Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Blue
Iwake up smiling, the kind that starts somewhere behind my ribs and works its way up before I'm even conscious enough to question it.
For a few seconds, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, suspended in a soft, hazy space between dreaming and real life.
My heart beats too fast, already ahead of me, celebrating something my brain hasn't fully named yet.
Today is the day my future becomes solidified.
The word settles over me like a promise.
Red's side of the bed is empty, but I don't look for him. He told me he had to get to work early this morning and wouldn't be here when I woke up. And strangely enough, I don't have the anxiety I normally feel when he's gone.
The room still smells faintly like last night. Citrus soap, hours of sex, and more traces of Red flare around me. I stretch, slow and indulgent, pressing my toes into the mattress, letting myself feel grounded and floaty at the same time.
This is what happiness feels like. Effortless. Light. Like I've finally stepped into the version of my life that was always meant to be mine.
My phone sits on the nightstand, face down, and I smile, knowing deep down Red has texted.
He always does. The predictability of it makes me feel safe in a way I don't question, like it's proof that I matter without needing to be dramatic about it.
Unlike my normal behavior, I don't rush to flip the phone over.
Today is special. It's the day everything becomes real.
So I savor the anticipation, the quiet thrill of knowing something good is waiting for me.
When I finally pick it up, there it is.
Red: Morning, Bluebird.
Those two words with no punctuation or anything else are everything to me. My chest tightens as if he texted something monumental. I read it again, slower this time, my lips twitching then blooming into a huge smile. A rush of adrenaline hits me, and I curl on my side, staring at the screen.
It's ridiculous how much weight I can put into something so small, but I don't fight it. I let myself have this. I let myself believe this is real, that it's not fragile, that it won't disappear if I hold it too tightly.
I type back without overthinking it.
Me: Good morning, my sexy man.
I pull the sheets down, expose my breasts, put my hand on my pussy, then snap a selfie. I hit send, and a minute passes.
Red: I just got hard.
My pulse ticks higher, and a shot of endorphins kicks in. An urge I've contained for months morphs, and I can't help myself.
Me: Are you at your desk?
Red: Yes.
Me: Would you be mad if I crawled under it again? During one of your sessions, of course.
Dots appear then reappear.
Red: That would be inappropriate.
Me: You didn't say no.
More dots, then nothing.
Another idea takes shape, and my butterflies kick in so much that I have to take short breaths.
Me: What if I sneak in and you have an office meeting with Amy?
Red: What?
Me: How hard are you right now?
Four minutes pass.
Me: You could give her a performance review. Before I go under your desk, you could put the vibrator egg inside me. You know, the one with the remote? Then you can restrain my hands behind my back with the handcuffs. I could be at your total mercy and take my time with you.
Another short pause occurs.
Red: Jesus, Bluebird.
Me: It's okay to say you want it.
He hesitates again.
Red: You've done a great job keeping the boundaries in my office.
Me: That's for therapy. This is for pleasure.
My grin widens, and tingles race down my spine.
He wants it.
When the time is right, I'm going to make it happen.
Before he can respond, I change the subject.
Me: I have to get ready for work.
Red: Dinner tonight?
Me: I can't. I'm having dinner with my parents tonight.
I should tell him I'm going to tell them I'm in love with him.
Tonight is a milestone, important in a way that makes my hands shake just a little.
But I don't tell him. Red will freak, but I'm going to handle my parents.
Aunt Kora said to give her 24 hours, and I know she'll calm Mom down, and then Dad will come to grips with it. So this isn't a risk; it's a formality.
Red: Have fun. Call me after. Or better yet, sneak into my house and slide into my bed naked.
I smile so hard, it borders on painful.
Me: Figure out when Amy's performance review is, and I will.
I toss my phone onto the bed, jump off, head into the bathroom, and get ready. The entire time, I picture dinner, then stepping outside afterward, the cool night air against my skin, my voice bright as I tell Red how we have no more worries.
I move like gravity has loosened its grip on me.
I shower faster than usual, barely noticing the heat of the water or the slick tile beneath my feet because my mind is already racing ahead.
