MONICA Sona and the staff had cleared out. Darren hugged and congratulated me, fist-bumped Jonathan, promising him a wild night of beer-slinging and bar-hopping in Silver Lake. He kissed me on the cheek and left, promising he’d call. Irene had warned me clearly, while ignoring Jonathan, that there was to be nothing going on behind the closed door that might bring a heart rate up. But, just in case I didn’t know, he was being monitored from the nurse’s station. So no quote, funny business, unquote. We laughed when the door closed. I wanted to lie on top of him, press my thighs to his, and tuck my head into the crook of his neck, but that was impossible. I leaned over, sitting in the adjacent chair, and kissed his cheek. “Do you regret it?” I said. “I feel relieved.” “I’m glad.” “I wish I could give you a wedding night. Throw you over my shoulder, dress and all, and carry you over the threshold.
