Fifteen
We crammed into the back area of a tapas place that J.T. had insisted we try down near Coolidge Corner. The drinks were heavy on the alcohol and the charcuterie was sufficiently salty to keep me going back for more. It all felt so normal, sitting here as a family, laughing and sharing stories like it was just another night out.
Beside me, J.T. leaned in, kissing me unexpectedly on the cheek. I had a hunch it was the second margarita that had emboldened him, but no one seemed to notice or care. We were newlyweds and had license to be overly affectionate as the waiter came by with another round of tiny plates filled with far too small portions. I was grateful our parents had insisted on footing the bill for this.
“Hey, you felt it earlier, right?” J.T. said vaguely, pulling me in
