I lie down on the farthest edge of the bed, unwilling to get closer—because of how badly I want to. I want him to hold out his arm so I can curl against him, fitting like a note into a chord. But I don’t want to sleep; I want to talk. I want to understand him the way he understands me; I want to share secrets, hopes, and fears. I want all of the hidden parts of him.
Because I’ve fallen for him, and something tells me I’m only going to keep falling.
And that terrifies me.
“What’s goin’ through that brain of yours?” Patty asks after several minutes of silence.
“Shh. I’m sleeping,” I say, staring up at the dark ceiling.
“No, you’re not. Your breathing is too erratic.”
“I’m having a terrible dream. Now hush so I can go back to it.”
And then, the most wonderful thing happens: he holds out his arm and pats the bed near him. “Don’t go back to the bad dream,” he says. “Come here and tell me about it.”
I smile. “No.”
“Okay,” he says, and in the soft light coming in from the window, I see Patty move his arm back under his head.
I shift in the bed, grab his arm, and pull it back out. Then I slide across the sheets and cozy up against his side.
“No, huh?” he asks in a low, teasing voice.
“Consider this a protest snuggle.”
“A protest snuggle. Sure. What are you protesting?”
“Your use of your masculine wiles. You’re taking advantage of my lowered defenses.”
I put my arm across his chest, and he wraps his arms around me. Peace engulfs me. And along with that peace is an undercurrent of fear that makes my stomach clench.
My mom felt this way about my dad once. She probably felt like he was the guardian of her secrets and fears, the champion of her hopes and dreams.
But she still had to choose …
Patty kisses my forehead, and my fears take a back seat to his tenderness. “Okay. Then I promise to only listen under protest. In solidarity.”
I chuckle under my breath.
We lie like that for a few minutes—Patty with his eyes closed, me staring at the light peeking out from the top of the blinds. Hecould be asleep for all I know. And maybe it’s that possibility—of him being asleep—that emboldens me to whisper.
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of a fate like my mom’s.”
He breathes in and out, in and out. “What about her fate scares you?”
“She put everything into her career. She built her name from nothing, and at the very height of her success, she had to choose between her career and her family. And because she’s a sucker in love, she has to act happy about it.”
I stop myself just before vocalizing the next thought in my head. What if I want to be a sucker in love, too, and I just … can’t?
That terrifies me as much as losing myself does.
Patty’s hand squeezes my shoulder through my sweatshirt. “You talk like your mom’s some kind of tragic figure. What if it isn’t an act or a tradeoff but a choice? You say she gave up everything for your dad, but what if, instead, she got everything she wanted? What if she didn’t settle, and this was her dream all along?”
“What if she’s just … happy?”
