Page 270 of What We Brave
"And our bed frame," I add, and immediately want to die. "The — a bed frame. For the house."
Mom gives me a look. Not suspicious. Just... curious. I smile and change the subject to the garden.
The house is small. Two rooms — a front room with a loveseat, a table, two chairs, and a back room with a bed. Clean. Simple. Hand-woven blankets folded at the foot of the bed, a vase of wildflowers on the table that my mom definitely put there.
"Miguel's away visiting family in Quetzaltenango," Mom explains. "He offered it while he's gone. Wasn't that kind?"
"So kind," I say.
"There's fresh water in the jug, and I put extra blankets in the chest. It gets cold at night — the altitude." She looks at me and Reid. "Plenty of room for two."
For two.
"Blake should stay here too," I say. "With us."
Mom's eyebrows lift slightly. "There's only the one bed, sweetheart.Carlos has a spare room — he offered. Blake would have his own space."
"He's more comfortable with us. He doesn't really know anyone here yet. Right, Reid?"
"Yeah, absolutely." Reid nods. "Blake's not great with new places. Military thing."
It's not a lie. It's not the truth either.
Mom looks between us. I can see her trying to make the math work — why wouldn't a young couple want privacy? Why would they want a third person sleeping in their living room?
"Well," she says finally. "If you're sure. There's extra bedding in the chest."
"We're sure. Thanks, Mom."
She kisses my cheek. Squeezes my hand. Leaves.
The door closes and the three of us stand there, looking at the space. The loveseat is tiny — more of a bench with ambitions. Blake's already measuring it with his eyes, and I know what he's calculating because I can see the answer on his face. He won't fit. Not even close.
He drops his duffel by the wall. Tests the loveseat anyway. Sits. Lies down. His legs hang off the end by at least a foot.
"That's not happening," Reid says.
"It's fine."
"Your knees are in a different zip code, Blake."
"I said it's fine."
He doesn't mean it. He's already sitting back up, rubbing his face, scanning the room for another option. The floor. He's going to sleep on the floor. He's in a house with the two people who love him most in the world and he's planning to sleep on the floor alone because that's where he thinks he belongs right now.
No.
I go to the back room. Grab the mattress.
"Laine, what are you?—"
I drag it off the bed frame. It's heavier than I expected — thick, dense cotton, not a spring mattress. I wrestle it through the doorway.
"Help me," I say to Reid.
He doesn't ask questions. Grabs the other end. We pull it into thefront room and drop it in the only open floor space — right in the middle. It takes up almost everything.
Blake watches from the loveseat. Doesn't argue. Doesn't help. Just watches.
