Page 68 of The Significance of Moving On

“So what? You’re going to fund me forever? When I can’t make more than minimum wage or pay for college. It’s not enough that I live here rent free and you’ve been paying my bills since I moved in.”

“What? Your cell phone, gas in your car? It’s not like you’re a kept woman. You graduate in a couple of months. There are finals and all that to think about. Then you will start college in the fall. Somehow, we’ll make that happen, too. It just doesn’t make sense to try for a job now. But if you really want to, go for it. You’ll be great at whatever. All I’m saying is I’m good to take care of you—of us—even if it’s just until you find a job.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Sweetheart, you aren’t a burden. It’s money, what else would I do with it? Go on a trip? Not without you. Go out to eat? We do that anyway. What’s mine is yours.”

When she doesn’t say anything for a long moment, I wrap my arms around to hug her. “It’s a shock, but not the end of the world. We’ll deal with it, we’ll move on.”

Her blinking stare kind of starts freaking me out.

“I’ve never done anything to deserve you,” she whispers and my heart practically leaps out of my chest.

In my arms, right where she belongs, in the space of that heart leap we press our foreheads together and she brings her lips up to scorch mine with the heat of a kiss that by all accounts shouldn’t be as scorching as it is. Being slow and deliberately tender, those are the worst kind with Tal, because of the emotion attached to them.

Never in my life did I think I’d have the capacity to feel this deeply for another person, let alone own up to it. Not that I wouldn’t have denied it, denied us probably until my dying breath if she hadn’t forced my hand. They don’t exactly write this shit down in like,The Guy’s Handbook for Life, or anything. But here we are, and I’m damn glad to be here.

I pick her up and set her on her feet, then holding hands, we move into the kitchen to start dinner now that she’s calmed.

“A letter came for you today, too,” she says to me and gestures with her head to the table.

Okay, the return address I recognize but why would they be writing? When she drops my hand to walk over to the fridge, I rip open the envelope. It’s one of those soft, textured kinds in a soothing ecru—and how the hell I can discern ecru is beyond me, life with a woman, I guess. It makes me think invitation. There’s this sort of curious excitement on Tally’s face which prompts me to open it faster even more than my own curiosity.

What has she done to me?I laugh at myself and slip the card from the paper. And I was right, it’s an invitation to my foster dad’s—the only one I try to remember—fiftieth birthday. He wants all his foster kids to celebrate with him, as he says in his chicken scratch along the bottom. And God, D, what have you been telling these people? They insist I bring Tal with me.

Your GirlYour GirlYour Girl. That’s what he calls her, my girl. She is, absolutely is and I never thought about how important this moment would be because I never planned on it happening. Yet now that it is... as this swell of pride crashes against my insides, I can’t wait to bring this girl, my girl, home to meet the only “parents” who I’ve ever given a damn about, because they’re the only ones to ever give a damn about me.

“What is it?” she asks, tearing me away from the chaos in my mind, a welcome distraction at that.

“You get to meet my parents.”

“Will Daniel be there?” she asks.

Valid question. “He’s wind. Neither D or I have been able to hunt him down. So no, I don’t think he’ll show his cowardly face.”

We’ll be lucky to get dinner on the stove after that. The way her eyes glisten and her lips attack mine, her small fingers hook around my neck like a vice grip drawing us closer, deeper into this blistering kiss, one would think she’s heard, “you’ve just won the mega millions jackpot.” Instead of a party at my foster parents’ house.

“I forgot to ask,” she says this between heavy breaths. “When is it?”

This girl—woman—is slowly killing me. Just by panting those decadent little pants as she stares completely through me with those hooded brown eyes, pinning me with this look I’d bet every penny left in my savings account she doesn’t even know she’s throwing.

It takes every bit of self-control, and make no mistake, I have to dig deep to find it, but I manage to put some distance between us by stepping back and dragging my fingers through my hair before I’m finally ready to look her in those resolve-melting eyes again. And then I answer. “Two weeks.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

There’s hardly a place to park, cars vomit out of the driveway spilling up and down both curbs. We finally find a spot near the end of the street, and I jump out first, running around to Tally’s door.

This is it.

I’m being completely stupid about all this given the amount of time Luke and I actually spent in this house, but aside from my own place, this is the only house to ever feel like home. Suspicion dictates that it’s more likely the people I’ve shared these spaces with rather than the dwellings themselves.

Our fingers fit together, loosely linked as we walk up the sidewalk toward the party. God, Tal is beautiful on the worst of days, but today she’s positively glowing, beaming, beauty 2.0 constantly teasing me with the outfits she puts together. Today she teases in this delicate buttery yellow party sundress showing off her gorgeous legs making them look a mile long and a respectable amount of cleavage.

Even partially hidden underneath the sweet white cardigan, it’s that damn top of the dress, what do they call it, a bodice I think she said. Well it squeezes her perfect breasts the way I only ever get to dream about. This is a first and a new low for me, living my life vicariously through women’s partywear. As we’re only into the first week of March, I tried to get her to wear something more weather appropriate. The sun’s shining, but it’s not summer. It didn’t matter because she wouldn’t be swayed. And once Tally makes up her mind, it’s made.

There’s much more than her outer beauty, too—strong, passionate, loyal, smart—if I didn’t tell her before, I have to tell her now, “I’m proud for them to meet you, Tal.”

Her already beaming smile blinds me, spreading from ear to ear and she squeezes my hand even tighter.

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