I practice the conversation without realizing I'm doing it, rehearsing tone more than words to keep it casual, confident, and mature.
While I'm brushing my teeth, I catch my reflection and pause. My skin appears luminous. I look like someone who's already been validated and who's confident that only good things will happen to her. It takes me by surprise, but also gives me more assurance. Tonight is going to be perfect.
As I get dressed, I'm deliberate in a way that feels ceremonial.
I want to look like myself, like the version of me who deserves this happiness.
I imagine my mom noticing immediately, commenting on how good I look, how rested, how happy.
I imagine her connecting the dots before I even have to spell them out.
I tell myself I'll wait until we're seated, and the second round of drinks has arrived. I won't blurt it out. I'll let the moment breathe.
I'm seeing someone, I'll say, like it's no big deal, and this is simply an update, not a revelation. Mom will ask questions like she always does, but she'll be smiling, curious, already warming to the idea. She'll hear it in my voice. She'll know this isn't impulsive, and my love is real.
Dad will be more reserved. He's always protective to the point of severity, convinced that concern and control are the same.
Red will win him over.
He's competent, grounded, and impossible to dismiss once you actually see him. I imagine my dad testing him, pushing a little, then retreating when he realizes this isn't someone to intimidate or scare off.
They'll become friends.
This is what adulthood looks like.
It's not asking for permission or shrinking yourself to make other people comfortable. It's me trusting that my parents love me enough to want me happy, not just safe. And I get to choose my future without apologizing for it.
By the time I leave the apartment, my heart feels almost weightless. All I can imagine is the future. Someday in the near future, we'll laugh and share about how dramatic I was for worrying. Red and I will reminisce about dinner and how we hid longer than necessary.
Remember when you thought they wouldn't accept us?
I walk into the day convinced I'm heading toward confirmation, not confrontation. So sure that everything will be fine that the possibility of anything else doesn't even register.
All day, I throw myself into my tasks. When the workday is over, I realize I never took a break. I rush home, switch into a purple cocktail dress, and arrive at the restaurant.
Alinea doesn't look like a restaurant. It's more of a secret you're lucky enough to be invited into, and the kind of place where important conversations happen, and outcomes feel inevitable. Nothing is accidental, and everything is curated to make you feel like you're part of something elevated.
From the outside, it's understated with clean lines, warm lighting, and nothing flashy.
But the moment I step inside, I feel the intention settle over me.
I smooth my hands down the fabric of my dress, suddenly aware of my heartbeat again, but it's not nerves.
It's an anticipation full of excitement and the electric certainty that I'm about to step into a version of my life that finally makes sense.
The host greets me by name and leads me through the dining room. Soft music hums beneath the low murmur of conversation. The space is dim but glowing, tables spaced generously apart, each one its own quiet world.
I spot my parents. Mom sits upright, elegant as always, hands folded neatly near her place setting. Dad leans back slightly, surveying the room like he's assessing it for flaws or enemies, but he's more relaxed than normal.
My chest warms.
This is already perfect.
Mom looks up first, and when she sees me, she beams. Dad follows a beat later, his expression neutral to the rest of the world but warm for only those who know him. He stands when I reach the table, leans in to kiss my cheek, and I take it as another good sign.
"Blue," Mom says, eyes flicking over me quickly. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you," I say, sliding into my chair, buzzing with energy I'm barely containing. "This place is always so incredible."
Dad nods. "They do interesting things here. Not just dinner but an entire experience."
Exactly. An experience.
A milestone.
The server arrives, greets my parents by name, and explains the tasting menu options with the kind of reverence usually reserved for fine art. There's talk of multicourse progressions, seasonal ingredients flown in from specific regions, and techniques I don't fully understand but pretend I do.
Dad asks a few pointed questions.
Mom listens, intrigued.
I smile through all of it, my foot tapping lightly beneath the table.
Dad orders expensive French wine. When the first pour arrives, I take a small sip and let it linger, grounding myself in the moment.
This is it.
Conversation flows easily as we discuss my siblings, future family events, and the excitement around my dress in the upcoming fashion show.