Sophie, Part 3

When I finally awoke from my dream of a night, it was warmly, in Bill’s bed, the smell of him and us surrounding me as his arm tucked tightly around my abdomen, snugly beneath my bare breasts, his breath hot as he exhaled against the back of my ear. As I tilted toward him to steal a glance, if only to assure myself this was real, he was ready to plant a kiss on my turning cheek.

“Good morning,” he said hoarsely before clearing his throat, the first words of the day always the harshest, and still lovely from his lips. The bare skin of his arm felt tantalizing where it still hugged my chest, even after everything we had done beyond. “We’ve got a lot to do today. Do you want breakfast?”

“What’s on the menu?” I feigned as my back pressed totally against him, drawing him into an even tighter hold than he already had me in. It was a dream I was afraid to wake up from, afraid to jinx with any movement outside of this magical bed, and he seemed in no hurry either.

“You, if I’m lucky,” he teased, and my cheeks flushed. Even after baring our bodies and souls to one another, I felt shy beneath his gaze, newly virginal now that I truly understood all the things I had to look forward to. He kissed my bare shoulder, and a tingle flowed from his lips to my toes, winding me up in ways I didn’t realize I could be. I was foolish to think I would be sated with the initial crossing of that ethereal bridge—yet, I had been, truly and completely, and now still, I felt overwhelmed with the burning ache that remained within me.

I couldn’t bear to look at him, and instead rested my cheek against his pillow, watching the windowed wall like it had surely watched us, and in it, I could see the reflections of our night before, and I shivered.

Bill pulled the blankets to my neck before wrapping me in his arms again, and there we lay, silently, agonizingly, with our bodies touching in the sweetest ways, and his breath tantalizing against the back of my neck where he’d nestled again into my hair.

I could feel his heartbeat against my back, heavy but slow, and I wondered how he managed himself so readily.

“How do you feel today?” He eventually asked my neck casually, as if I hadn’t been ready to cancel everything just the night before. My cheeks burned again, and as my body stiffened, his grip on me loosened, and he instead began stroking my side, carefully and respectfully, avoiding the curves that so ached for his touch.

I’d hoped he would save me from the silence, swoop in and excuse his own question so I didn’t have to face it, but he couldn’t rescue me from this one, far more important and severe than it had sounded from his lips. I hoped, too, that his hands would take over for his mind, falling into an exploration they couldn’t resist, relieving us both. But they didn’t.

“Insatiable,” I finally responded, moving to lie on my back to force both of our hands, making me face him and making him face me at once.

I swallowed when I found his eyes, but his gaze had drifted with my turn, and I felt flattered anew. Instead, his eyes traced my length, something that was beginning to feel necessary for my heart to beat. I loved him for it.

When he finally settled, it was against my shoulder, his lips soft, but no less tempting, as they teased my throat.

“Tell me what we’re going to do,” he insisted with similar tone, though his tender kisses attempted to distract me from the severity of my choices. For a moment, I simply closed my eyes, and I tried to quiet my mind to focus on his task. What were we going to do?

“Go home,” I started, though the word felt foreign as it left my tongue, and a hesitation in Bill’s affections betrayed how it must have felt to him too. “Get married,” I continued, and his lips lingered, heavy with each kiss as he trailed up my neck. “Move in,” I whispered next, the thought tantalizing, and he hummed against my ear. “Come back to this,” I hoped, and he rose to hover above me, his smile as sure as his gaze as he nodded his head.

“Absolutely, come back to this.” He kissed my lips with his assurance, and I agonized when he broke from me, he more eager to begin our lofty day than I.

“How do you want to do it?” He asked next as he dug in his dresser for clean clothes, his eyes wary and watchful as they peeked back at me, already worried about me.

“Which part?”

When he didn’t immediately answer, I rose to a sit, hugging the sheets against my chest as I again grew insecure. My heart thudded, and I began to chew my cheek as I realized how tough that first task would truly be.

“If I cook, will you eat?” He eventually asked instead, and I shook my head before I realized my answer.

“I just want to get it done,” I decided, and my eyes scanned the floor to find my rashly discarded clothes, but they weren’t there. Instead, I relinquished the sheets to straighten my fallen hosiery. Bill drew a sharp breath, and it was only as I returned my gaze to him that I realized his view, my cheeks flushing with my urge to cover myself again. Instead, I returned my attention to my legs, pretending I didn’t see or feel his eyes as I straightened the other.

When I finished, I still couldn’t face him, but rose nonetheless to close the distance between us. He was frozen in the doorway, boxers donned, with an undershirt gripped tightly in his fist, and as I forced my eyes to meet his before I leaned up for a kiss, his arms quickly mobilized to encircle me, and I was weightless in them.

“Is that okay?” I asked once our lips parted, but Bill’s eyes were lost from me, and he came in for another, lingering peck. I adored him and how he loved me.

“Bill,” I attempted again, but this time his head shook as he returned, and he took the opportunity to squeeze me tighter against him.

“Hm?” He finally managed, but I only released the breath I was holding in response, and he didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you going to wear?”

“What do you want me to wear?”

“Something nice,” I decided, though the necessity was beyond us. “They’ll only meet you the once.”

My words rattled from my chest, even before they hurt my ears and my feelings, but Bill didn’t react except to nod.

“Why don’t we shower?” He coaxed, and I nodded, despite my now unnecessary effort to neaten my hosiery. Instead, it came right off, discarded in his bedroom floor like I hadn’t taken such care of them to now. He didn’t seem to judge the action or mind, though, reversing his own efforts to get dressed to remain in solidarity with me. And once we were bared again, he led me to the bathroom, as if he were too afraid to let me go.

“I don’t have anything here,” I chastised, my short-sightedness biting me as I considered the soap and shampoo I wanted to use, abandoned in the bathroom at home.

“You do,” Bill argued, and I said nothing, though I knew I didn’t.

Until, on the way to the bathroom, my love paused at the small linen closet in the hall. From out of it, he pulled all the products I loved the best and used the most. Tears welled in my eyes at his planning, at his care, at his consideration, and though the day before us seemed large and unwieldy, Bill stood steadfast by my side, and I knew that would be more than enough to get me through it.


When my father answered the door, he was already dressed for the occasion. His tie was terribly wrinkled from how many times he’d restarted it, and still, it was half-done, and incorrectly, betraying how infrequently he’d needed to wear one before now. The sight of him—interrupted mid-process—knotted my stomach.

“Daddy,” I started, but I had no idea what came next. My heart ached at the truth of my being there, of the hurt I was about to inflict on my father, but I knew it was the only choice I had. I felt emboldened by Bill’s presence, held sturdy despite my insecurity, and I tried to lean into that as my emotions threatened to overcome me.

“This is Bill Cohen,” I decided, my eyes guiding my father to my partner, and though Daddy’s gaze lingered on me in my suit, he eventually turned to Bill.

“Good to meet you, Bill Cohen,” he mumbled gruffly as he extended his hand before clearing his throat, and already my eyes were welled at his hurt without me having to say a word. “Our Sophie has nothing but good to say about you. She certainly loves you.”

Bill maintained their handshake, moving his second hand to clasp around their hold. “She loves you too.”

My breath caught in my chest as their contact broke, and as much as I wanted to throw my arms around my father, to apologize and beg him to come, I steeled myself where I stood. Daddy’s eyes were sad despite his smile, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with us either.

“I think your momma’s in your room, Soph. Maybe give her a wide berth.” He looked nervous as he debated whether to invite us in, as if this weren’t my home, as if my things weren’t inside. Eventually, though, he stepped aside to give us the choice, and I took it.

