Page 218 of What We Brave
My phone buzzes.
Jamila
Pulling up now.
Did you get extra spring rolls.
Jamila
Obviously I got extra spring rolls. Who do you think you're talking to?
I smile. Pull two wine glasses from the cabinet — they're dusty. I rinse them, dry them, set them on the counter. Open the wine.
The buzzer goes. I let her up.
Jamila comes through the door carrying a bottle of wine that's definitely nicer than mine and wearing what she calls her "off-duty uniform" — joggers, a cashmere sweater, hair in a scarf. For Jamila, this is practically pajamas.
"I ordered on the way," she says, swapping her bottle for mine on the counter. "Pad Thai, green curry, tom kha, and?—"
"Extra spring rolls."
"Extra spring rolls." She surveys the apartment. Quick, efficient. There's not much to see.
She doesn't say anything. Just smiles and takes the wine glass I hand her.
"So," she says, settling onto the couch. Kicks her shoes off, tucks her feet up. "Talk to me. What's new?"
"Everything. Nothing." I sit on the other end, pull my knees up. "How's Kerry?"
"Screaming at a television with six other women who think they understand basketball better than the coach." She sips her wine. "I give it two hours before someone gets thrown out of the bar."
"My money's on Kerry."
"Always." She grins. "Howare your guys?"
My guys.I like that she calls them that. Like it's simple. Like it's just a thing that is.
"They're good. Really good, actually." And I mean it. The last few weeks have been... easier. Not perfect. But the kind of imperfect that feels honest. "We've been going out more. Together. All three of us."
"Yeah? Like where?"
"Farmer's market again. This little brewery Reid found. The grocery store. The coffee shop near the hospital." I take a sip. "It's getting more normal. The being-out-in-public thing."
She smiles, perfectly straight teeth flashing. "That's huge, Laine."
"It is." I trace the rim of my glass. "Reid has this theory. He says it's like — okay, this is his metaphor, not mine, and it's terrible — but he says it's like when you meet someone with a giant hairy mole."
Jamila's eyebrows go up.
"Stay with me. He says the first time you see it, that's all you see. But the third or fourth time, you stop noticing the mole and just see the person. Your brain files it under normal."
"He compared your relationship to a hairy mole."
"He did."
"And he's still alive?"
"My exact reaction." I'm laughing now, and it feels good. Light. "But the point is — the more we show up, the less weird it is. For us and for everyone else. And it's... kind of working? The barista at the coffee shop doesn't even blink anymore when I hold both their hands."
