Chapter 35 – “Even Better Than The Real Thing” — U2
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
HENRY
The weekend passes in a flash of pleasure and comfort.
Kait climbs into my lap every chance she gets, a welcome anchor because I feel light enough to float away.
Aside from making ourselves decent enough for Jess to stop by on Saturday morning and grab her things, we’ve barely been more than three feet apart.
“Stay with me?” she said.
I whispered back, “Always,” with my lips against the top of her precious head so she couldn’t hear me. It’s too soon to declare undying love. First, we try, then maybe we trust, but…
My Kait is back. My Kait, the hilarious, ridiculous, and funny, silly, sweet, insane little love monkey with the sharp wit and the snarky tongue—did I mention hilarious?
—is back. With a vengeance. She has roared back into my life, fueled with orgasms, caffeine, and a delivery of chocolate.
The Kait who was giddy when we got to talk, the one who welcomes me into her life with open arms and says my name without hesitation, is here. With me.
I tickle her, and she squeals my name. I kiss her, and she sighs my name. I fuck her, and she moans my name. I am hers. She is mine. And at the risk of sounding like an idiot, we exceed all reasonable expectations.
We spend Sunday night at my place. I’m unwilling to be away from her, and we make the two-minute trek holding hands.
Our weekend comes to an abrupt end with the Monday morning sunrise. It’s crazy to think that on Friday morning, I went to the Other Bean to get coffee—let’s be honest here—to see Tiny.
“Babes?” I call when I come out of the master bath and she’s nowhere to be found. I have a moment of panic. It’s the first time we’ve been apart since I found her.
“I’m making breakfast,” she calls back.
Kait is radiant, glowing even. She’s in my kitchen, in my clothes, and I’ve never been so happy to be late for work.
The wrapper for the last tiny Snickers from my secret stash is on the counter, and she’s turned up my sound system to levels approaching deafening, and it’s only 7:00 a.m. She’s lip-syncing the dirtiest parts of “Lunch” by Billie Eilish with a spatula microphone while she fusses with some eggs on the stove.
I lean against the kitchen island and take it all in. I found her either seconds or a lifetime ago on Friday night, and I’m transformed in the most intense and magical ways. I can take a deep breath again. Smiling doesn’t feel like a lie my face tells anymore.
My life flashes before my eyes, but I’m not dying.
This is my life.
My future is dancing around my kitchen in my favorite sleep shorts, two sizes too big and held up only by a drawstring and a U2 shirt that dwarfs her frame.
I close my eyes and wish, again, for her life to be filled with happiness and joy.
I throw my whole heart into that wish. Then I close in on her, one hand on her shoulder and the other around her waist, and we sway together while I kiss the top of her head and murmur, “A chuisle mo chroí.”
“Are you going to leave me here to do the walk of shame all by myself? You should have to do it with me.”
“There is no such thing as a walk of shame, Kaitypoo.”
She gives me the stink eye, which makes me want to use the name more often. “Besides, you should be strutting around like a superhero, given the quantity and quality of the sexual favors you provided this weekend. You rock my world, babes. Zero shame in your game.”
She blushes and kisses my cheek.
“But, Kait, I need you to hurry up,” I say, checking my watch. “I have a date with a hot chick in half an hour, and I can’t miss it. It’s seven-fifteen. I have places to go, coffee to buy, so shake your adorable little tail feathers, and let’s go.”
She looks at me with horror until she processes what I said, and she smiles.
At 7:30, we’re ready to go, but instead of Kait walking, I carry her piggyback-style, with both of us laughing.
It’s all fun and games until someone—Kait—mentions chaps, and then I’m leaving her at the entrance to her building with a blistering kiss, a chubby, and a promise to meet her here at 7:45.
I put our order in, then return work emails standing outside the Bean, but Kait must change with the speed of a hummingbird on an iced double espresso.
She emerges from her building with completely different clothes.
Her hair is in a messy bun, sans paintbrushes, and she’s wearing a pair of paint-splattered Converse All Stars that look artsy, not messy, a hoodie emblazoned with The Other Bean and a coffee bean that looks oddly like Madonna, and a pair of colorful leggings.
She tugs on a colorful knit hat complete with pom-pom on top.
She’s so freaking adorable I want to pick her up and squish her. So I do, and we laugh as she wraps herself around me like a horny koala, kissing my cheek and giggling until I put her down.
