Page 189 of What We Brave
"That's complicated, Laine."
"I know."
"I'm not saying that to be ugly. I'm saying — that's a lot of moving pieces. And the last time Reid Garrison was in your life, you were a mess, honey."
"This is different."
"You said that."
"Because it's true."
Joyce looks at me, full on squinting. The way she looks at patients when she's deciding whether they're telling her the truth about their pain level.
"What changed?"
"Everything. He — the stuff that happened before, with Blake leaving, and Reid falling apart — that's over. Blake came back and they worked through it and Reid got help and—" I push my hair off myface. "I know how it sounds. I know it sounds like I went back to a bad situation and made it more complicated. But it's not that."
"Then tell me what it is."
"It's—" My voice catches and I hate it. "I'm happy, Joyce. I'm actually, genuinely happy. And I know you watched me be miserable and I know you're worried and you should be, I'd be worried too. But I come home in the morning and Blake is making breakfast, smiling at me, so happy to see me, and Reid texts me at three in the morning because something funny happened, and they — they take care of me. Both of them. And I take care of them. And it works."
My eyes are burning. Crap. Crying over my love life at work is so not a good look.
"I just—" I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, cause that's so much better than crying. "Danielle asked about my boyfriend. Singular. And I said 'he's good' and I meant both of them and I couldn't even — I just let her think?—"
"Hey." Joyce reaches over and puts her hand on my arm. "Stop for a second."
I stop.
She's quiet for a long moment. Thumb moving over my forearm in slow strokes.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand how this works," she says. "Because I don't. Thirty-five years with one man and some days that's more than enough."
I almost laugh. Almost. I can't really imagine it, getting tired of my guys. But I'm lucky enough to get 35 years into a loving relationship, I'm sure I'd get there.
"But I've watched you the last few months. And something changed. You stopped running on fumes. You started eating lunch again. You smile at your phone like a crazy person and you hum during your rounds and you—" She squeezes my arm. "You look like someone who landed somewhere."
My throat is so tight I can't talk.
"So I've got questions. And I'm going to ask them, because I love you and I watched you fall apart once and I don't want to watch it again. But me having questions doesn't mean I'm not in your corner."She looks at me over her glasses even though she already took them off. Force of habit. "I'm always in your corner. Even when you make it complicated."
"I always make it complicated," I manage.
"You really do, Dear." She pats my arm. "Now. Tell me about Blake."
35
LAINE
Two weeks. That's how long it takes for something to start feeling like home.
I'm tucked into a chair at the table, watching Reid pour coffee while Blake flips pancakes at the stove. Morning light streams through the kitchen windows, catching the steam rising from my mug, and I have this surreal moment ofhow did I get here?
Not in a bad way. In the way where you suddenly notice you're happy and it startles you.
"You're staring," Reid says, sliding into the seat next to me. His thigh presses warm against mine.
"I'm admiring the view."