“I need to tell her to her face,” I managed, trying not to choke on the emotions I was working to swallow. “I know how she’ll be, Daddy, and I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to.”

I looked to Bill, desperate to facilitate a relationship between he and my father, to watch them bond and chat and share a smoke on our tired couch, but there wasn’t time for that now, and wouldn’t be again. Instead, I tried to silently reassure him, his concerned eyes focused on me, in hopes that he’d let me handle this on my own.

It was all I could do to leave the men alone as I retreated through the house and toward my room, and as I grew nearer, I heard my things clattering as they banged off the walls and floor. I sucked in a breath before I rounded the doorway, and through it stood my mother, eyes wild as they found mine.

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve, girl,” she growled as I surveyed the room, an absolute mess, most of what was mine strewn broken across the floor. I chewed my cheek as I tried to stay strong in my stance, to not weaken in effort to appease her and put an end to her tantrum. Finally, my eyes found my packed suitcases, still safely tucked beneath the head of my bed, obscured enough by the mess my mother had made to have been overlooked.

“Where the hell have you been?” She demanded, and she glared annoyedly at her feet as to not trip on her mess while she closed the distance to me. I stayed straight-backed in the doorway despite her approach, and when her eyes finally returned to me, her feet once again on flat ground, she looked disgusted. “Good Lord, Sophie, how much weight have you put on since we got that fitted?”

The left side of my face flinched with her attack, but the right remained steady, and I focused on the half-win over the half-falter. Her words, like acid spewing from the hiss of her lips, burned as they landed on me, but I wouldn’t let them dissolve me anymore.

“We’re getting married on our own. I don’t want you to come.”

My mother scoffed, a dry laugh on her lips as her eyes widened with my nerve. “You really are on something this morning, girl. But the difference between you and me is that I’m grown. I don’t have to take direction from a child. A petulant child, at that.”

She grabbed at my arm, but I pulled from her grasp, moving instead toward my bed. “It’s not a direction,” I clarified as I pulled out my nightstand to better reach my suitcases. As I lugged them out, my mother looked incensed, and though she moved to cut me off from the door, I didn’t feel restrained. “It’s fact. You aren’t welcome.”

“You’re really gonna do this to Daddy?” she attempted, but I wouldn’t be swayed anymore.

“Momma,” I tried one, final, desperate time. “Is this really how you want things?”

My mother maintained intense eye contact with me as she considered her next words. I tried to keep my head up, my confidence sure, but she was a towering force, even at my same height.

“You have not once in your entire, ungrateful life cared what I want.”

The slap that punctuated her sentiment rang out in my ear and caused my vision to blur.

It took all I had not to drop my bags to cradle my stinging face, to not crumple into a heap on my bedroom floor and beg her forgiveness, beg her understanding, to try one more time to right the wrongs I’d committed as my mother’s daughter. But I couldn’t be that girl anymore. There wasn’t space for her version of me and Bill’s to exist simultaneously.

Instead, I straightened my tilted head to face her once again, tightening my grip along the handles of my bags. I managed a “goodbye, Momma,” as she herself dropped to the floor, sobbing hysterically in a last, desperate attempt to change the tone of our argument.

As I moved for the door, she wailed for me, and I tried not to listen to the pleas and promises that so easily left her lips whenever she felt like she was losing.

My imposed emotional dam held even as I returned to the living room, where my father watched my entry nervously, Bill looking ready to die if he had to continue to sit back for it all. In fact, his resolve broke, and though his proximity in this situation made me nervous, I tried to seem appreciative as he took the heavy cases from my hands. Though he looked desperate to take me in his arms, he held off, remaining silent as I once again turned my attention to my father.

Looking at him made my chest rattle with my breath, and I threw my arms around him before I could stop myself, if only to prevent the tears. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whispered, but his head shook, and he held me until my mother’s wails had silenced.

He sighed as he released me, and though he gestured me toward the door, he watched the direction I’d come. I mistakenly lingered, caught somewhere between my mother’s daughter and my fiancé’s wife, and I drew my arms up to cross over my chest as she walked through the threshold to join us.

“Is this him, then?” She gestured toward Bill, and she shook her head as she pivoted again, this time to concern as she matched my stance, arms drawing up into a cross. “Is this the man you’re willing to give your whole life up for, baby? Is that really what you want?”

“I’ll walk you out,” Daddy offered then, and as I looked to him, he was focused on her. He looked caught, too, somewhere between being my father and her husband, and it was clear how the choice hurt him.

Finally, his gaze snapped to me, and as it did, his concern hid behind a half-hearted smile, and I nodded. Relief was next on his face as he glanced again to my mother, but herded Bill and me toward the door.

“Sophie,” my mother said softly, and though Bill stepped through the door at my father’s guidance, I lingered, turning again toward her.

“Baby, is this really how you want things?” She contorted her face as if she were about to crumble again, commanded tears fresh in her eyes, and my own words off her lips in effort to convince me. “Someday you’ll realize how much I love you. I just hope it’s not too late.”

My father’s hand on my shoulder interrupted my focus on my mother, and as I looked to him instead, he nodded toward the exit.

I continued to chew my cheek as I looked a final time toward my mother while I stepped through the threshold. Daddy was quick to follow me, closing the door behind us as we convened instead on the porch.

An uncertain silence fell between the three of us as my mother’s dramatic wails resumed inside.

“Let me give you some money,” my father mumbled, and suddenly he was digging in his slack pockets.

“Daddy,” I coaxed, able to finally lax my arms in order to cradle his wrists as he pulled cash from his wallet. “We don’t need money.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” but he continued counting anyway. “But it’s the least I can do. And it’ll make me feel better.” He folded the money and tried to put it in my hands in the same motion, but my breaths had gone ragged once more and I struggled just to stand.

“I can’t,” I pled, and finally, I looked to Bill, my grounding point, desperately anxious where he stood, as if he’d die if not allowed to comfort me soon. His arms seemed to rest at his sides, as if my cases weighed nothing, as if he could focus only on the discomfort of not shielding me from the ragged world around us. I tried to smile, but before I could, Bill’s attention was on my father, who’d left my grasp and had now closed the short distance between them with a hand on Bill’s shoulder.

“Take this, will ya?” My father said shakily as he tucked the cash into Bill’s pocket. “It’s not much, but it’s all I have to send her off with. She deserves the world, and I hope you can give it to her.”

“Me too,” my fiancé’s eyes found me again just as quickly, and though a new anxiety had birthed behind them, he managed a smile at me. Daddy patted his cheek before releasing him and turning his attention to me once more, wrapping me in a warm hug.

“I love you so much, Sophie Girl,” he breathed, and it took everything I had not to fall apart in his ache. “I’m so pleased for you. And I hope your fella knows how lucky he is. You’re too special not to notice.”

“I do,” Bill said from behind me, and I sucked in a breath as I struggled to hold in my tears.

It was Daddy that eventually broke our hug, but his grip remained tight on my arms as he parted us, as if he were reluctant. “You look so pretty, baby.”

My chest hitched with a laugh that broke through my sadness, and I took the opportunity to hug my father again. When it ended, we both bore the same uncertain smile we’d often exchanged when pushing through something uncomfortable. And as Daddy cleared his throat, he loosened his lingering grip on my arm.

“Do you want a ride?” He asked Bill then, and I remembered the heavy cases. Bill said nothing though, instead deferring to me with a glance, as if they didn’t matter. As if none of it mattered, except for what it mattered to me.

