• • •

If I had my own way, I'd sleep in on Saturday morning. Driving and meeting new people are two ways to guarantee exhausting me, my tiredness exacerbated by fooling around with Liam after a shower, so I hoped I'd get at least eight or nine hours sleep, but the choice is out of my hands. It isn't even seven when I'm awoken by a half-dressed Daria racing in and winding me when she jumps on my chest.

"Hi Storie!" she cries out, her knees digging into my stomach. It takes a moment for my words to come back with a choke.

"Hi, Daria," I say with a cough, blearily squinting up at her. It's still dark outside, way too early to be awake.

"You're here!" she cries, belly-flopping onto me and wrapping her arms around me, burying her hands under my head and tangling in my hair.

"Why're you up? It's so early."

"I had a bath with Mommy," she says, and Allie appears on cue, tying a bathrobe around herself with an apologetic smile when she locates her daughter. She hurries over, almost spilling out of the robe when she bends over to scoop Daria off me.

"Daria! I told you not to disturb anyone," she says, tutting and shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, honey. She's such a little imp, this one, always disobeying Mommy." She lets Daria slither to the floor, which means she clambers onto the bed again and tries to snuggle with me. I'm too tired and disoriented to stop her, and she grins with glee when she manages to burrow under my arm.

I'm just glad it was cool enough last night that I wore pajamas. I run warm and usually sleep in my underwear, if anything, with the window open. Liam's house is almost as old as the country, though, and I appreciate the lack of insulation, and the November chill in the air.

"If Daddy told you to get dressed, you'd be dressed by now," Allie says, though she doesn't sound the least bit annoyed. Daria knows, and she grins.

"You're not Daddy. You're Mommy." She has a cheeky little voice. She plucks at my nightdress, which is really just a huge men's t-shirt I got from Goodwill, and asks, "Why're you wearing a boy top?"

"Clothes aren't boys or girls, Dar. They're just clothes," Allie says. "Come on, give Storie some space. It's only six forty-five!"

"Mmm, give Storie some space," I echo. "It's too early. My on switch isn't working yet."

Allie peels Daria off me, though the kid is surprisingly strong, and takes her downstairs to make coffee. I roll over and tuck myself against Liam, who slept soundly through the whole exchange. I nuzzle my nose into the nape of his neck and breathe in his sleepy scent and when I pull the covers up to our shoulders and nestle beneath them, he lets out an appreciative sigh.

"Are you awake?" I whisper.

His voice is croaky when he says, "Not for long."

Within a minute, he proves himself right when his breathing steadies and deepens and the quietest snores escape him. It's less annoying than I ever predicted it'd be, and oddly comforting. It isn't long before I'm snoring again too, lulled back to sleep by the ungodly hour and the stability of Liam in my arms.

The sun has dragged itself from the horizon when I next open my eyes. Pale rays filter through the gap in the curtains, a cold breeze sneaking through the window that's open just an inch. I shiver and snuggle deeper into the bed, burying my face in the warm crevice between Liam's shoulder blades. I'm not ready to get up yet.

My phone buzzes. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again, and again, and I can't tell if it's successive messages or a call. Liam's voice vibrates the pillow, grunting at me to turn it off, so I blindly fumble for my phone and squint at the bright screen that shows a whole host of messages in the Sovanono group chat.

They're all from Gray. Pictures of breakfast in various stages of preparation, then a photo of Mom and Tad sitting up in bed with a tray between them, awkwardly smiling for the camera. He made them breakfast in bed, which would be a lot sweeter if he wasn't bragging about it in the family chat.

I switch my phone to silent and turn it face-down on the nightstand to indulge in a few more minutes with Liam. It's a cold Saturday in November, five days before Thanksgiving: there's nothing I need to race out of bed for.

But it isn't long before my stomach has other ideas, growling when the smell of breakfast wafts up to Liam's room. He stirs next to me, shifting with a grunt before he sits up and leaves me cold when I lose my little spoon. He lumbers over to his bathroom, and I rest my eyes for the few minutes that he's away, before he comes back and nudges me with his butt.

"I smell food," he says, his voice muffled as he tugs on a t-shirt and something a little more decent than his boxers, and he waits as I find a pair of sweatpants. I pause, my hand hovering over a warm wintery dress in my case.

