Page 96 of What We Brave
"Which is?"
"Shove it down until somebody explodes."
"Wow. Direct hit. No notes." I slide off the workbench. Lean against the far wall. Slide down until I'm sitting on the concrete, legs stretched out. Blake raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. "And you're Mr. Communication now? Since when?"
"Since I spent three months with nothing to do but think."
"Three months in a war zone."
"Lots of downtime between the parts that aren't downtime."
"And you spent it becoming a relationship expert."
"I spent it figuring out all the ways I screwed this up." No self-pity. Just flat. "Had plenty of material to work with."
I don't have a comeback for that. So I sit with it.
The workshop creaks around us. Old wood doing its thing. I stare at the ceiling. There's a cobweb in the corner that's been there so long the spider probably has grandkids.
"Tony's going to be insufferable. When he finds out? Holy shit." I tip my head back against the wall. "He's going to do the thing where he pretends to be supportive for about thirty seconds and then it's just nonstop. 'Hey Reid, does Blake take your turns doing dishes or does Laine have a chore wheel?' 'Hey Reid, do you guys have a group text or is it more of a reply-all situation?'" I drop my voice into Tony's cadence. "'Hey Reid, if Blake eats your leftovers, is that a roommate problem or a relationship problem?'"
"Sounds like a real gem."
"He's the best partner I've ever had and I will literally never hear the end of this." I scrub my hands over my face. "But it's not really about Tony. It's about Laine."
"What about her?"
"It's her job. Her friends. Joyce — the head nurse, you met her at the thing. She's basically Laine's mom out here. What happens when Laine has to explain this to Joyce? To Jamila? To her actual parents who literally build churches?"
"That's Laine's call to make."
"Yeah, but I'd be part of the reason she has to make it. We both would." I pick at a crack in the concrete floor. "And I don't care what people think about me. Never have. But she might care. And this is going to cost her."
Blake doesn't have a response to that. We sit with it for a while.
"What about down the road?" I ask the ceiling. "Long term."
"How long term?"
"The longest term. The whole enchilada." I pause. "Kids, Blake."
He goes completely still. The air in the workshop gets thicker.
"Kids," he repeats.
"I've always wanted them. You know that." I lift my head to look at him. "I used to think about it with Laine. Teaching a kid to throw aball. Coaching little league. Getting puked on at three AM and being weirdly okay with it. The whole stupid beautiful mess of it." My voice goes rougher than I want it to. "And now I don't know what that picture looks like. Or if it even exists anymore."
Blake stares at the concrete floor for a long time. Long enough that I think he's done talking.
"I never let myself think that far ahead," he says finally. "Even before all this."
"Why?"
"Come on, Reid."
"No, seriously."
His jaw works. "Because I don't trust myself with that." The words come in a snap. "A kid can't walk away from you. A kid is stuck with whoever you are. And I know who I am. I know what I'm capable of."
