Page 197 of What We Brave
"Yeah."
"All three of you."
"Yeah."
"Like..." He makes a vague gesture with his hands that could mean literally anything. "Together together?"
"Yes, Tony. Together together."
He sits back in his seat. Rubs his face with both hands. "Holy shit."
"Yeah."
I wait for something. Disgust? Anger? For him to call me an idiot? Instead he just sits there, processing, and I'm sitting here with my heart pounding faster than it should be, which is ridiculous because I've walked into houses with people actively dying and been calmer than this.
But those people were strangers. Tony's not a stranger. Tony's the guy who's had my back for years, who held pressure on a femoral bleed with me while we both got screamed at by a meth head
Tony matters. What Tony thinks matters.
Fuck.
"How long?" he asks.
"Almost two months. Officially. Before that it was..." I wave my hand. "A mess."
"I'll bet." He's quiet for a minute. I can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes—clicking, jamming, clicking again. "So when you were all messed up over her—when she broke up with you?—"
"Blake was part of the reason. But not the way you're thinking."
"I don't even know what I'm thinking right now." He picks up his coffee, puts it down without drinking. Picks it up again. "So wait—whose bed does she sleep in?"
"We alternate."
"Like aschedule?"
"No, not like a—it's not a custody arrangement, Tony."
"Okay but is there a calendar? Like Monday-Wednesday-Friday, you, Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday, him?"
"There's no calendar."
He winces, shaking his head. "There should be a calendar. That seems like something where you need a calendar."
"Noted."
He shakes his head slowly. "Reid. Man. I've known you a long time. You're the most straightforward guy I know. Black and white. Right and wrong. And now you're telling me you're in some kind of... three-way relationship?"
"It's called polyamory. Technically."
"I don't care what it's called." He's not angry. Not exactly. More like someone just told him the earth is flat and then showed him pretty convincing evidence. "I'm trying to understand howyouended up here."
That's the question, isn't it? How did solid, dependable, black-and-white Reid Garrison end up in a relationship that doesn't fit on any form he's ever filled out?
Number of partners: ___
Check one, asshole. Just one.
"I almost lost her," I say. My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. "Back when everything fell apart. Blake took off to Afghanistan. Laine was done with me. And I realized I'd rather have this—whateverthisis, the complicated, doesn't-fit-in-a-box version—than lose them. Either of them." I peel at the seam on my coffee cup. The paper's coming apart under my thumbnail. "I tried the alternative. It sucked."