"Should I get dressed?"

"It's only breakfast," Liam says. "Breakfast is to be eaten in pajamas. That's a rule."

"An actual family rule or one you made up?"

He pauses, lips pursed. "A bit of both. I can assure you, there's no need to dress up unless you want to."

I leave it, though I'm a little paranoid that his dad will judge me when I rock up to the table having blatantly made zero effort. Then again, after how we filled out the quiz last night, I'm in for a few funky judgements.

It's only nine. It feels like it should be later, having slept in for so long after Daria woke me, but the house is quiet. None of Liam's brothers are up yet, if snores in various frequencies are anything to go by. I'd happily sleep for longer but I feel extra lazy if I stay in bed too long in someone else's house. It's one thing to do nothing before eleven in my own house, though that's rare these days – it's a whole other thing to hide away in bed here.

Daria's eating cereal at the kitchen table. She waves frantically when she sees us, spoon in hand, splattering the table with milk. Her parents don't notice. They're across the kitchen, wrapped in a loving embrace, and they kiss when they pull apart. Allie turns to the stove, spatula in hand, and Vitaly's arm remains around her waist, his hand on her stomach.

He looks a lot less scary now than he did last night. Maybe it was all an act. But when Daria shrieks my name, he shoots her a frown that carries over to us and back to Daria.

"Solnyshko, please," he says. "You don't need to be so loud inside the house. I'm sure Astoria can hear you."

"Um, it's just Storie," I say, awkwardly correcting him. "I prefer Storie."

He seems to study me for a while, eyes narrowing a fraction, before he dips his head in a subtle nod. "My apologies, Storie. May I ask, why Astoria?"

Liam and I take a seat. I try not to feel too on the spot but any conversational prowess I ever had – none, to be honest – shrivels up under Vitaly's scrutiny.

"Um, it was where my mom lived when she first came to America, and she thought it'd make a nice name," I say, "and I guess she convinced my dad."

"Mmm. What is it your parents do?"

"Dad," Liam says, sounding exasperated. "Can we save the inquisition for, like, never?" He pulls over a couple of plates and a platter of bagels from the middle of the table.

"It was a simple question," Vitaly says. He turns to me. "You don't have to answer if you'd rather not."

"No, it's fine," I say. "My parents owned their own bookstore when we lived in Queens and now Mom works in the bookstore in Five Oaks."

"And your father?" he asks. I guess Liam hasn't told him. They don't seem like the kind of father and son duo who talk much.

"He died," I say. The kitchen goes quiet. Even Vitaly looks a little awkward.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice lower, more sincere. "I wasn't aware."

"That's why Mom and I moved to Ohio," I say, in lieu of pretending it's ok. I don't want to ever say it's ok in reference to Dad's death. Nothing about it was ok. I'm not sure what else to say, so I turn my eyes to the bagel Liam has passed me. Poppy seed – my favourite.

"And how're you liking it?" Vitaly takes a seat next to Daria. He cracks a smile when she cuddles against him and almost gets milk on his clean shirt. He puts his arm around her and kisses her flyaway blonde hair, and I soften towards him a little. He's a strange mix of stern and kind.

"I love it," I say, dropping my bagel into the toaster at the end of the table. I take a glass of orange juice that Allie pours me when she sits next to her husband. "I prefer the country to the city, I think. And my best friend lives right next door – well, with me now. His dad and my mom are engaged."

He gives me a small smile of acknowledgement and slowly stirs his coffee, which feels somehow ominous. I can't believe how different he and Allie are, how they're married. She makes me feel at home. He makes me feel like I'm invading his.

"Well," he says once he's finished his coffee and a slice of toast, standing and straightening his tie, "no rest for the wicked." He bends to kiss Allie, his hand on her shoulder, and he hugs Daria when she jumps to her feet on her chair and wraps her arms around him.

"Don't go, Daddy," she says, pouting.

"I'll be home tonight, Dasha."

"For stories?"

"Maybe, solnyshko," he says, and Allie tuts at him.

"You'll only get her hopes up, Vit."

"I'll try my best," he says, squeezing her shoulder before he leaves with a nod of his head and a static wave, gathering his jacket and briefcase on the way out. Allie shakes her head and sighs, and rests her arm around Daria.

