tries to get my bra unclasped with one hand, but when she did, the cold air against my skin was nothing compared to the warmth of her breath. I unbuttoned her sweater, pushed her bra over her breasts without unfastening it. I had never felt so ravenous. It’s not like my experience was vast. It’s not like I was used to being touched this way. But even if I had already been kissed by dozens of mouths, I would have known this was different.

I loved her already.

With our jeans unfastened, Mabel’s fingers grazing the elastic of my underwear, she said, “If we regret this tomorrow, we can blame it on the whiskey.”

But the sky was fading from black to gray; it was already tomorrow. And I didn’t regret anything.

We opened our eyes to the morning fog, a flock of sanderlings darting across the sky. Mabel’s hand was in mine and I was looking at her fingers, smaller than mine and a few shades darker, and I wanted them under my clothes again but didn’t dare say it.

Without the darkness we felt exposed, and the early-morning commuters were already heading to work. The overnight shifters were finally off. We had to wait at every crosswalk.

“What are they all thinking of us?” I asked.

“Well, we’re clearly not homeless. Your jacket’s too nice.”

“And we did not just roll out of bed.”

“Right,” she said. “Because we are covered in sand.”

The light changed and we crossed the Great Highway.

“Maybe they think we’re beach creatures,” I said.

“Mermaids?”

“We’re missing the tails.”

“Maybe they think we’re scavengers, up early to comb the sand.”

“Yes,” I said. “Like you probably have a few gold watches in your pockets, and I have some wedding bands and rolls of cash.”

“Perfect.”

I was aware of how our voices were a little higher pitched than usual, our words rushed. I was aware of how we hadn’t looked into each other’s faces since we stood up and dusted the sand off our clothes. Of the sand that still clung to my skin and the scent of Mabel everywhere.

Gramps spotted us before I saw him. He was waving at us from across the street with one arm, pulling the garbage bin out to the curb with the other.

“Hello, girls!” he shouted, as though it were a pleasant surprise to see us out this early.

We didn’t know what to say as we walked toward him.

“Morning, Gramps,” I finally mustered, but by then his expression had changed.

“My whiskey.”

I followed his gaze. I hadn’t even realized Mabel was carrying it like that, by its neck, totally exposed.