“Daddy, we can’t ask you—”

“You aren’t asking me. And you don’t want to be late for your own wedding. Take the truck if you don’t want me to drive you.”

“We’re not taking the truck,” I attempted, but my father was already fishing for his keys. If he had found them, that probably would have been the end of it, but instead he glanced back toward the house, and my mother, and I knew we were relieved of the choice.

“Daddy,” I said again, and he kept his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “We better go.”

He nodded, looking solemn, despite his painted smile. “Okay.”

I swallowed a deep breath before looking from my father to Bill, who still seemed to be deferring to me.

“Okay,” I agreed, turning my body now toward my love and the porch steps. “You ready?”

Bill smiled as he took a step backward, descending the steps without letting me out of his sight. And when I looked back to my father, he looked sorry.

“Okay,” I said again as I tried to motivate myself to break from my parents a final time. Then, I descended the stairs too.

On the ground once again, I reached for one of my bags, and Bill reluctantly released it to my grasp. We started down the path together, and as much as I at first fought the urge, I eventually turned to check on my father.

There he stood on the porch, his hands still stuffed into his slack pockets as he watched us. But as our eyes met once more, he smiled and waved. I waved back, nearly dropping my case in the process, but as I readjusted, it all felt more comfortable. And as we walked, as my father got further behind us, I felt comfortable turning to face my future instead.

Though he stole the occasional glance, Bill let me breathe as we walked, keeping his step rhythmic even as mine sporadically increased and lagged. I carried my case with both hands, despite it only truly needing one, so that the more awkward hold would take more of my concentration to maintain. I wanted to think about my parents, to process the scene, to make peace with it all, but in actuality, I did everything I could in that silence to avoid all of that, if only to keep a level head for the day to come.

Bill simply walked alongside me, carrying my second case, staying within distance enough to reach me if I fell to pieces. But I didn’t, and instead, the silent walk to Bill’s apartment was ultimately uneventful.

As we entered the threshold, and as my cases both found a home near a chair in the living room, Bill looked agonizingly at me, and I stifled a laugh at the joy of being loved by him.

Finally, he hugged me, the weight of his holding back clear now as his relief washed him and me together. I wanted to cry with his affection, his concern, his trust in me to handle the situation myself, and I hugged him tightly back.

A series of ginger kisses came next, gentle along my sore cheek, until he came to a rest with his forehead against mine.

“Are you okay?” He finally asked, pulling from me to better inspect my face, but even as he tenderly gripped my chin, as he looked so nervous, as he tried and succeeded in walking the line between supportive and overbearing, I began to laugh, and with my laugh came the tears I’d been able to withhold to now.

“I’m great,” I managed between my giggling sobs, and though Bill looked at me twice as long as he otherwise might’ve, he eventually pulled me back into a hug, and I found comfort resting my cheek against his chest.

His breaths were slow and regulated, intentionally so, and I wondered how stressed he must’ve been throughout the encounter, though it didn’t seem important now. We were home. It was over. And though not yet wed, everything felt different now, and I felt beyond the transition, into a better world, where my almost-husband held me with love and honesty, disturbed by the bruise I knew he’d never inflict. I had never felt so safe.

“My powder will cover it, don’t you think?” I eventually asked into his chest, but he just sighed as he brought his hand up to stroke my hair. His lips planted against the top of my head and his already tight hold somehow tightened as he rested his cheek against me.

Though I indulged for longer than I might should’ve, letting Bill hold me in his living room, trying to give him the space to ground himself that he’d so readily given me, eventually, we had to get on with the day.

“Come on,” I coaxed as I squeezed my arms more tightly around him. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”

As we parted, Bill’s worry had all but subsided, and it read clearly on his face even now. Still, he cupped my cheek before kissing it again, then moved to my lips. And as I threatened to get lost in him, to call it off if only so I could drag him back to bed, I again put a stop to it, dwindling our long kiss down to a series of short pecks.

Finally, he released me, but he kept his gaze trained on me as I dug through one of my cases, gathering supplies to properly sequester in his bathroom. Though, once I got to it, he left me, onto his list of to-dos as I was on mine.

The radio clicked on in the living room, and I was grateful for the noise as Bill turned it up to be heard in the bathroom too. Glenn Miller, my favorite, was to be the soundtrack of the day, and I loved Bill all the more for it. I stared at myself in the mirror as I went through the motions of getting ready, searching my reflection for truth, but I could only see me staring back. Throughout, a cacophony of emotions rattled through me, culminating in simultaneous laughter and tears. I felt ridiculous, trying to cover up the mark on my cheek while my tears actively fought the process, but I tried anyway, the futility of the activity making me laugh harder.

Once finished getting ready, I took a long look at myself, pleased enough with my efforts, and I arranged my hair to fall just so along my shoulders. I hummed as I finally relinquished the bathroom, and as I searched for my husband-to-be, I found him slouched on the couch, his suit neat and pressed despite his nerves. He straightened as he saw me, and his eyes glued to my every move as I closed our distance, too excited to see him again to play coy.

Instead, I moved to sit on my knees next to him and grabbed him by his lapel to pull him in closer to me. Our lips found one another like the magnets they were. We didn’t last long before he’d pulled me far enough toward him that I had little choice but to straddle his lap. His slacks were warm against the bare skin of my thighs, my skirt flared outward in a tent around us and my slip hiked to my hips by the spread of my legs.

His hands slipped beneath the fabric next, sliding up the sides of my underwear as his fingertips squeezed into the skin of my hips.

“Oh, honey,” he spoke around our lips, though his fingers continued to feel me. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Then let’s go,” I returned as I opened my eyes, and his breath caught with my stare. “But you’ll have to unhand me,” I whispered as I connected our lips once more, and his body shivered beneath mine as his hands drew again to my thighs.

“How could I ever?” He pulled me into a tight hug, burying his face in my neck as he breathed me in deeply. But before long, his lips went to work there, too, and I giggled as he tingled through me. “You are so pretty.”

“Pretty enough to satisfy you forever?” I teased as I pushed his shoulders, breaking the contact before it consumed me, and as he relaxed instead against the back of the couch, my outstretched arms our temporary barrier, he looked me up and down in the way he always did, like he was always seeing me brand new. His teeth caught his bottom lip, and I flushed.

“Forever, and then.”

“You’ve got to stop looking at me like that,” I complained softly as my fingers anxiously tapped along his shoulders, and when his eyes found mine again, my breath caught in my chest. “You make me feel like I’m naked when I’m not.”

“Is that terrible?” he tempted through the side of his smirk, and I didn’t immediately have an answer. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling so much as a salacious one, and I could see a recognition in his eyes that excused me from trying to explain.

“Not if I had time to take you to bed,” I reasoned with a peck, breaking our distance long enough to release myself from his desirous gaze. “But alas, I’m afraid I’m expected at the alter shortly.”

“Alas indeed,” he laughed, pulling me tighter to kiss me again, but as he loosened his hold, I couldn’t bear it. “I suppose we should get a move on.”

“Mhm,” I managed, pressing my lips to his jaw instead, and he tilted his head back to let me.

“Soph,” he sighed with a hum, and my lips lingered along his neck, trailing closer to the collar of his shirt.

“Hm?”

“Sophie,” he repeated, though he didn’t elaborate, his tone dancing between warning and encouraging me onward, and I couldn’t resist the urge to continue my kisses down along the front of his throat. His hand stroked my back as he exhaled sharply, and finally, I straightened to a sit, freeing his skin from my desire before it combusted beneath me. The warmth between our hips already threatened to incinerate me, and Bill’s desperate look up at me assured me I wasn’t alone in the feeling. Still, his hand wandered along my back.

