Page 229 of What We Brave
Tony nods. He's been good about this — better than I expected. When I first told him about the three of us, he was a little weird about it. But now he asks about Blake and Laine the same way he asks about anyone's partner. No big deal. Just life.
"What kind of Laine stuff?"
"The living-together kind." I lean my head back against the seat. "She moved in three weeks ago and it's great. It's really great. But we've got two bedrooms and three people and every night it's this... thing. Whose room does she sleep in. And nobody talks about it, we just kind of — she picks, or it happens naturally, and it's fine."
"Doesn't sound fine."
"It IS fine. Except—" I rip off a piece of bread. Chew it. "I miss her. On the nights she's in his room. I wake up and she's not there and I just... miss her. And I know he feels the same way on the nights she's with me. And she's the one stuck in the middle trying to be fair about it, like she's managing a schedule."
"That sucks."
"It's not anyone's fault. It's just math. Three people, two beds."
Tony looks at me like I've said something incredibly stupid.
"So get a bigger bed."
"It's not that simple."
"Dude. Get a bigger bed. One room. All three of you." He takes a bite of his sandwich. Chews. Swallows. "Problem solved."
"We can't just?—"
"Why not?"
I open my mouth. Close it.
"You guys can share a bed without—" He crosses his index andmiddle fingers together, poking them through a circle he makes with his other hand.
"Tony."
"I'm just saying. It's just sleeping."
I sit with it. The idea. It's so simple it's stupid. One room. One bed. Big enough for three. No more counting. No more empty pillows that smell like her shampoo. No more waking up and reaching for someone who's not there.
Tony reaches over and slaps my shoulder. "You're overthinking this, bro. You always overthink this."
"I don't?—"
"You do. Every time. Just talk to them."
The radio crackles. Dispatch. We're moving before I can argue.
But the idea stays. Lodges itself right behind my sternum and sits there all through the next call and the one after that.
One bed. One room.
Why does that feel like such a big deal?
Because it is. Because right now, even though we're all together, there are still two rooms. Two doors. Two separate spaces that Laine moves between. And she does it gracefully and lovingly and it's stilllogistics. It's still a system.
One bed means no system. One bed means this is just... how we sleep. How we live. No rotation. No negotiation. Just us.
Talk to them.
Laine beats me home.She's on the couch in sweats, feet tucked up, looking more relaxed than she did this morning. Blake's in the kitchen — I can smell garlic and hear the sizzle of something in a pan. Normal evening. The kind I used to take for granted and now I appreciate every detail of because I know what it feels like when it's gone.
Dinner is some creamy mushroomy thing that is so fucking good I lick my plate. We eat at the kitchen table, knees bumping. Laine tells us about a kid who came into the ER with a Lego stuck up his nose.