“You look like my friend Tiny Giggle.” I confess that I let Julian do the name thing because it seemed to amuse her, and the evolution of her nicknames.
“That may be the sweetest, weirdest thing I’ve heard in a long time, Henry.” She’s radiant. There’s no pain, no sadness; she’s pure sunshine, and I can’t breathe from the blast of love that rolls over me. “I would never do such a strange thing, nor would I ogle some guy named Mr. Coffee.”
Oh. Oh.
She steps closer and gives me a fat smooch. It’s a good thing she’s got her hands wrapped around my neck. I’m lighter than air but filled with happiness instead of helium.
“Thank you for finding me, Henry.” She says it with a big smile, but her eyes say more, sweet and soft. “I’m so happy.”
I love her.
Those three little words don’t seem adequate for what Kait has me feeling. The words seem so insignificant and the feelings too big to be described by any language.
She pulls away and starts to head to the Bean, but I capture her hand in mine. I can’t wait a moment longer, and I need to do this first this time, maybe for a long time. “Kait,” I say, my voice steady, with no evidence of the sheer terror I feel. “I love you.”
I don’t wait for her to respond. It’s not about getting her to say it; it’s about her knowing what I feel. And I feel everything. We kiss until she’s out of breath and kiss some more until a gust of wind tries to steal her hat.
It’s 7:44 when we walk in the door and directly to the line of people waiting for their orders. I take a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I can, then repeat the exercise as Kaitlin looks at me with concern.
“Are you okay, Henry?” she asks.
“I’ve never been better in my entire life,” I respond, happy but nervous. “Best weekend ever.”
It’s less than a minute later when Duncan himself calls out our order, his Scottish brogue booming through the place. “Medium Americano, extra cream with four sugars, for Henry Benedict Alister Sterling, who is madly in love with Kaitlin Eóghann MacGregor.”
Duncan grins like he’s won the lottery. “Kaitlin is the artist responsible for all of the art here at the Other Bean. Lapsang souchong with sugar and cream for the lady with the proper Scottish name.” Duncan has embellished slightly, adding in the bit about the art, and looks quite pleased with himself as he hands over the cups with a bow.
Kait blinks. She looks at Duncan, looks at me, looks at Duncan, and when she looks back at me again, I lean in and give her a Westley and Buttercup kiss, trying to tell her everything I feel with my lips but dialed back because we’re in a public place.
I pull away, leaving her shocked and happy but in disbelief, as the audience of regulars, baristas, and jaded big-city strangers whistles and cheers.
“Henry, what, uh, what is this?”
“This is me making a spectacle of myself,” I say, as if it isn’t completely obvious already, with everyone staring at us.
“I want you and everyone else, even the busybodies here who think we’ve known each other for three days, to know that I’m madly in love with you.
I want to announce to the world that I adore you. ”
It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, telling Kait the truth. But it’s okay, because she’s glowing, radiating happiness. I take her hand and say it properly. “Kait, I really, really love you.”
She’s rather dazed as she makes her way to our table. The busybodies try hard to act like they aren’t listening to every word, despite cheering a minute ago and sneaking side glances at us. For them, we were strangers on Friday, so this must seem like an awful rush.
Oh well, let them wonder.
I’ll wait for Kait to tell me she loves me too. I won’t forget how I behaved the last time she said it. After that, I wouldn’t be inclined to say it either. No matter, I’m prepared to be as patient as she needs.
Still, a hint would be nice.
I look at the walls, decorated with art, but it’s different than the last time we were here.
Some art elves have clearly been at work.
The walls have been replenished and rearranged in our absence, now curated instead of looking like a jack-o’-lantern missing some of its teeth like it did late Friday night when we left.
The four paintings I bought have been replaced with new pieces.
I hope Duncan stashed them somewhere safe.
We sit side by side with our legs touching, trying to pretend the morning regulars aren’t staring at us like celebrities.
Kait grabs her usual table for us. She looks serious, her hand resting on my forearm, and once we’re both settled, she starts to speak. “Henry, I—”
Here we go. Please say it. Or something almost as good.
“I want to tell you—”
My phone starts to ring. Dammit. I check the screen since technically these are my work hours. Saoirse. I send her to voicemail.
“Sorry, you were starting to say something?”
“Well,” Kait says, hesitant in a way that is not her usual. “I want to tell you—”
The shrill ring of my phone interrupts. ShaSha pops up on the screen. I send her to voicemail. She calls again. Voicemail. I’m turning the power off when it rings again.