When I straightened my hips to stand on my knees, Bill’s hands found me too quickly for me to leave him, instead suspending me in a hover above his lap.

“Wait,” he started before quickly tightening his lips, but his pause extended, and I grew nervous.

“What?” I eventually asked, too afraid of the silence to let it continue, and I eased myself back into a sit, desperate to reestablish the physical connection I already felt desperate without.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Bill,” I swallowed as I shook my head at his doubt. I leaned to press my forehead to his, and he let me. “This is the only thing in the world that I’m sure about. And I’m surer than I’ve ever been about anything. You…” I inhaled as I placed gentle hands on his chest, then slid them downward along his front, culminating into a bunched grip on either side of his jacket buttons as I pulled him toward me still. “You are everything to me. I never want to be anywhere else again.”

“I love you,” he promised as he pecked my lips. A desperate, wandering hand slid up my body, careful to stop at my neck to avoid mussing my face, and I found comfort even there. No matter where he held me, where he squeezed, I felt so safe and loved and protected, and it made me want to tear the suit right off him. I couldn’t believe we’d come so far.

“I love you,” I returned with a slow kiss, and when I broke from him, I stood quickly, if only to end our joint suffering. “Let’s go get married.”


When we eventually arrived at the courthouse, our friends were already waiting, dressed and paired off with each other as if it were always meant to be that way. Even Ruthie, though she dwarfed Tom in her heels, seemed to be making extra effort to speak to only him, to keep hold of his arm whenever she stood still, and to act as her sister always begged her to, in the interest of the group.

The ceremony was a blur of recitations, of getting lost in how handsome he looked, of giggles and pleasantries and applause from our friends, and by the time it was over, as we sealed our union with a kiss, it all just felt so easy.

I was still swimming as we stood outside again, lingering in the cold as people talked at me and Bill talked back, but at some point, he and I had drifted apart, and I only returned to the present when Ruthie stumbled in her heels, quick to catch herself on my arm now that her date had gravitated toward his cousin.

“Jesus, you’d think these things would get easier with practice.” My friend quickly brushed my sleeve in apology, as if she’d dirtied it in her clumsiness. She looked out of sorts as she recovered, her hangover getting the best of her. I leaned to whisper in her ear, cupping my fingers around my lips to doubly ensure the sound would stay between us.

“I wish Clem could celebrate with us,” I told her, and though her face initially shone panic as she glanced to find her sister, she noted her safe distance from us, and Ruthie resolved in a smile as she returned my sentiment with a kiss to my cheek.

“I’m so glad we get to keep you,” she gushed loudly in return, as if I hadn’t been with them ages now already. I felt so wanted.

Mildred advanced next, finally forsaking her post near Bill while he smiled with his cousins. Her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, though it could have equally been from the cold than from her emotion. Yet, as she approached me, I considered whether I’d prefer to be struck again on the same cheek, or whether I should preemptively offer her the opposite one.

As she came to a stop in front of me, stood too lax for confrontation, but not friendly enough for small talk, I steeled myself. Ruthie’s hold on my arm tightened in solidarity with me, but her sister nodded toward the boys in dismissal.

Helen hummed from where she stood near us, drawing Ruthie’s attention. “I suppose we should go tell Bill how lucky he is,” she prodded, moving to elbow Ruthie when she was reluctant to leave me. And only when Helen laced through Ruthie’s other arm and tugged her along in the way Ruth so often did me, did she release her hold to relinquish me to her sister.

As they parted, I found Bill’s eyes beyond Mildred, hypervigilant even as he smiled and laughed and smoked his cigarette. I wondered if they were concerned for Mildred or me.

Eventually, she cleared her throat, the two of us now separated from the rest, and I turned my attention to her.

“You look nice,” she mumbled first, and when I didn’t know how to respond, she shifted her weight to her other foot.

“Look,” she dismissed as she resituated her gaze to our feet, and my eyes found Bill’s again, nervously watching, his participation in his own conversation waned as the five surrounding him filled in his gaps.

“I probably should’ve said something sooner,” she eventually resumed, and her eyes returned to me and mine to her. “I don’t know how you feel about it, but I know how it eats Joey. There’s nothing between us, and there hasn’t been in a long time.”

I nodded, lost as to how exactly I was meant to respond, and she began looking past me as she contemplated her next words.

“I’ve known Bill a long time. He’s a good guy, probably the best guy I know. He was always going to be a good husband to someone.”

I swallowed as I fought to keep my arms from crossing, afraid the act would offend her as she clearly tried to be true with me, but I felt so vulnerable where they laid instead at my sides, even as she described the man I knew my Bill to be.

When her eyes returned to me, they took my breath. “But I’ve never seen him love anyone the way he loves you. And I hope you’re just as crazy about him, because he deserves that.”

I nodded again, and though I wanted to check once more for my nervous husband’s gaze, I was lost in Mildred’s. I wondered why she was doing this now, why she was doing it so privately rather than performatively to score points with her friends, why the words were important enough to her to confess on our wedding day, and all I could really do was listen.

“I thought you were just some stupid friend of Ruthie’s, and I was so worried about losing Bill when Jack died. And you’re so young, and he was grieving so hard… I didn’t like it, and I didn’t like you.”

I swallowed again as I watched her eyes speak before she could, and they followed in a trace around my face, then darted down my front and up again in quick assessment as she both dismissed the me of the past and acknowledged the me standing before her, married to her best friend.

“I’m glad it was you, as it happens.” She diverted her eyes from me again to return to our feet. “And I’m jealous, but not in the way you or anyone thinks.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I finally said, and though her gaze panned back up to me, her mouth shrugged.

“I’ve been unfairly cold to you,” she apologized, and my eyes began to well, stinging more with the chill in the air. “Really, I’m grateful for you. I’m grateful he has you, and I’m grateful to see my friend so happy after such a hard few years. You were sent for him, Sophie; I see that now.”

Though I didn’t have time to try to parse the subtext of her thoughts, they sent me reeling, and by the time she chose to walk away from me, to return to the group just as Bill was tearing himself away from it, my tears streamed fat down my cheeks.

I tried to catch my breath as Bill desperately closed the gap, and his arms were around me before I realized he’d reached me.

“What did she say to you?” He asked softly, though his eyes were on Mildred now, as she stood close to Joe and joined the banter, dragging off Joe’s cigarette in effort to reestablish their connection, for his benefit more than hers, I was sure.

When I didn’t answer though, Bill parted us to cup my cheek and demand my gaze. “Soph?”

Instead, I shook my head, drawing him into an embrace he didn’t expect, and he stumbled before sturdying himself to better support me.

“I love you,” I professed instead, and his breathing steadied with mine.

“I love you,” he returned just as emphatically, and I fought not to melt in his arms.

We lingered in our hold together, watching the six interact from the sidelines, and I yearned to return to their company, even as I relished in the comfort of my husband’s arms. It took me too long to realize Bill was deferring to me, letting me choose how the next bit of our dance would go, if we would remain a part of them or peel off on our own, and finally, I pulled from him enough to grab him by the jacket and pull him down to my lips.

“So, where’s the party?” I asked him with a nod to our friends, and Bill gave me a beat to change my mind before kissing me once more. Finally, we parted to return to the raucous six.

