Chapter Twenty-three
“I hate Sundays.” Meg let her head fall gently against Sasha’s bare back, groaning a little in her dismay.
Sasha turned in her arms, touching Meg’s face as she kissed her cheeks and her eyelids, her lips brushing her face as she nestled her body closer.
“No, you don’t. In fact”—she found Meg’s lips—“you love them.” She gave her attention to Meg’s freckled chest. “Because we’re about to do this. Again.” Her expression was as coy as ever. “And at ten thirty we’re going to meet the girls at Lucy’s like we do every Sunday.” She dropped a kiss on Meg’s collarbone. “When we come back, we’re going to veg all day, curl up on the couch, read the Times, work on the puzzle.” She licked her lips almost laughing as she continued, “Then you’ll find a ridiculously cheesy movie.”
“Which you will pretend to hate, but secretly be infatuated with, even though you will make fun of it the whole time.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Sasha cooed.
“Mm-hmm.” Meg played along. “Sure, sure. Cut to three hours later when you can’t stop talking about how cute the old couple was or the puppy or the kid sister or something else completely secondary, so I’ll know you were totally invested. Newspaper prop or not.”
“Shut up.” Sash punctuated her words with a series of light finger pokes to Meg’s biceps. “I do not do that.”
“You completely do.” Meg caught her index finger and brought it to her lips. “It’s adorable.”
Sasha smiled. “You are making my point.”
“Which was what again?”
“You love our lazy Sundays.”
“I do.” Meg kissed Sasha’s forehead. “I could use some coffee right now,” she said, glancing over at the clock.
“We could shower and head to Lucy’s a little early. Lexi beats us there every week. She could be there now for all we know,” she said through a laugh. “Hey.” Sasha pushed Meg’s hair off her forehead gently. “Any chance we’ll see Sam today at the coffee shop?”
Meg scrunched up her nose, all but saying no even though she wasn’t a hundred percent certain. “She and Lucy are still on eggshells, I think.”
“Did you ever find out what exactly happened?”
“I didn’t really ask.” Meg drifted her fingertips along the tops of Sasha’s soft shoulders. “Lexi didn’t say, and I didn’t want to push it. But obviously it’s pretty serious.”
“Serious enough to break up over? For good?” Her voice was full of genuine concern as she stroked Meg’s belly. “I thought they were talking things out,” she said with unmistakable hope. “That’s what Lexi said the other day.”
“They are. But it’s still dicey.”
“Meaning what?”
“I don’t know.” Meg’s answer was starkly honest. “I want to believe they’ll work it out. Babe.” She tipped Sasha’s chin up with her thumb. “You don’t even know what Sam was like before. She was the player.” Meg shook her head. “Seeing her with Lucy, witnessing her transformation, I mean, girls check her out all the time. Still. At the socials, even at the coffee shop, they just approach her and, like, throw themselves at her. The old Sam would have been all over it.” Meg frowned. “I’m telling you she hasn’t given a single second glance to anyone. She is completely in love with Lucy. That’s all I know.”
“Well that’s something.”
“The thing is, I get the gist that it’s Lucy who’s the holdout. I mean, Lexi basically told me as much.”
“And Sam just bought the house. She had to have plans on being with Lucy in it. Even if it was down the line.” She pouted. “It makes me sad.”
“Don’t write them off. It could still work. Look at us.”
Sasha looked right at her and her eyes held an emotion Meg couldn’t quite identify. “You’re right,” she said with a nod. “But I lost you for a whole year almost. I missed you so much. Every single day.” She punctuated each word with a tiny kiss. “I’m never letting you go again.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Sasha spread her legs wide enough to straddle Meg. She leaned forward for a kiss but Meg stopped her.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Sasha whispered, her tone holding the mood.
“That’s not what I mean.” Meg put her hand on Sasha’s face. “I want you to stay.” She saw Sasha’s brow furrow and knew she needed to explain. “Sash, you’re right. I love Sundays with you. But lately,” she admitted, swallowing her feelings, “they stress me out.” She rubbed the top of Sasha’s thighs. “It’s because of this. We spend all this time together on the weekends and it’s perfect. But then, eventually, Sunday night rolls around and you go back to Manhattan and I have to wait three days to see you again.” She saw the edges of Sasha’s lips curl upward. “I know sometimes it’s only two,” Meg said. “Still. Too many.”
Sasha looked like she was about to say something but Meg didn’t give her the chance.
“I want to spend every night with you. I want to come home from work and see your gorgeous face when I tell you about my day. I want to hear the crazy things your students did, listen to you make lesson plans, talk to you about your grad classes. I know we do that now over the phone, but it’s not the same.” Her hands drifted up to Sasha’s hips, holding her in place as she continued. “I want to come up behind you when we’re cooking dinner, sit next to you every night when we eat. Hug you and kiss you and see your beautiful eyes when you get all animated over Little Dorritt.”
“It really is Dickens’s most underappreciated work.”
“See.” With one finger Meg made a small circle an inch from Sasha’s face, finishing it with a tiny touch to the tip of her nose. “I need to see this face. All the time.”
Spencer leapt onto the bed interrupting Meg’s moment, but she went with it. “See, even Spencer agrees.” She reached over and let the cat’s body brush against her hand. “You’re right,” she said, bringing Sasha’s face to her own. “No more lost time.” Meg leaned forward and kissed her. “Stay.” She tucked a lock of Sasha’s hair behind her ear. “For good.” She shrugged a little. “Just stay.”
Sasha’s face was full of emotion and Meg knew she was going to say yes.
“I love you so much, Meg.” Sasha looked over at Spencer. “You too, Spencer Carlin,” she added before giving her attention back to Meg. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I want to stay. Every time I leave here, I’m sad.” She kissed Meg. “No more.” She glanced around the bedroom. “Truthfully, Meg, I would live anywhere with you. My apartment, here, somewhere we don’t even know yet. But this”—she swallowed, clearly absorbing the weight of their conversation—“this place feels like home. It’s where I always picture our life together.” She bent down and kissed Meg over and over. “Can we swing by my apartment later?” she asked. “I just want to grab a few things to bring back. My lease is up in December, but I don’t want to wait another minute.” Her mouth hitched up to the side, a gorgeous smile emerging.
Meg responded with a sweet kiss that turned passionate almost immediately. She repositioned them, rolling over on top of Sasha so their bodies touched everywhere, the moment sexy and tender at the same time. Meg felt her entire life click into place. For all the time she had spent looking for the one, the perfect match, pursuing women she knew were wrong for her, trying like hell to make the right ones work out, here, true love had snuck up on her when she’d least expected it. It was cliché and corny and so unbelievably true.
She let her mind drift back over the last few years and acknowledged a truth she knew to her very core. In her mind, there wasn’t a moment that passed when Sasha wasn’t the first person she thought of when she had news to share. Whether it was mourning, celebration, or complete nonsense, it was Sasha every time. She didn’t need to ask—she knew Sasha felt the same. The days and years ahead wouldn’t always be this easy and carefree, she knew that. Life wasn’t simple like that, nor should it be. Meg knew the future would be characterized by ups and downs, ebbs and flows, years filled with joy and hardship and sorrow and bliss. And Sasha. Forever, Sasha.