“Every joke started sounding like evidence,” she said. I could hear what she meant, all the little moments I had experienced as harmless drifting into a pattern she had to live inside. I had thought I was keeping things light while she wondered whether I was already preparing to leave. When I told her I was sorry for making her feel temporary, she closed her eyes briefly before saying thank you.
I came around the counter, slowly enough that she could stop me if she wanted. She stayed where she was, watching me with an expression I had loved long before I knew what to call it. “Where does that leave us?” I asked, and she pretended to consider the question before allowing that she could probably continue dating me. I told her she was generous, and she informed me that generosity did not rule out probation.
“I thought we retired the contract jokes,” I said. Maya looked up at me and explained that we had retired mine, which felt perfectly consistent with the woman I knew. I asked whether I could kiss my girlfriend, and the smile that answered me was worth every uncomfortable sentence it had taken to reach it. There was flour on her cheek and, a moment later, on my shirt, and neither of us made the slightest effort to brush it away.
