Page 271 of What We Brave
I go back for the blankets. The pillows. Hauling everything out and dumping it on the mattress. Reid arranges things — badly, but he arranges them.
"Cozy," he says, looking at the mattress taking up the entire floor. "Very... refugee chic."
"Shut up and get a pillow."
"I'm just saying, if Blake and I accidentally touch in the night, I want it on record that I was asleep."
Blake snorts. The smallest sound. But a little tendril of hope unfurls in my chest.
"You'll be over it by the end of the trip," I say.
"Doubtful," Blake mutters.
We brush our teeth in the tiny bathroom, one at a time, then change clothes and kill the light.
The mattress is firm and unfamiliar. The blankets smell like cedar and something floral I can't name. Through the thin walls, I can hear the village settling — a dog barking far off, someone's radio playing softly, the wind in the trees.
I'm in the middle. Blake on my left, Reid on my right. Same positions. Different country. Different bed. Same us.
I roll toward Blake. Put my arm across his chest. He doesn't pull away but he doesn't pull me closer either. He's on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Hey," I whisper.
"Hey."
"Are you okay?"
Silence. Then: "I will be."
That's not a yes. I press closer. My hand finds the hem of his shirt and I curl my fingers against his stomach, feeling him breathe.
"I'm going to tell them," I say. "Tomorrow I'll start. I'll talk to my mom first. Alone."
"Okay."
"I mean it, Blake."
"I know you do."
But he doesn't sound like he believes me. And I can't blame him because I've said this before, even if it was only to myself, and it was supposed to be done already. I was supposed to call. I was supposed to have the conversation. I was supposed to be brave enough to risk losing my parents so that Blake wouldn't have to be on the outside.
And I wasn't. I wasn't brave enough. And now he's lying on a mattress on a floor in Guatemala, jaw tight.
"Today was hard," I say. "Watching you — when I saidour friend. I'm so sorry."
His chest rises and falls under my arm. "I know."
"My dad liked you. At the building site. I could tell."
"He liked what I can do. That's different."
God, Blake.I want to argue but he's not wrong. David Mitchell respects competence. He respects someone who can look at a rotting beam and diagnose the problem in thirty seconds. That's not the same as accepting someone into your family. But I have to believe it's a start.
"Give him a chance," I say. "Give them both a chance. Let them see you."
"I'm right here, Laine. I've been right here all day."
The words are quiet but they land like a door closing.I've been right here. You're the one who made me invisible.
