Page 173 of What We Brave
"Intense?"
"That word is doing so much work right now and it's still not enough."
Our pancakes arrive. I eat a bite without tasting it. Then another. Then a third, because stress eating is a valid coping mechanism and I will die on that hill.
"And then last night on the couch," I continue, mouth half full, which Jamila graciously ignores. "Reid was playing with my hair and Blake started touching my leg and they just — it was like they planned it. This coordinated—" I gesture again. Still conveying nothing. "And I just... let them. Both of them. At the same time."
I put my fork down. Stare at my pancakes.
"And it was incredible. Like, genuinely the most — I didn't know my body could DO that. And then I fell asleep between them and somebody carried me to the guest room and I woke up alone with white walls and my own thoughts and now I'm HERE."
I gesture at the diner. At the laminate table. At reality.
She sits back. Studies me.
"Okay," she says slowly. "So you had an incredible weekend with two men who clearly adore you. And now you're sitting in a diner looking like someone ran over your dog."
"I don't have a dog."
"Not the point, lady." She points her fork at me. "What's actually going on? Because the woman who suggested this arrangement doesn't look like someone who just got exactly what she asked for."
What IS going on?
I push a piece of pancake around my plate. Making tracks in the syrup.
"I don't know."
"Try."
"It's just—" I set down my fork. "Everything was perfect. Too perfect. Like a snow globe. And I keep waiting for someone to drop it."
"You think they're going to change their minds?"
"No. Maybe." I press my palms against my eyes. "It's not that. It's more like... I don't know how to exist in something this good. Every good thing I've ever had came with an expiration date. Every country, every apartment, every job."
"And this doesn't have an expiration date."
"No. And that should be great. That IS great. But my body doesn't know what to do with it. I keep waiting for the catch. The part where someone saysokay, that was fun, time to go."
Jamila's quiet for a moment. Processing.
"Tell me about Blake," she says. "How did it feel? Being with him?"
Oh God. Feelings are hard.
"Like being seen all the way through." I stare at my coffee. "He was... desperate. In the best way. Like he'd been holding back for so long and when he finally let go—" I shake my head. "And then afterwards he washed my hair. In the shower. Worked out all the tangles like it was the most important thing he'd ever done."
"And Reid?"
"Safe. Home. The way it's always been with him." I wrap my hands around my mug. "Different from Blake. Warmer. Steadier. Reid makes me feel like I could fall and he'd catch me. Blake makes me feel like falling IS the point."
"So you have two men who make you feel two different things. Both good. Both real." Jamila tilts her head. "I'm not seeing the problem here."
"The problem is I don't know how to hold both at once." The words tumble out before I can arrange them. "When I'm with Reid I feel settled. Grounded. Like I know exactly who I am. And when I'm with Blake I feel... electric. Alive in a way I didn't know I could be. But together? All three of us?"
"What?"
"I don't know who I'm supposed to be. Which version. The steady one or the wild one." I laugh, but it sounds. a little manic. "And what happens when they realize I'm just... me? Regular me who eats too many pancakes and talks to herself in the car and doesn't know what she's doing?"
