Page 198 of What We Brave
"But sharing her with Blake?—"
"It's notsharing." The word is wrong. Makes my skin itch. Even though I used it back at the beginning, I get it now. "She's not a pizza, Tony. She chose us. Both of us. We chose her. I don't know how to explain it better than that."
And I don't. That's the thing. Inside the house, it doesn't need explaining. Inside the house, it's Laine stealing Blake's flannel and my coffee in the same morning. It's Blake building her a shelf she didn't ask for and me catching her watching him work with this look on her face that makes my whole day better instead of worse. It's the three of us on the couch and her feet in my lap and her head on his shoulder and nobody keeping score.
Out here, in a rig, in a parking lot, in words — it sounds like something that needs defending. And I don't want to defend it. I want to go home.
Tony's quiet for a long moment. He's staring at the dashboard like it personally offended him.
"So you just... watch him kiss her and you're fine with it? No jealousy? Nothing?"
There it is.
I could lie. Give him the easy answer, the one that makes this sound like some evolved, enlightened arrangement where nobody ever feels anything inconvenient.
"I'm not a saint."
"That's not what I asked."
"Some days it's harder than others." I'm watching the seagull again. It's fighting another seagull for the wrapper now. Real territorial about garbage. I can relate. "Some days I see him touch her and something in me wants to — I don't know. Claim her. Which is a shitty way to feel about a person you love."
"So youarejealous."
"Sometimes. Yeah."
The word lands and just sits there. I didn't mean to say it thatplainly. Was planning something funnier, something with a better exit ramp. But there it is.
I'm jealous sometimes.
Not of Blake, exactly. Not of what he has with her. More like—jealous of how easy it is for him to need her. Blake doesn't filter it. Doesn't package it. He justneedsher, this raw, desperate, all-in way that I can't match because that's not how I'm built. I'm the steady one. The easy one. The one who makes her laugh and keeps the wheels on. And most days that feels like enough.
Most days.
"And then I remember what it was like without them," I say, before Tony can push deeper. "Both of them. And the jealousy feels pretty fucking small compared to that."
Tony doesn't respond right away. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read—somewhere between concern and something that might be respect. Or pity. Hard to tell with Tony.
"And Blake? He get jealous?"
"Blake gets jealous of theweatherif it makes Laine smile and he didn't cause it."
That gets a surprised laugh out of him. Small, but real. "That tracks."
"We talk about it. A lot. Probably more than any normal couple does. I've had more conversations about feelings in the last two months than in my entire life before this."
"That doesn't sound like you."
"Yeah, well." I shrug. "People grow, Tony. It's a thing that happens."
"Like…do you…are you…" He drifts off, then makes a weird kind of cross with his forefingers.
"I have no idea what you're trying to ask me."
"Are you fucking Blake? Or is he fucking you? Shit. I'm not supposed to say that. Are you… are you gay?"
"Jesus Christ, Tony. Could you be any more awkward? No, I'm not suddenly gay. Blake and I are friends. That's all. The sex is with Laine, not each other."
His face goes red. He's quiet for a minute. "And it doesn't get weird? With the two of you both being with her?"
