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"I thought you had nothing to say," he said.
"I don't."
"Then what would there be that you don't want to talk about?" he pressed.
"Exactly," I agreed, pulling my arm free, making my way toward the bed.
I'd never needed to share a bed with someone I'd been snippy to before, and I couldn't shake the awkwardness swirling through my system as I climbed in, positioning myself as close to the edge as possible, facing away from Che's side of the bed as he climbed in.
"What are you doing?" I asked, feeling his hands grab me at the hips, pulling me toward the center of the bed where he was situated.
"Holding you," he told me as his legs cocked up under mine like they did every night.
"I was snippy to you."
"So?"
"So, why do you want to hold me?" I asked, suspicious.
"Because I still like you, even if you're snippy to me."
"That makes no sense."
"Ever been mad at me?" he asked.
"Maybe a little."
"Did you instantly start hating me because of it?"
"No."
"Exactly," he agreed, nuzzling his face into my neck. "You know, I have a theory," he said a long time later, so long that I was sure he'd already fallen asleep.
"About what?" I asked, knowing I should have pretended to be asleep, but I was too curious.
"You."
"What about me?"
"I think you think that when this situation is handled, that you need to pack up and leave. So, you are trying to put some distance between us before then, so it won't be so hard for you to go."
He was right. Of course he was. But that didn't mean I was comfortable with him being right.
"I will have to go." Why did my voice sound so small?
"Only if you want to."
"It's not that simple."
"Sure it is."
"No, it's not."
"Sass, I know you're used to being on your own. And that's fine. But if you have decided, or do decide, that you don't want to be on your own anymore, you don't have to keep doing so out of pure stubbornness."
"I'm not being stubborn. I'm being rational."
"How so? Explain it to me."
"Eventually, I will have to go."
"Why?"
"Because I don't belong here," I said, feeling my stomach clench with the words, making me realize just how much I wanted to belong.
"Why do you think that?"
"Because I don't. I'm not part of this club."
"You're my wife, Sass," he reminded me, the arm draped over my stomach giving me a squeeze.
"Not for real," I shot back.
There was a pause, and a part of me was terrified he was going to agree with me, confirm that was all it was, all there would ever be.
"There's something real here," he said, arm tightening possessively. "I know you haven't led a life that let you build anything with other people, so I understand if you don't see it as clearly as I do. But there's something real here. And I don't want you to run off because you think that is what you are supposed to do, not what you want to do."
"I have to make a living."
"You have no bills here."
"I can't depend on you, Che," I insisted.
"Sure you can."
"That's not the woman I am," I shot back.
"No one—least of all me—think you're using me for my money. You've taken care of yourself for a long time. I'm just saying that you don't need to worry about it for a while."
"Even if I was okay with that—and that is a big if—this is Huck's house."
"This is the clubhouse," Che corrected. "It belongs to all of us."
"But he's the president. He has the final say."
"Huck might not show it, but he likes you. And he is also traditional. You're married to me. That means you belong with me. It's that simple to him. That was why he agreed to helping you in the first place, remember?"
"But..."
"Having trouble coming up with any other flimsy excuses, huh?" he asked, a smile in his voice.
"They're not flimsy excuses," I insisted. "They're valid concerns."
"Okay. They're valid concerns," he agreed. "But I have disputed them. Do you have any other ones?" he asked. Then, seeming to sense I was holding back, he squeezed me so tight that it was hard to breathe. "It's okay. You can tell me," he assured me, releasing his hold a bit.
"You could get sick of me."
"Nope."
"Che," I snapped, frustrated.
"Okay," he said, sighing. "You could get sick of me too," he suggested. "I get sick of everyone here on occasion, Sass. I know it seems like we are just one, big, happy family. But we have our moments where we don't get along, and everyone needs some space. Getting sick of each other once in a while doesn't mean we stop caring about one another."
"But what if we get sick-sick of each other? Not just needing some space, but just done?" I asked. "Because if we follow through with your plan, and I don't work, then when that happens, I have nothing. Your life doesn't change. I lose everything." I would be just like my mother before me, trusting a man who swept me off my feet, right up until the moment he dropped me on my ass.
