Late morning, I find consciousness again. The sun is hot already. Avery’s hand is warm against my bare chest. I stretch and press closer to him. His head is next to my arm. His even breath cool and soft across my skin. I tangle my fingers carefully in his hair and close my eyes again. I don’t move, feeling his chest rise against my own. After a while I start to wake him by trailing my fingers down his sides. Down his back. I smile as he shivers and sighs under my hand.
Cool showers. I towel dry our hair. The smell of soap lingers there and in the slightly steamy air. It’s there on his skin when I kiss the back of his neck, his shoulder, his arm. I trace stray drips of water down his back. We sit. I rest my chin on his shoulder, nose against his neck. He plays with the puppy, rolling her over, making her squeak and bark. His attention strays at the smell of waffles finding its way four floors up.
We pick berries out of the garden. Avery has them on his fingers. I bite them slowly; let the juice wash over my tongue. Blueberries, raspberries, blackberries. He delights in trying to get the stains off my lips and my fingers. He tries to toss them into my mouth. I steal them off his fingers. He balances one on his nose. They’re gone before we reach the house. We taste them on each other long after.
The television is on. I stretch my legs out onto the coffee table. The cat stretches his paws over my shoulder, half on me, half on the back of the couch. He purrs as I rub his head. Stupid cat, Avery says. He claims my lap. Would you like me better if I purred? He’s teasing, but is pleased anyway when I start playing with his hair. I say I like you better than ten cats, whether or not you purr. He starts singing along to a local commercial jingle. I squeeze his waist and laugh when he squeaks.
The sun turns the sky brilliant red and deep purple as it sets. Avery blocks it as he dances in front of the window. It’s nothing but silly. An Avery thing. Pajama bottoms cover half his feet and his thumbs poke through holes he’s worn in the too long sleeves of my favorite sweatshirt. His grin makes me grin. I tackle him to the bed when he jumps on me. We quiet, laying there. I watch him slowly fall asleep, and then watch him begin to dream.