Page 232 of What We Brave
"We don't need nine feet."
"We might need nine feet. Laine, tell him we need nine feet."
"That's big right?"
"There's a Wyoming king. Eighty-four by eighty-four."
"That's seven feet square."
"Seven feet square." I look at Blake. "That's the one. That's the bed."
"Where are you going to find sheets for a seven-foot square bed?"
"The internet, Blake. It's 2026. You can find sheets for anything."
"The frame?—"
"You're going to build the frame. Obviously."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Something shifts in his expression — that look he gets when his hands are already designing something his brain hasn't approved yet.
"I could do a platform style," he says. Slow. Like he's testing it. "Low profile. Keep it simple."
"See? He's already building it in his head. Blake will build an epic platform. It'll be the best bed ever."
Blake shakes his head, but he's smiling.
"What about the mattress?" I ask. "Memory foam? Hybrid? I run hot, so we need something with cooling?—"
"You run hot because you sleep wrapped in a blanket burrito."
"That's my process, Laine. Don't shame my process."
We argue for another twenty minutes about mattress specs. Foam density. Edge support. Whether pillow tops are worth it. Blake has opinions about materials that I didn't know a person could have. Laine keeps adding throw pillows to the cart.
I roll off the couch onto the living room floor. Spread my arms and legs out. Full starfish.
"This is how much space I need." I look up at Blake. "Get your tape measure."
43
LAINE
"Sweetheart! Oh, I was just thinking about you."
"Hey, Mom." I pull my feet up in the chair and cradle the coffee against my chest. "How's the roof?"
"Two steps forward, one step back. Carlos found more rot in the east section — David thinks termites, Carlos says water damage. They've been going back and forth for a week." She laughs. "Your father's up there every morning at dawn. I keep telling him he's sixty-three, not twenty-three, but you know how he listens."
"He doesn't."
"He does not."
Through the floor, I hear the tile saw whine, stop, start again. Blake's been working on the bathroom every spare hour for two weeks. I help when I can — holding things, handing him tools, trying not to stare at his forearms while he works. Reid's contribution has been snack delivery and unsolicited opinions about grout color.
I'm wicked at tiling, so I've been down there all morning helping, but I didn't want to put this call off any longer.
"The community center's coming along, though," Mom continues. "The women's group has started meeting in the main room already,even with scaffolding up. They don't care. They're just happy to have a space."
