The Word

I say it—'Stay'—but the word comes out wrong, not the keeping I rehearsed, not the sale, but something that sounds like a question, and Kamala's eyes go sharp. Abdul shifts in the long chair, and I feel her hand land flat on my chest, fingers pressing the cloth, and she says, 'Say it again, properly.' I open my mouth, and this time the word is 'Choose'—and I reach for her wrist, my thumb finding her pulse, and I pull her toward me across the table's edge, the ledger sliding aside. The act this chapter delivers: I kiss her with the table between us, my hand on her waist, and she kisses me back, her mouth opening under mine, and I feel her body soften against me as Abdul watches.