Then it dawned on me like a puzzle piece I had just discovered. Griffin had never said he loved me. Not like Elliott, who said it often. Griffin was a caretaker. He took care of the people he loved. Henry. Daddy. He took care of me. With every sidecar he made, every case of Sausalito’s finest he had delivered, every cappuccino he blended and hot chocolate he steamed for me, he was saying it. Griffin had shown me time and time again. It was tattooed on the topography of his heart. The realization recalibrated everything. I looked at him.

I saw the little crinkles around his eyes. The years stacked up and fell away all at the same time.

As was our custom, we began kissing. Easily. Naturally. Lovingly. My tears began falling to match the rain. The terrain of his body had always felt like home to me. I pulled away and got up and walked to my bedroom. I sat on the bed and turned on my lamp. He appeared next to me, and I made no effort to turn him away. He sat down next to me. He ran his hands over my thighs, my shoulders, and my face. He wiped the tears away and kissed them at the same time.

I had loved him before anyone else. I supposed I would love him after everyone else too. I kissed him back gently, which quickly turned to urgency. He laid me back on the daybed. He looked up for just a moment.

“Who the hell thought a daybed was a good idea?” he asked. I laughed through tears and kisses.

“It’s good for one person,” I protested, since it was my idea. The confines of the bed were not a deterrent. He was finding every part of my body that he had been denied for so long. Something snapped in my brain. My thoughts landed on all his sacrifice for me. With one grand push I shoved him off me. “Stop!” I said. I got up, trying to put my boobs back into my bra. I started buttoning my shirt. I moved toward the living room. Neutral territory.

He reluctantly followed, buttoning his shirt in a lopsided and haphazard fashion. I wanted to go over and correctly button his shirt for him. It was so endearing. We were both out of breath. He sat on the arm of the sofa. I stayed in the doorway.

“What the hell, Bae?” he panted.

“Jesus, Griffin. I have asked you to do a hell of a lot of stuff for me over the years, but I’ll be damned if I ask you to commit perjury for me,” I continued, adjusting my clothes.

“I don’t want that money back,” Griffin protested.

I continued, “But I do. This was Elliott’s little game. He wanted me to stay with you so this would happen and he wouldn’t have to give my money back.”