The warmth of Bill’s arm, snugly around my middle, made me ache to take him to bed, and I only realized how distracting that was when the plans were made during my daze. It was only as we piled into Millie’s Wagon that I was sure plans were made at all. And though I tucked my skirt beneath me as I settled into his lap in the crowded car, putting as many layers between us as I could manage, Bill’s warmth cut right through me and made me desperate.

I glanced over my shoulder to him, the angle less awkward with my already-twisted hips, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he held his arm straight against the door, rather than around me, and his other followed the back of the seat, behind Ruthie as she sat on one hip, trying not to squish Tom on the other side of her, forced inward by Bob, as Joey and Helen sat comfortably with Millie in the front bench.

When he unintentionally caught my gaze, Bill was quick to look elsewhere, his cheeks flushing even now, and I wanted him all the more for it.

I was almost sorry to leave the car, my backside icy without the warmth of his lap and nerves, but his arm quickly found me again now that we were safely outside, and he drew me into another brief kiss.

Even as we parted, I struggled to part my attention, and it wasn’t until Helen whistled from the door that I realized we were the only ones left in the cold. Bill’s hand was warm against the small of my back as he gently guided me toward the house.

Inside, though, I felt no different. Though I sipped the drink I was offered and laughed when others laughed or expectant looks dictated, I felt burned up with him, even as he enforced an artificial distance, sitting in the chair adjacent to the couch end I chose, so that not one, but two furniture arms were between us. Still, he held my hand between them, perhaps as a way to release the steam within him so he too wouldn’t find himself consumed.

“Oh shit, is that your mom?” Someone said, and suddenly everyone was in a scramble around me as they stubbed out cigarettes and rounded up glasses to be temporarily stowed. Bill even took mine with an apologetic glance, though I didn’t resist. Instead, I sat straighter, now reined in by the anxiety of a new set of parents to analyze my very being.

When footsteps resonated on the porch, though, I stood. Bill neared me once more to steady my nerves.

His aunt’s chatter came through the door before it was ever opened, rattling off something about the painted door, only to excitedly gasp as Helen opened it to welcome them in, as if she somehow didn’t expect us on the other side.

“Oh, honey, hello! I’ve brought hotdish. Just chuck them in the oven to keep warm until you’re all ready to eat. There’s one pork and one turkey, for Tom. Oh, and I have a sewing pattern in my purse that I think you’ll just love!” She rattled quickly as she simultaneously hugged Helen and passed the casseroles off, still steaming in their dishtowel wraps.

Her greetings were an art: a ‘happy to see you,’ followed by an arbitrary instruction, then perhaps a gush about something she’d thought of since she saw you last, regardless of how recently that might have been, and always, always, a gasp that signified that you’ve clearly made her life by seeing her one more time, every time.

She danced through the room, making her rounds, doing The Greeting with each of her sons and their partners as her husband silently followed. Then, the long, sad hug Millie always got, though it had grown shorter as time went on and as she got further removed from being her nephew’s widow and transitioned instead to her son’s fiancé. Ruthie was next, though she had no official ties to the family, treated as an effective adopted daughter rather than simply Mildred’s sister. And finally, she came to me and Bill.

His hand found mine to steady me, and Flossie gave us a new gasp as she cupped her cheek, before finally hugging us together. “I’ve brought hotdish,” she said for probably the tenth time since her entry, and I smiled politely as I searched for a tone or intent she never seemed to carry, but that I was too trained to disregard.

“They’re warming in the oven when you’re ready to eat. I didn’t know if you’d feel like cooking today. Do you cook?” She turned to Bill before I could answer. “Does she cook?” As if she hadn’t asked us a variation of this question every time we saw her, always seemingly oblivious to having ever asked it before.

“Oh, you look so beautiful,” she transitioned back to me without an answer, and as she took my hands in hers, she returned her attention to her nephew. She squeezed my hands as her face scrunched despite her smile, as if she might cry. “And you look so much like your father, baby. I can’t believe it.”

She released me to draw him into a hug on his own, and as I looked to her trailing husband, he raised his two fingers to his cap with a wave and I smiled, his version of The Greeting now totally satisfied.

Mr. Whitley was an average-height man, made to look shorter by his average-height wife, and he was happy to sit by while her personality and chatter filled the room on behalf of them both.

Looking at everyone today, dressed as they were, I noticed how similar he and Bob appeared, even how they carried their extra weight, and for the first time, I noticed how strongly Helen resembled Bob’s mother, even as she lingered in the kitchen where Flossie had left her, feigning interest in the dishes to which she was now deemed responsible.

Tom looked a mix of mother and father, though still small, as if he were still waiting for his last boyhood growth spurt. Their middle son looked like neither of them, taking instead after her brother, Bill’s father, and it was easy to see how she’d so readily accepted Bill and Jack as her own after their parents’ passing. I felt sorry for Joe and Millie, to have such a mirror constantly held up to them, reminding them both of who he wasn’t.

When I realized Flossie was staring at me, waiting for a response to something I hadn’t heard, I glanced to Bill, who looked sympathetic.

“Isn’t she just gorgeous?” He offered instead, and I received a new gasp, as if she were seeing me for the very first time, before she pulled me into a new, grateful hug, and I was able to resume my look to Bill over her shoulder.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to miss today. We would’ve given anything to be there, but I understand.”

Bill’s eyes widened as they broke from mine to pivot to her instead, and I tried not to think further into it as he patted her shoulder to deflect her attention again.

“Aunt Floss, did you say something about hotdish?”

“Oh, honey,” she gasped as she dragged him toward the kitchen to replace Helen, and I found myself free at last, though her absence made me as nervous as her presence.

But I understand? I ruminated, and when I finally met Bill’s gaze again, it was while Flossie spoke to both he and Helen about how to effectively warm the dishes already in the oven, though he looked worried anew.

“Soph, hey,” Ruthie appeared in front of me, breaking my gaze with Bill, and I startled a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Are you good?” She asked softly, and I steeled myself more.

“What?” I still asked as a dismissive laugh attempted to make her second-guess her assessment.

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” she whispered, and my chest rattled as I wondered if it was obvious to everyone. “Let’s go up for a second,” she coaxed as she held my hand, and I followed her, though I stole a final look to Bill, who seemed torn as to whether he should come too.

Once behind Ruthie’s closed bedroom door, I felt able to breathe again, and I slumped onto the foot of her bed as my body came back to life around me.

“What’s going on?” My friend emphasized quietly, but I didn’t know what to say. How had I looked? “Do you not like Flossie?”

A fresh pit appeared in my stomach for everything inside me to fall down. My heart raced as it, too, seemed to fall. “What do you mean? What was I doing?”

“You weren’t doing anything, Soph, but you went so white and looked like you were going to cry when she walked in.”

When I must’ve again looked about to cry, Ruthie shook her head and sat next to me. “You acted fine, Soph. You were nice and warm and everything. You just didn’t feel like you for a second. Like you’re afraid of her or something. Maybe it’s just me being sensitive; I always get caught up in watching her and Mil and maybe I just took the two of you out of proportion.”

“Flossie is lovely,” I insisted, but when my friend took my hand in both of hers, I knew I was done for. The tears came before the sniffles did, blindsiding me, and I couldn’t stop them.

My friend was there, though, ready to catch each tear above my cheek, and I was grateful. Even to release an ounce of the pent-up emotional cacophony felt freeing, but I wanted desperately to resume my control of it, despite Ruthie’s support.

