Valentine’s Day came early this year.
And it never left.
I tried showing Cupid the door,
but Hannah wouldn’t leave.
And I started wanting her to stay.
We devised an evening
to get this attraction out of our system.
Our lust burned our lover’s trust.
We promised it’d happen once,
and no one would know.
I trailed behind the promise I made
The degree to which I couldn’t carry
the weight of passion slipped between
my fingers like the sand beneath
the towel we’d slept on.
Hannah told me she left him for me
and we met at the dock
to admit our secret.
“You go first,” she said.
I told her, ladies, first.
We spoke over each other.
We were single.
Embarrassed to admit we were single at 44,
we painted an elaborate portrait of families.
We held a gaze until Hannah doubled over, cackling to tears.
“We’ve known each other for five months,” Hannah said, “and didn’t slip up.”
“What’s wrong?” I said of the twinkle in her eyes.
“We didn’t have…” Hannah choked up and cleared her throat.
“Didn’t have?” I motioned. “What?”
“We didn’t have a family, but—”
“But we will?” I squeezed her.
“We’re going to be a family,” Hannah said.
I brushed the tears from her eyes.
“You live three blocks from me.”
Hannah arched a brow, twisting her head toward mine. “How’d you know?”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I did some checking.”
“The blue house,” Hannah said.
I narrowed my eyes.
“I did some checking,” Hannah said, lying her head on my chest.
“Your first hello drew me in,” I said before I knew whether I wanted to admit it. “And your first embrace craved my guarded walls to smooth stones, skipping across a lake of my tears of loneliness.”
“I love you so much,” Hannah said as tears spread across her cheeks.