"That's probably the most you'll see of your father before Christmas," she says to Liam, giving him a slightly exasperate knowing look. "So, what're you two up to today?"

Liam and I share a glance. I have no idea. We didn't really talk about that. I guess I just assumed we'd be hanging out, probably helping out with his siblings.

"Well," Allie says when we say nothing, "Johnny's away for the weekend and I'm taking Sam to a sleepover later, and the boys are in desperate need of clothes, so I'll take George, Sam and Daria to the mall at some point." She holds up her hands. "That's my plan. If you feel like dragging a couple of reluctant kids round the stores, you're welcome to join, but I recommend you entertain yourselves."

Liam purses his lips, his eyes on me. "I think we can find a way to entertain ourselves."

Allie raises her eyebrows. She says nothing, but she's hiding a grin.

• • •

After lounging around the house for a while, Liam and I ended up going out for lunch, exploring the best of his suburbs. It felt so good walking around holding hands, like I need that confirmation for the part of me that refuses to believe this is real. I'm not sure that critic will ever leave me but I'm getting better at shutting her up with the facts.

Liam's my boyfriend. He loves me. He loves my body. He isn't embarrassed to walk around with me, to kiss me in public, in front of his friends. He isn't ashamed. So why should I feel like I'm supposed to be? Why should I feel like I don't have the right to be happy?

We're strolling down a quaint high street when Liam's phone chirps with an update from his mom. She's been keeping us up to date all day, letting us know where she is and where she's heading with three kids in tow. Sam's seven, so he's just about still a cute little kid, but George is twelve and a grumpy boy going through puberty, and Daria's a firecracker. I don't envy Allie.

"Mom says she's taking the boys to the barber and then she'll be hanging around the mall until it's time to take Sam to his sleepover," he says. My brain does the math, jumping headfirst into a conclusion.

"So the house is empty until then?"

Liam follows my train of thought, I think, and a smile twitches onto his lips. "Mmm. It will be. What're you thinking?"

My heart skips a beat. I can feel my palms about to get sweaty so I drop Liam's hand. "I'm thinking that it's not often we're completely alone," I say, forcing the words through my sudden nervousness. "Maybe we could see where things go?"

He leans close, kisses the tip of my nose, and says, "I like the sound of that."

• • •

In virtually every TV show and movie I've ever seen, sex is portrayed as an impulsive act, no big deal. I've never understood that. I guess I would've done it at the party, but that was only because I'd had a few too many drinks. I'm so glad Liam stopped me. I know I'd have regretted it.

Now, sober and clear-headed, I can't imagine rushing straight into it. I want to feel prepared. I want to feel clean. I was worried that Liam would laugh when, after we made it back to his, I told him I wanted to have a shower. But he didn't laugh. He did the same.

When every inch of myself is scrubbed, I shut off the water. Suddenly, the house seems so much quieter. Towelling myself dry, I pull on my dress but nothing else. No bra, no underwear. Just the dress, something to cover me. When I slip out of Liam's bathroom back into his bedroom, he's sitting on the edge of the bed in just his towel, water droplets clinging to his abs.

My hunger grows. I step over to him and sit next to him on the bed. "Is this weird?" I ask.

"What?"

"This." I spread out my hands. "Making it into a big deal. In the middle of the day." I'm very aware of the brightness of the room. "Should we wait until night?"

He turns to face me, the knot in his towel loosening. "We can do it whenever you want," he says. "If this feels weird, we won't. I don't want you to feel like we have to do anything." His eyes are sincere, earnest. "I mean it, Storie." He squeezes my hand. "And it is our first time – I think it's ok if we make it a big deal."

"It's my first time ever," I say, fingering the edge of my dress. "I really don't know what I'm doing."

"There's no, like, right and wrong," he says, cupping my cheek. "We've got time to figure it out." He leans in for a kiss that would knock me off my feet if we weren't sitting. "Let's just take it slow?"

I nod and smile, trying to drown my nerves. It's a lot easier when Liam kisses me, and it isn't long before I'm horizontal. He looms over me, his towel hardly keeping together, and his kisses are slow and gentle.

