“You’re welcome, and love you too, son!” I call back to him. He pokes his head back around the corner, looking confused. “I was interpreting for Caleb,” I tell him.
“Oh. Uh, thanks…”
“No problemo. It’s kinda my job,” I snark at him with a wink.
“Night, Lauren,” he shoots back. “And, um, Brody’s already asleep. You want me to grab his processor for you?”
“No thanks,hun. I’ll go grab it.”
“Okay, cool. Uh, yeah. Night again.” Then his gaze flicks between the three of us. “This is, um, it’s weird, but I don’t hate it—seeing the three of you all cuddling on the couch together.” Before any of us can respond, he slinks back down to the guest room.
When I finish up getting ready for bed, I find Caleb patiently waiting his turn for the bathroom. Lord, I thought it was bad enough having to split our one facility between just Brody, Marcus, and myself. Imagine adding two more to the mix—every damn one of them male, besides me.
Years ago, the notion of me being in my own home, surrounded by so much testosterone, would have left me panicking—my fear of men having been outwardly projected as outright detest. I’m staunchly feminist, don’t get me wrong—I believe in fair treatment and equality in a world that seems mostly male dominant—but still, my past caused me to literally bepetrifiedof men… like boogeymen hiding in the shadows.
Now? I can’t say that I’m over it. I’m not. Having the love of not one, buttwomen hasn’t cured me because a cure for overcoming trauma doesn’t exist—only coping mechanisms (thanks for that bit of wisdom, Brooks). But what does strike me as being very poignant is that I’m not terrified of going to bed in the safety of my own home being the only female. No, the first thought that came to mind instead was of how annoyed I’d eventually get with having to nag about the toilet seat being left up, or who didn’t cap the toothpaste when they were done with it. Who wouldn’t swap out the toilet paper, or who would let the hand soap run out before filling it up?
Normalshit.
I give Caleb a soft smile, pecking him on the cheek on my way out of the bathroom. When I pad into the bedroom, Marcus is already sprawled out on his edge of the bed. I slip in and take up my usualspot, nestling in to him. His heavy arm curls around my midsection, pulling me tighter, and he softly kisses the top of my head.
“I love you, Polo,” he tells me.
I twist my head and peer up at him, looking into his hazel eyes, noting how he and Caleb both have hazel eyes, but whereas Caleb’s are more on the green side, Marcus’ are more brown. The same, yet different—just like the two of them. Both green flag men, but very different in their approach. Both provide comfort and security, but in dissimilar manners.
I adore themequally, yet uniquely as well.
“I love you too, Marco.”
He looks over me to the empty spot that is awaiting Caleb to finish up getting ready for bed. “Do you think he’s going to have enough room over there? Me being theJolly Green Giantand all?” he asks, his tone laced with equal parts snark and insecurity.
“Babe,” I sigh, “it wasn’t a taunt meant to shame you. You are six-foot-four. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this or not, but that’s fuckin’ tall.Youare tall, dark, and handsome. Besides, have you evertrulylooked at the man on a can of peas before? He’s dashing.”
Marcus chuckles, kissing the top of my head again. “I guess I need to ogle my vegetables better. Never going to not look at a box of frozen broccoli the same way again. You always had posters tacked up in your room back in PA of all your emo bands, did I miss where you had a gargantuan in a leaf leotard up there somewhere?”
I giggle. “I had a mirror, did you never catch your own reflection?”
Scoffing, he gives me a teasing pinch in my side, then he laughs. “You’re such a fuckin’ brat, Lo.”
I shimmy proudly, wiggling in his arms.
“My dark rose,” he murmurs into my hair, then nuzzles into the crook of my neck and sniffs. Honestly, the reason why I've neverstrayed on using the same body wash for all these years is because I love when he breathes me in, like somehowthatgives him life. Like I'm someone worth cherishing.
“Do you really think I’m that thorny to people I don’t know well?” I ask him.
He’s quiet for a minute, before finally replying. “I think your guard is up, for sure. Do I think you’re a bitch? No, not at all. But you definitely are, in general, unimpressed with people’s bullshit, and your expressions do little to conceal that.”
I snort. “That was a very eloquent way of saying I have resting bitch face, isn’t it?” I look back and see him smirking.
“You said it, not me,” he replies smugly. “But, yeah. Do I think you should nip off those thorns?Absolutelynot, no way. They make you, well, you. I just consider myself one of the lucky few that those barbs aren’t aimed at. To be in your orbit, impervious to those thorns, is a treasure, Lo.”
The overhead light in the bedroom flickers, startling me. “I agree,” Caleb signs from the bedroom doorway. “Every day I get to see you, to hold you—heck, every time you choose to give me your time, even if it’s just a video chat or one of our lengthy text conversations—I feel like I’m some lucky pirate who has just stumbled upon a trunk of gold…”
I roll my eyes and huff, but can’t help the cheesy smile that forms on my lips. “Alright, that was kinda corny, not gonna lie. You both have spent too much time out on the ocean, that much is clear, if you’re making everything into themed puns.”
Marcus runs his hands down my side. “Easy there, gorgeous. Put the thorns away. Accept them for what they were—compliments.”
Caleb chuckles, then turns off the overhead light, leaving just the dim glow of our nightlight on. He slips in bed, facing me, sandwichingme between him and Marcus. Instead of dread coiling in the pit of my stomach, it feels like a flock of butterflies—do they travel in flocks?—just took flight instead. In the dull light, he signs “I love you” to both of us.
