Chapter 17: The Sixth

On Thursday night I went downstairs.

It was past eleven, and he was sitting on the curb next to the black car with a paper bag between his boots.

He stood up when he saw me, slowly, with one hand on the car.

"You've been out here three days," I said.

"Two and a half."

"You sleep in the car."

"Some."

"You smell like a muffin."

"They give me the day-olds at the corner bakery. The man thinks I'm in love."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

He said it plainly, in the cold, with a bakery bag at his feet.

I had a speech.

It was a good one, with clauses.

I put it down on the sidewalk and stepped up close, under the awning, until his coat was against my coat.

"Monday is going to go one of two ways," I said. "I don't know which, and I don't know what's left of us after."

"Jo."

"So this is the sixth. I'm spending it now, as a goodbye, in case Monday takes it."

He didn't move.

His hands stayed at his sides, and I saw the right one start to shake.

I took his collar in both fists and pulled his mouth down to mine.

He tasted like coffee and the cold.

I kissed him slowly at first, then not slowly, with the whole length of his body against the front of me and his breath coming rough.

He kept his hands at his sides the whole time.

I ended it.

I stepped back, and I was breathing hard.

"That's six," I said.

"Is it?"

"I said six."

"A kiss ends when you end it, counselor." His voice was not steady. "You're still holding my coat."

I looked down.

I was.

I had a fistful of wool in each hand, and I had not let go.

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