“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Pippa asks, sitting back and leaning her body against her sectional. Her legs are outstretched, her fuzzy socks with bright pink hearts resting against my thigh. We sit on her living room floor, Supermarket Stakeout playing in the background as we eat straight from an open pizza box between us.
“Do you really want to know my answer to that?” I take another bite of my own slice. I had to slip away for two hours when Pippa took her second nap of the day to finish some work at the gallery, but before I left, she requested I pick up pizza from a place named Crusty’s Pizza Parlor. When I asked why she wanted it from this specific place, she’d answered it was something her family used to do when someone was recovering from being sick. They’d order pizza when they were on the mend. It was her mom’s way of making sure the kids didn’t milk their sickness for all its worth and try to get extra sick days from school.
“Of course I want to know the answer. Did you want to be an astronaut, or were you dead set on selling other people’s art from a young age?”
I chew the pizza. Despite the cheesy—no pun intended—name for the pizza place, the pizza is actually phenomenal. It’s far greasier than I typically choose to eat, but I like indulging. I like breaking my own rules for her—even if it’s just in the form of opting for something not high in nutritional value for the night because pizza excited her, and I like to see her happy.
“My answer might be far more depressing than you like, shortcake,” I answer honestly. My childhood wasn’t terrible in the way that some others deal with. But it wasn’t happy. I didn’t know a parent’s love. And even though I got every material thing I could’ve ever wanted, I didn’t get the one thing I needed—for my parents to actually love and care about me.
“Tell me anyway?” She sets her pizza slice down and leans forward, hanging on to whatever I’m about to say.
“To be honest, I didn’t look to my future imagining a career. I just pictured myself away from my parents, doing something that would upset them because I felt like that was just a little slice of karma.”
“So you never had an outrageous childhood aspiration? Like becoming a marine biologist or a knight or something?”
I shake my head, running my palms along her shins. She changed into a pair of leggings, creating a thin barrier of fabric between us. “I was forced to be a tiny adult as a child. I didn’t have a childhood. I was dressed in tuxes by the time I was two and was scolded if I got something like paint or a splatter of ketchup on the expensive fabric. I was placed in art classes from the moment I could hold a pencil. My tutors didn’t believe in childhood play. I didn’t know what it was like to have adolescent dreams.”
A tiny line appears on her forehead as her face develops into a frown. “That’s so incredibly depressing.”
“If it wasn’t for my gran, I truly don’t think I would’ve known what love was at a young age.”
“Then tell me about her.”
My head falls against the cushions behind me. I don’t realize I’m doing it, but my thumbs work the muscles of her calves as I try to think of what to tell Pippa. Before I made friends in school, the only person I knew actually cared about me was my gran. She’s my everything, and I don’t know how to explain to someone who doesn’t know her how incredible of a human she is.
“You’d love her,” I toss out, imagining the trouble the two of them would cause. The things I find endearing about Pippa are the same qualities Gran has. “She’s incredibly sassy, always speaking her mind, even if no one asked.”
Pippa laughs. “I already love her.”
“I’ve always looked up to the way she doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’s unbothered by other people’s opinions of her, and it’s something I admire.”
“Is she your mom’s mom or father’s mom?”
“She’s my father’s mother, even though she isn’t proud to say it. As I’ve gotten older, she’s told me how her only regret in life is feeling like she didn’t do enough to prepare my dad for being a good father.”
Pippa nods. I like that she really listens to me. Her entire body is facing mine, and even though she looks at the ceiling instead of making eye contact, I know it’s just because she’s thinking deeply about what I’m saying.
“I’m sorry you didn’t know the love you deserved from a mother. But I’m glad your gran was there for you.”
“She’s pretty incredible. One time, she brought a stray cat into my parents’ brownstone and let it loose during one of their fancy parties because she thought it’d be hilarious.”
Pippa gasps. “No she didn’t.”
“She sure did.” The look of horror on the crowd’s faces will forever be ingrained in my mind. I think it was because I’d told Gran how my dad had yelled at me for breaking a dish an hour before the party. I was trying to make myself useful—trying to get the favor of my parents—and thought I could help set up. Instead, my little hands couldn’t hold all the plates I’d tried to grab, one of them tumbling to the ground and shattering all over the formal dining room’s floor.
“She let the cat loose in the house, pretending to have no idea how it got there. As the cat was wreaking havoc on the party, she’d told my parents she was taking me for the week, and then she let me stay with her for two weeks before I’d told her it was time I probably went home.”
“I’d love to meet her one day,” Pippa confesses, pulling her eyes from mine like she’s embarrassed by saying that.
I squeeze her leg, wanting to reassure her. “I’m terrified of the trouble the two of you could cause, but I’d love for you to meet her.”
All I want to do is kiss her. I don’t need anything else but to feel the press of her lips against mine. To feel the fireworks throughout my entire body as I taste her little moans and sighs as my tongue coaxes her lips open. I wouldn’t need to do anything else, knowing she must not feel good from being sick. I’ve been a good man today. I’ve shown far more restraint than I ever have in my life, but the restraint is running out.
There’s nothing more I want for myself than to claim Pippa’s lips again.
“Camden?”
I can’t focus on anything but her lips. They’re a beacon. A lighthouse in the dead of night, just begging me to head right to it. “I’m feeling much better,” she says, her voice breathy.
“Okay,” I answer, only half paying attention because I’m so lost in the primal need to kiss her. It’s like middle school all over again. I’d be satiated just by making out. I think just a peck might be my undoing. I want to feel her lips so badly.
“In fact, I think I feel one hundred percent again. I could go to work if I wanted to.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I really need you to kiss me.”
I pause for one second. For one second, I try to be a good guy and give her body the rest it deserves. I don’t want her to think I came over today to get anything from her. But that only lasts for a second before I’m pulling on her thighs, almost pulling her on top of the pizza box between us in the process of molding her body to mine.
She lets out the smallest of yelps, her hands finding the fabric of my shirt the moment I pull her within reach. I’d changed at the gallery, opting for a quarter-zip sweater and a pair of dark jeans.
Her thighs straddle one of mine as I pull her even closer to me, lining her face up with mine.
“I don’t want to get you sick, though,” she mutters, her eyes trained on my lips. Both our chests are heavy as we gulp in air, lost in the moment together.
“Does it look like I give a shit about being sick?”
“I’ll take care of you if you do get sick. Please just kiss me.”
“I didn’t come here to kiss you.”
“I’d be okay with it if you did,” she admits, leaning in even closer until our lips brush against one another, achingly close to fully closing the distance between us.
