Page 68 - In Five Years

He keeps unbuttoning. He takes his time, threading the silk knobs through
their eye slits until the whole thing comes undone at the waist. I shimmy my
shoulders until it’s off and falls to the floor.
David puts one hand on my stomach, and with the other he threads a thumb

into the seam of my skirt. He holds me in place as he unzips it. This is less of a
slow burn. It comes off in one swoop, falling into a puddle at my feet. I stand up

and step out of it. My bra and underwear don’t match. They’re both Natori,
although the bra is nude cotton and the underwear is black silk. I dispense with
both and then push him down onto the bed. I lean forward over him, my breast
grazing the side of his face. He reaches out and bites it.

“Ow!” I say.
“Ow?” He puts both hands on my back and runs them down slowly. “That

hurt?”
“Yes. Since when are you a biter?”
“Since never,” he says. “Sorry.”

He reaches out and kisses me. It’s a slow and deep kiss, meant to recenter us.
It works.
David is working on his shirt—his hands on the buttons. I put mine over his

and stop him.
“What?” he asks. He’s out of breath, his chest straining.
I don’t say anything. When he tries to stand, I put my hands on his shoulders

and nudge him back down.
“Dannie?” He whispers.
I answer by guiding his hand to my stomach and then down, down until I feel

that concave spot that makes me inhale. I hold his hand there. He looks at me—
first confusion, then recognition dawning as I press his hand back and then
forward, back and then forward. I take my hand away from his and grab on to his

shoulders. He’s breathing along with me—and I close my eyes against the
rhythm, his hand, the incoming collapse that is mine, and mine alone.

Afterward, we lie in bed together. We’re both on our phones, looking up venues.
“Should we tell people?” David asks.

I pause, but what I say is: “Of course. We’re getting married.”