Thea remained outside my apartment until I asked whether she wanted to enter or keep distance. She chose the kitchen table, avoiding the couch where physical comfort could blur a conversation she needed to finish without soothing me.
"I am jealous enough that my chest hurts. I still do not withdraw the permission I gave before the kiss," she said after sitting.
I placed water near her hand, then took the opposite chair without reaching across the table. My first instinct wanted to ask whether we remained safe, loved, plus unchanged, which would make her pain responsible for calming my fear.
"Thank you for telling me the difference. What part hurts most right now?" I replied.
"Knowing your body has a new memory I cannot see without imagining it. The idea remained abstract until your jacket looked crooked and your mouth looked kissed," she said.