"This is just you and me," he murmurs, pulling away slightly to meet my eye. "If you don't want to do something, if you want to stop, just say, ok?"

I nod, holding his gaze. His intoxicating gaze. The lights are off and the curtains are pulled, but the dingy November sun still casts a strange haze throughout the room. When the odd optimistic ray catches him, his skin glows. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, and he laughs when he loses his balance and crushes me.

He's hard. I can feel him through his towel. It awakens something more urgent in me as we kiss. When his hand trails down my body, I'm at his mercy. I'm ready for this. I've been ready for a while, and I didn't think it would happen like this, planned and orchestrated in a quiet lull on a Saturday afternoon.

But it's kind of perfect. It's not a surprise. I'm prepared for it. I suggested it. I have condoms in my bag, but it's a while before we get to them. Liam knows what he's doing, how to loosen me up with his hands and lips: he makes no mistake when he pushes my dress to my waist, my legs inching apart when his hands inch down.

There really is no rush. We fool around for twenty minutes, teasing and edging each other until we're relaxed and unbearably aroused. We've done all this before, his fingers buried in me, my hand wrapped around him, syncopated breaths turning ragged, but we've never gone any further than fumbling our way to orgasm.

Until today.

"Are you sure?" Liam pants in my ear as I tear open the second condom. I broke the first. After we laughed, my nerves subsided and I manage to roll this one on without incident.

"I'm sure." My hand is between us, my eyes on him as I blindly guide him to where he needs to be. I can't help but hold my breath. He kisses me, breathing heavily.

"Relax," he whispers. I focus on relaxing, and then I do.

And then we do.

I'm still wearing my dress when we finish. I prefer it that way. Liam is totally naked, my hands on every inch of his impeccable body, but I'm wearing a dress ruckled around my waist, breathing so hard I think I might pass out.

I didn't know what to expect. I've heard so many stories, everything from agonizing pain to instant pleasure. It was somewhere in the middle. Uncomfortable at first, and a little awkward as we figured out our positions, but the discomfort only lasted as long as it took us to find our rhythm.

Then it was ... I don't know. Different? Totally different to anything I've done to myself, totally different to Liam's hand or my own, incomparable to the occasional impromptu aide I've tried. My mind's reeling too much to think straight, my legs trembling. While I'm recovering, and no doubt overthinking, Liam discreetly gets rid of the condom and shimmies into a pair of shorts, and he comes back to me.

"Hey," he murmurs. I'm not sure how long it lasted, punctuated by quiet grunts and the occasional moan, the odd gasp of surprise from me, but it feels like forever since I heard his voice. I know it's less than ten minutes. But time feels strange.

"Hi," I manage to say at last, when I can drag my mind away from what happened for long enough to form a word. I shift onto my side and when I come nose to nose with Liam, I kiss him. I can't find the words right now, but I hope the kiss says what I need it to say.

"How was that?"

I nod. I grin. I was worried I wouldn't finish, but Liam knows how to make that happen, and I think my mind was actually blown when he found just the right rhythm between his hips and his wrist. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he did it well.

"I can't believe we finally did that," I say, and I'm beginning to realize that the whole virginity thing might have been a bigger weight on my mind than I thought it was. "I love you." I suddenly feel emotional and I curse the lump in my throat, the one that wants to humiliate me with tears after sex.

"I'm so glad we did," Liam says, brushing my hair off my face, "and I love you too."

He kisses my shoulder, my neck, up to my jaw and my cheek and my lips. His arms tangle around me, fingers in my hair, my hands bunched in his, and I don't want to let go. I'm not ready for this moment to be over. I'm dreading the second he stands and leaves, when he sighs and gets dressed.

But he doesn't. He runs his hands over my body, smooth fingertips exploring me, and he rests his head on my chest, his ear to my heart. He must be able to hear the crazy rhythm it's pounding out, erratic enough that I'm not sure I can do anything but lie still for now.

There's no hurry. The afternoon stretches lazily ahead of us. We have time to rest, so we do, arms and legs coiled together like a puzzle, Liam's thigh slung across mine and his arm over my stomach, his head on my chest. It's how we fall asleep, drifting off with the weight of the world behind us.

I feel free; I feel lighter, even with him draped over me. Another hurdle, left in the dust. At last.

• • •