“Is this about your parents?” She asked then, and before I could stop them, my sniffles quickly turned to sobs. She immediately drew me into a hug. “Oh, Soph, I’m sorry.” She held me quietly, though her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth every time she started to speak, but each time stopped herself, unsure of her words.

“Flossie isn’t like that,” she eventually promised. “She’ll love you like her own if you’ll let her. The right way. You don’t have to be afraid of her.”

My sobs grew harder, and Ruthie’s arms held tighter. I knew she spoke from experience, her own parents effectively abandoning her to Mildred’s care when she refused to disown her sister when they did. But Ruthie was so much one of them already, it didn’t seem comparable.

“I didn’t mean for them not to come,” I managed, and Ruthie squeezed again. “God knows what he told them.”

“Sophie, it’s fine,” she assured, but it didn’t feel fine. “You know he only would’ve said what he had to. He probably made it about his parents, Soph, not yours.”

Her theory made my heart race and ache simultaneously. I hadn’t even considered his parents. I’d been far too concerned with mine. My stomach turned with the realization, suddenly desperate to hug my husband. I’d been so blinded by the outpouring of love from his constructed family that I hadn’t considered those who had loved him before, that weren’t here for him now.

For now, the guilt was enough to overcome my tears.

My friend parted from me as if to say more, but her breath stalled in her throat as her eyes widened. “What happened to your face?”

I didn’t have to see my reflection to know my makeup had finally melted with my tears. Instead, I chewed my cheek as I considered my answer, but Ruthie hugged me again, and I was freed of the responsibility.

“Girls,” Flossie’s voice travelled from the top of the stairs, and I froze as her footsteps approached the door. “We’ve got hotdish ready down here if you’re ready to eat. There’s one with pork, but no corn, and another with turkey and corn.”

Ruthie looked to me as if to ask what to do, but the door was already opening, Flossie’s chatter uninterrupted.

“I know Tom won’t eat pork, but I didn’t know how everyone felt about—” she trailed off as she too noted my dissolved makeup. “—corn.” She sighed as she stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her before closing the gap between she and where we sat.

She paused as she stood, looking down at us, quiet as I’d ever known her. “May I sit, sweetheart?” She eventually asked, and I glanced over my shoulder to Ruth as we both scooted to make space for her.

When I returned my gaze to her, she smiled, though her lips pressed tightly together, and she tilted her head to better assess my face. Her proximity made my eyes sting, and fresh tears threatened to fall with her silence. As I took a deliberate breath to steady myself, Ruthie reached for my hand, and we waited together as Flossie considered what to say.

“Are you alright?” She chose, the words confusing through her upturned lips, as if they weren’t the start of an interrogation.

When I nodded, she did too, and for a moment, she looked away. “Can I ask you some things?” She decided as she returned her gaze to me, her tight smile remaining.

Again, I nodded, unsure what else I could do in response to such an earnest respect of my feelings. I’d never seen this side of her, not that there had ever been a reason to before now, and I didn’t know just how to respond to placate her.

“Is that from our Bill?” She finally asked after a long pause, and a relieved laugh left my lips as I shook my head, finally able to breathe again.

“Oh, no,” I insisted, and when she looked to Ruthie behind me to double-check, so did I, but she was already shaking her head too. My gaze returned to Flossie with her sharp exhale, and as she too shook her head, the air seemed to return to the room.

Her smile returned, but comfortably this time, and her eyes flicked to the ceiling as if she were chastising herself for the thought. “Don’t get me wrong, dear, I’d be surprised,” she professed as she moved to touch my arm, and I nodded, the thought of Bill raising a hand to me so far from my mind. “But goodness, a boy can get away from you sometimes. And what a way to spend your wedding day, huh? Gosh, kiddo, that looks like it hurts. Ruthie, honey, could you get me a washcloth and some water?”

Ruth released me with the command, and as she left us alone to fulfill the request, my heart pounded. I’d never been alone with Bill’s mother figure before, and the weight of her stare had my stomach in knots.

“I won’t ask you anything else,” she started, tilting her chin downward to look at me through her soft brow. “I know very little about what you come from, and I imagine that’s intentional of my nephew.”

When I swallowed, she patted my hand.

“I’m not offended, honey. I just want you to know that we’ve always taken in the strays, as it were. You’re part of the family now, and if I’ve done my job right, everyone beneath this roof will go out of their way to make sure you know that. And if I haven’t, do tell me.”

It was her turn to swallow, and though I wondered why the concern weighed so heavily on her shoulders, I didn’t ask. Instead, Ruthie interrupted us with supplies, and I gratefully turned my attention to her.

“Thanks, honey,” she dismissed Ruthie as she accepted the pieces she’d requested, the cloth and bowl of water, though Ruthie held makeup too, and I flashed her a thankful look.

Flossie balanced the water precariously atop Ruthie’s comforter as she brought the damp cloth to my face, cupping my opposite cheek as she delicately wiped the other. She continued to wear her smile, as if the favor were as normal as any other. I felt grateful and undeserving. Silence fell, and I didn’t seem to drown in it.

“Did you always want a big family?” I asked without realizing I wanted to know, and Flossie’s smile grew.

“Oh, yes, but I had no idea just how much I’d love it. Or how big it would be.”

She blew on my cheek in her pause before she went in with the dry corner of the rag.

“We thought we might just have the two; we were young and so were they, and we weren’t quite sure what we were doing, but oh, we loved them. Then, when our boys were still small, my brother and his wife died, and their boys came to live with us too, though they were a bit older.”

Her tongue clicked against her teeth as she paused her work to think. “Well, Jack was older. Bill is quite close in age to Bob, but Jack was already a teenager by then.” She shrugged the detail off and returned to my face. “So overnight, the number of children we had doubled. Tom came as a surprise a few years later, and right around then, Helen joined us through Jack.”

She smiled, lost from my face again while she replayed the memory in her mind. “Our Bobby loved her from the start, poor thing. It took her years to warm up to him. A good thing, since he was just a boy at the time, and I suppose she’s just a bit younger than Jack.” She giggled at the memory before switching to the makeup.

“Then, of course, Millie and Ruthie joined us, the dears.” She paused to smile at Ruth, who held her knees to her chest as she watched us from further up the bed. When her eyes returned to me, she looked uneasy, as if it would make me uncomfortable to hear Mildred’s origins with the family, as if I didn’t already know them. “It can be a bit of a musical chairs around here at times. But I suppose as long as everyone’s happy in the end, it doesn’t matter.”

“And then…” A swallow blocked her words as her mind caught up to her lips, the next event a subtraction rather than an addition. But, as she cleared her throat, her smile refreshed, and her eyes found mine again. “And now, of course, we have you.”

I found myself returning her sweet smile, guilty for making her question Bill with my deception. So, as she worked to mask the ache in my cheek, I looked right at her and took a breath.

“Bill Cohen has never, ever treated me with anything other than love and respect. I feel safer with him than I ever have in my life. I am so lucky, and so grateful for him, and you.”

Flossie’s smile tightened as her eyes welled, but she didn’t stop her efforts, instead giggling again. “I’m so glad. He’s always been such a sweet boy.” She sighed and paused to shake her head, her tears receding with a sniff. “So thoughtful, you know? I can always count on that boy to remember my birthday. He’s always been that way since he was little. He must have gotten that from his mother.”

A short, pensive hum assured she wasn’t referring to herself, though I wasn’t sure what she meant, and again she looked pained as she studied my face. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She eventually said, and when I nodded again, she clicked closed the compact in her hands. “Well, you look beautiful too, so I guess it’s time for hotdish.”

