“It’s centered for symmetry.”
“It’s positioned for surveillance,” I correct. “Line of sight from the door. Predictable.”
She considers that. Then nods once. “Where would you prefer it?”
I map the room again. Not for exits this time. For control. For me.
“Here,” I say, pointing. “Angle it. Not flush to the wall. I want the door in view, but not the center line. Offset.”
“So you can see without being seen directly.”
“Yes.”
Teresa smiles. Small. Approving. “Good.”
We move the bed together. She does most of the lifting. I adjust, guide, reposition. It’s not difficult, but it’s deliberate. Every inch matters.
When it’s done, the room feels different.
“What else?” she asks.
I look at the wardrobe. Too clean. Too neutral. No history.
“I want my things integrated,” I say. “Not stored separately. Not contained.”
“You want presence.”
“Yes.”
“Visible?”
“Yes.”
“Or controlled visibility?”
I consider that. “Controlled.”
“Good answer.”
“I don’t want this place to look like I arrived yesterday.”
“You didn’t.”
“I want it to look like I live here.”
“You do.”
“I want it to look like I chose it.”
Teresa begins rearranging. Blending. Placing. Removing the clean separation between his and mine. Fabric against fabric. Presence against presence. Not merging. Interlocking.
When she’s done, she steps back. “Better.”
I look again. “I’m going to need space soon,” I admit. “For them. A room decorated. A real nursery, I suppose. But not for today. Today, I think we’ve done enough.”
“Tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll begin.”
I nod and smile. “Tomorrow it is.”
