This Is Us
How to Devour a Lover
You looked at me with hunger in your eyes, and I believed it.
Do you remember how unbearably hot it was when we finally met in person? The temperature must’ve reached 104 degrees before it hit noon. You installed a rusty old air conditioner you borrowed from your sister so we could comfortably take turns being the little spoon? I remember you nearly dropped it out the window of your brownstone, and I chuckled at your clumsiness. I hate that, when I think about it, I still find it endearing.
Do you remember waking up one morning with your hands stuck to the insides of my dewy, sun-kissed thighs? ’Cause even with the old cooling box working overtime, we still woke up in a puddle of our sweat. But we lay there, blissfully damp, as I stared up at your white tin ceiling. Your salt-and-pepper head resting on my bare chest. You listened to my heartbeat and told me about that time, in high school, when you caught a glimpse of your mother kissing another man at your family beach house. And that other time, in college, when your best friend tragically took her own life, and how you’ve never been quite the same since. And how you struggle with ADHD, you’re just a “shitty rich kid,” ashamed that your passport displays the name “Junior,” but goddamn, at least Daddy’s credit card gave you friends growing up. Do…