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When I finally awoke from my dream of a night,. . . . As I tilted toward him to steal a glance, if only to assure myself this was real

I love the contrast between these two lines. She talks about waking warmly from the dream of night, but as she turns toward Bill, feels the need to reassure herself that her reality is just that. Everything she experienced the night before has undoubtedly got her head in the clouds, and sure, anyone in her position would feel suspended from reality. I just love the call to attention here of that very feeling. There’s the sublte notion of fear that it isn’t real or wasn’t, but alas it is, and that is a warm feeling for the reader as well as it is for the narrator.

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“Good morning,” he said hoarsely before clearing his throat, the first words of the day always the harshest, and still lovely from his lips.

She’s so enamored and so ‘high’ that even his harsh cigarette voice in the morning sounds lovely to her. I love that for her, but most of all, I love that for us. She inundates us with how she adores him in this chapter, and that in turn causes us to feel such great affection for him. I know it was intentional on your part to imbue us with this feeling, but I have to comment on how beautiful of a job you’ve done doing so. I know I have a quote of it later on, but I just love how she continues to say how she “loves him for it.” It’s such an endearing thing to say after every little thing he does, and it really puts you in the mind of someone so fresh in love. That’s easy to forget after years go by, and it’s nice to be able to reconnect with that feeling through Sophie. We remember if we had it, and you call it back to us so effortlessly.

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 It was a dream I was afraid to wake up from, afraid to jinx with any movement outside of this magical bed, and he seemed in no hurry either.

Here again she refers to this moment as a dream, though she just had to reaffirm that it was indeed real. Like I said before, it of course feels like a dream. She’s so above herself right now, and the way you continue to detail it is so beautiful. Yes, Sophie, that bed is indeed magical.

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Even after baring our bodies and souls to one another, I felt shy beneath his gaze, newly virginal now that I truly understood all the things I had to look forward to. He kissed my bare shoulder, and a tingle flowed from his lips to my toes, winding me up in ways I didn’t realize I could be. I was foolish to think I would be sated with the initial crossing of that ethereal bridge—yet, I had been, truly and completely, and now still, I felt overwhelmed with the burning ache that remained within me.

Okay, so starting with the first line of the quote, FANTASTIC. She feels “newly virginal” despite no longer being. I like what’s being said here about the ignorance of the virgin mind versus the enlightenment of no longer being. Despite how she isn’t, she could’ve never before understood what she was missing, and that, in such a beautiful way, makes her feel even more like a virgin. Yes, she’s had the ethereal experience, but she knows that’s only the beginning and she has so much more the experience with him. I don’t know how you managed such a genius way to describe that feeling, but you did, of course. And if anyone could do it, it would be you <3

The next line: I adore when there’s an action from one character and how you string it together with the feeling it puts in the character being acted upon. Instead of having two different sentences dedicated to his action of kissing her shoulder and how it makes her feel, it’s so masterfully woven together as one action and reaction, “from his lips to my toes.” Ugh. LOVE.

Last line: Of course our girl is insatiable. It’s a feeling you never want to escape you. It’s a torturous as it is fulfilling, and I truly feel for my girl here. She continues to harp on her desires throughout the chapter, as expected, and you can’t help but feel somewhat tortured with her. See, I just adore how you can so easily inflict the emotions of your narrator in your reader. That just speaks to how amazing you are at putting them into words for her in the first place. It truly makes the reader an experience like no other. I know that for a fact right now, because I started reading an actual book in a series I haven’t touched since college. It’s a good book, but damn does it lack EMOTION.  All the more reason why I’m thankful to be spoiled by you.

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watching the windowed wall like it had surely watched us, and in it, I could see the reflections of our night before, and I shivered.

Ugh, okay. Love this. First of all, we automatically go back to the prior night’s events, and when we rebuild that scene in our head, we first think of how the moon was coming in and the room was dark. That puts this shiver in my spine thinking that someone or something could’ve bore witness to what was going on, but not in a creepy way. I don’t know how to say it eloquently, so I won’t try, but I think you understand what I mean. Then, when she invokes the idea of their actions being reflected back to them, and she shivers at the notion, that image is replaced in my head with exactly that. Both images are equally impactful. The “world” could see Sophie transforming into a woman, so to speak, but in Sophie's mind, she was witnessing her own transformation. Even still, in the morning light, she can still conjure these images that may or may not have existed in the glass of the windows, and that will be an image that sticks with her forever, as well as it will us.

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with our bodies touching in the sweetest ways

I just love the way this is said. I love the adoration for the act between them, but also the mix of unbridled desire that’s following it. I just had to point that out.

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I’d hoped he would save me from the silence, swoop in and excuse his own question so I didn’t have to face it, but he couldn’t rescue me from this one, far more important and severe than it had sounded from his lips.

Thus we get foreshadowing of the scene in her parents house. We see Bill already retracting enough to give her space to make her own decisions. She is, after all, a woman now. But if I’m speaking just about this quote without future context, I’d note the softness with which he leads her into hard situations, and how Sophie says she doesn’t want to face them, but somehow his distance or “silence” allows her the space to turn and do just that.

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Instead, his eyes traced my length, something that was beginning to feel necessary for my heart to beat. I loved him for it.

Ah, I knew I quoted it. I adore it. I adore how she continues to say how she loves him for every little notion of adoration he extends her. Of course she does, but I still love how she always draws attention to it. We have to remember too that this isn’t something Sophie is used to. She’s never felt this affection without strings attached, therefore, she’s never felt true affection. So, of course, she can distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. How could she not fall hopelessly further and further in love with him with each gesture he extends, no matter how small?

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When he didn’t immediately answer, I rose to a sit, hugging the sheets against my chest as I again grew insecure. My heart thudded, and I began to chew my cheek as I realized how tough that first task would truly be.

Her insecurities are so sweet <3 So she officially became a woman last night, but she still feels like a girl inside, and that’s just what love does to you. I also love that she’s got this obvious nervous behavior of chewing her cheek. I know that’s always been a thing with her. Don’t know if I’ve ever pointed it out, but I do love it. It just makes her character feel so “real.” Shows how much thought and love you’ve put into her <3

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My words rattled from my chest, even before they hurt my ears and my feelings, but Bill didn’t react except to nod.

JFC, I just LOVE the way you said this. Her own words pain her physically and emotionally, and instead of saying that, you say it so much more effectively. You say it like the pain is actually inflicted to both, and damn, does it just hit right. Ugh, good shit.

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Tears welled in my eyes at his planning, at his care, at his consideration, and though the day before us seemed large and unwieldy, Bill stood steadfast by my side, and I knew that would be more than enough to get me through it.

The way she responds to every SINGLE gesture of affection is so sweet but also so heart-wrenching. It really lets you onto just how abused she is emotionally. No one deserves Bill like she does, and yet, she somehow communicates to us how undeserving she feels. It’s so sad, but so rewarding that she is in fact receiving love like this from him. He is her heart, her resolve and her very being at times. We love how she loves him, and we love him for loving her, but most of all, we love how he is coaxing her to love herself--even if she can’t see it right now. We know who she ultimately becomes, and we know that would’ve never been possible with, and then without, Bill <3 Sweet, sweet Bill <3

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The sight of him—interrupted mid-process—knotted my stomach.

