Page 257 of What We Brave
She's not attacking you. Calm down.
"It's complicated," I say. "There are logistics nobody warns you about. And people look at us sometimes when we're out, trying to figure us out." I shrug. "But that's other people. That's not us. Inside this house it just works."
I catch myself. Hear how earnest that sounds. Howafter-school special.
"Thanks for coming to my TED talk."
Angie laughs. Jamila shakes her head into her wine.
"No, seriously though," Angie says. "Does it ever feel—I don't want to be nosy?—"
"I'd rather you just ask the question." I'm bracing for the sex question, but she surprises me.
Her cheeks go pink. "Okay. So, is it hard making sure no one's left out? Or maybe that's not a problem? I don't mean in the bedroom. I'm not that big of an asshole. But everyone, men especially, are needy." She slaps a hand over her face. "I don't mean it in a bad way. But like, Tony wants my attention when he's home. Having two Tony's would be exhausting."
Yep. I'm giggle snorting. "Sometimes. If one of us is having a crap day and the other two are fine, yeah, that person can feel like the odd one out. But that's just a human thing, not a three-person thing." I take a sip. "And sometimes Blake and Reid have twenty years of history I can't touch. But then Reid and I are talking about a patientand Blake's completely lost. Or Blake and I are fighting about where the bookshelf goes and Reid couldn't care less." I look at her. "We're three people. We're not going to overlap perfectly. We're not supposed to."
Angie nods. Slow. "Tony said Reid's been different. Settled, was his word."
"He is," I say. "They both are."
"It's true," Jamila says. She's been quiet, curled in the armchair. Watching. "Last time Kerry and I were over, Blake talked to her for an hour about dovetail joints. Anhour. She came home and tried to build a shelf."
"Did she?" Angie asks.
"It has one shelf. And it's crooked. She put a vase on it and the damn thing slid right off and shattered on the floor."
I'm laughing and my eyes are burning at the same time.
Don't you dare cry at your own dinner party.
I take a drink. A big one.
Because Jamila's been here for the worst of it. I cried on her floor. Drank her wine. Let Kerry peel bottles out of my hands. And now she's sitting in my living room telling Angie we've found our way through.
"They've got a good thing," Jamila says. Looking right at me. Her mouth curves. Warm. Certain. "All three of them."
I blink. Sip my wine. Blink again.
Nope. We're fine. Moving on.
"Good," Angie says. Simple. Done. "That's really good, Laine."
The kitchen erupts—Tony's laugh, Reid saying something indignant, Kerry's voice cuts through: "Garrison, you areabsolutelywrong about that?—"
Blake comes through the doorway with a tray. Pie slices, forks, napkins—arranged with that quiet precision he can't shut off. Reid's behind him bouncing Claire against his chest. She's wide awake now, one fist wrapped around his collar. Tony's got coffee. Kerry brings up the rear with her beer.
"He thinks," Kerry announces, dropping onto the floor and stretching her legs out, "that the Trail Blazers have a shot at the playoffs."
"Theymathematicallyhave a shot—" Reid says, glaring at Kerry, who seems completely unbothered.
"They mathematically have a shot at last place."
"Kerry, I swear to God?—"
Blake sets the tray down and settles on the floor near my feet. Back against the couch. His shoulder presses against my calf. He doesn't look up, just leans in. Warm. Solid. Present.
He's been here all night. Talked to Tony about the house. Showed Kerry his lathe. Let Angie corner him about her grandmother's dresser. He hasn't disappeared to the workshop once. I wouldn't have blamed him if he did. It's a loud group.