Boy, does this put a not in our stomach as it does hers. Sheeeit. So, while I was reading through, I couldn’t exactly remember how the relationship was laid out between her and her father, but I kept getting the notion that it wasn’t toxic like with her mother. And when I first read this line, I was like, okay, this makes her nervous because obviously, she’s not allowing them at the wedding, but it’s not just the guilt of that. My first notion was that it made her nervous because she’d interrupted, and if this was her mother instead of her father, she’d be scolded. I don’t know how true that feeling is or isn’t in this moment, but I felt the ripples of the trauma with mom here. Not necessarily that she’d interrupted his dressing, but that she was showing up and interrupting for an undesireable reason, hence the guilt that comes when she has to say they’re not invited.

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Bill maintained their handshake, moving his second hand to clasp around their hold. “She loves you too.”

He couldn’t have had a better response here, for his character and for us. He’s lovely, but we know Bill as someone who sees the true Sophie, and I imagine it wouldn’t be like him to speak against that truth. So, if he says Sophie loves him, then we accept that as the truth of Sophie’s feelings. It’s almost like Bill is saying, “she loves you and she’s sorry to you and only in this situation.”

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I chewed my cheek as I tried to stay strong in my stance, to not weaken in effort to appease her and put an end to her tantrum.

Ugh, I hate this as much as I love it. Here comes her self-soothing behavior again, and it’s just so sad and frustrating to be on the outside looking in at her need to appease someone so unworthy of being appeased. I’m sorry, Sophie. You deserve better, and you do have better now. Ef your mother. Thank you for standing strong, and thank you Bill for allowing her to do it on her own, though she could’ve never done it without you.

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“Good Lord, Sophie, how much weight have you put on since we got that fitted?”

Good Lord is right. The audactiy. I know she’s going through the steps of attempting to manipulate her daughter, but damn, this just cuts so deep. Exactly as intended, huh?

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The left side of my face flinched with her attack, but the right remained steady, and I focused on the half-win over the half-falter. Her words, like acid spewing from the hiss of her lips, burned as they landed on me, but I wouldn’t let them dissolve me anymore.

Oh Sophie. I can’t tell you how much this breaks my heart but simultaneously makes me feel so proud of you. Damn, her mother is literally the worst, and what better way to degrade someone than to physically degrade them? The imagery invoked by her hissing lips and acidic words immediately makes me think “snake,” and I love how Sophie follows up the image by saying she won’t allow the words to “dissolve” her anymore. She is a woman born anew, and you have no chance at breaking her. But don’t let what I’m saying undermine how you’ve detailed her struggle with it. The words burn as they land on her, but they won’t “dissolve” her. I can definitely feel her struggle to keep herself steeled.

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“You’re really gonna do this to Daddy?” she attempted, but I wouldn’t be swayed anymore.

This is so low. I hate it so much. First was degradation, now she’s in the guilt phase. I hate her. Bleh, she’s such a fucking snake, attacking our girl with the one person in this house that she feels understood guilt about betraying. It’s so low and so fucking manipulative. Narcissist.

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“You have not once in your entire, ungrateful life cared what I want.”
The slap that punctuated her sentiment rang out in my ear and caused my vision to blur.

So we’ve made it to physical degradation. When you can’t bring her down with emotional abuse, just move on to physical. Bitch.

Side note, love the way you detailed the action here. It flowed seamlessly and read less like the stiffness of an action and more emotional, if that makes any sense?

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But I couldn’t be that girl anymore. There wasn’t space for her version of me and Bill’s to exist simultaneously.

That’s right. There’s only room for one girl to exist inside of this woman, and that’s the girl that she feels inside her under the sweet duress of her lover. She’s no longer innocent in the since that she can be emotionally taken advantage of for it in this vile way. She’s gaining control over her vulnerability and that vulnerable side of her that feels like a girl. She will allow Bill to bring it out in her, but not her mother. Not anymore.

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Instead, I straightened my tilted head to face her once again, tightening my grip along the handles of my bags. I managed a “goodbye, Momma,” as she herself dropped to the floor, sobbing hysterically in a last, desperate attempt to change the tone of our argument.

This reminds me of a movie scene, and I don’t know what from or even who is in it. Maybe it just makes that much of an impression on me that I equate it to a movie scene that done the same? I’m unsure, but I love the way it reads and thus, the way it feels, no matter.

We see her not only strengthen her grip on the bags, the symbol of her going, but her correct the physical change of her head tilt after being slapped. In all ways, she’s oozing defiance, but she does it with such grace that it makes her mother’s petulant behavior seem even more disgusting than it already is. Her grace as a woman is such a stark contrast to the vile woman her mother is. I know she feared being like her mother in the last chapters, but here we see her be anything but. ANYTHING BUT!

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In fact, his resolve broke, and though his proximity in this situation made me nervous, I tried to seem appreciative as he took the heavy cases from my hands. Though he looked desperate to take me in his arms, he held off, remaining silent as I once again turned my attention to my father.

Does his need to be close to her make her nervous because she’s afraid he’ll see what was done to her face? Is she afraid he’s going to take over the situation and she’ll retreat into her hurt? I’m unsure, but I like that it poses these questions. But Bill doesn’t say anything or take over the situation at all, as we expect he wouldn’t. Instead, he makes a small gesture of strength by taking her cases. He keeps his distance and lets her navigate the situation, and undoubtedly, will do so until they are out of it. He’s so commendable and brilliant for that. He coaxes her growth, but doesn’t force it. We love him for that. <3 He sets back after giving her the tools and the strength, then lets her put them to use and find the strength to stand tall. He’s the perfect partner, and she more than deserves him.

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He looked caught, too, somewhere between being my father and her husband, and it was clear how the choice hurt him.

Okay Dad, I understand the dilemma, but also, I don’t. That’s your daughter. It’s amazing to me that Sophie seems to hold nothing against him for his allowing her mother to treat her this way. I get he has a duty to both of them, but child should be more important. I guess in his own way he is supportive in this scene, but also, his negligence has allowed this to go on for far too long. I want to sympathize with him, but it’s very hard.

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I continued to chew my cheek as I looked a final time toward my mother while I stepped through the threshold.

There she goes again with that self-soothing behavior. We knew, but we are reaffirmed that this behavior came about as a result of her mother’s abuse. Sophie doesn’t even realize it herself, but we do.

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“Take this, will ya?” My father said shakily as he tucked the cash into Bill’s pocket. “It’s not much, but it’s all I have to send her off with. She deserves the world, and I hope you can give it to her.”

If she deserves the world then why did you never protect her from your snake of a wife?!!??!!! WAEEEEEEHHHHH. I guess I can give him credit for at least knowing it, though. And hey, don’t’ get me wrong, I know these are different times. I still hate it that he didn’t put her in her place.

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“I love you so much, Sophie Girl,” he breathed, and it took everything I had not to fall apart in his ache. “I’m so pleased for you. And I hope your fella knows how lucky he is. You’re too special not to notice.”

DUH! Her dad is just sitting her saying everything we say about her. It’s nice to hear someone say it though, other than Bill and Col. She is the best, and she deserves EVERYTHING. But let me just harp on “not to fall apart in his ache.” I feel like this is really similar to that line I harped on earlier, “from his lips to my toes.” This time, however, we are filled with feelings of sorrow for all the guilt her narcissistic mother has made her feel when she shouldn’t really be. She’s so sensitive to everyone’s emotions, and oftentimes, allows them degrade her own. Here it’s understood, but it’s still heartbreaking.

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As if none of it mattered, except for what it mattered to me.

Because you are the only thing that matters to him in this situation Soph, and rightfully so. It’s so hard for her to accept, and that’s both sad and sweet, but at least she is beginning to accept it. At least she’s allowing the change that Bill’s affection insights in her.