No doubt, that second statement would receive the same scowl my first comment gets.
“Pig likes sleeping with me,” Luna declares.
And normally, she’s not wrong. But tonight, Pig seems hell-bent on staying in my bed, going full boneless when Luna tries tugging at her collar.
“Fine!” Luna gives up and stomps out of the room.
There’s no victory in this. Only more tension between us.
But then, a moment later, Luna’s back, carrying a blanket. “I’m sleeping with my dog,” she announces.
As if I’ll fight her on the idea of us sharing a bed.
The mattress dips as she climbs onto the other side, attention focused on her pillow and blanket rather than me. Once Luna is prone, she tosses an arm around Pig, the big spoon to her dog’s little.
The sight causes an ache in my heart, even after I place my glasses on the bedside table and shut off the lamp.
I crave for this pair to be my family.Luna, Charlie, and Pig.
Sounds perfect to me. I bet I could get Pig on my side as easily as she spills over into my space on the bed now.
All we need is our stubborn woman.
But I won’t force her.
I’m just about to bring that up despite what I said earlier. Only Luna speaks first.
“What did you mean when you said emotions are more manageable when the sun is out?”
The memory of when I first heard those words has me smiling.
I was maybe nine, and I walked in on my parents arguing. They weren’t yelling. My parents never yelled at each other. Buttheir words were tense, and frowns marred both of their faces. Upon my arrival, my mom announced she needed some time. She pressed a kiss on the top of my head, then left the room.
I was terrified. I ran up to my father, grabbing his shirt, on the verge of tears, begging to know if Mom was leaving us. The angry expression on his face disappeared instantly at that question, and he leaned down to scoop me into his arms, hugging me tight to his broad chest. I was approaching the age where I scorned getting snuggled like a baby, but that night, I gripped him back just as tight.
And he told me no. That Mom just went to bed. That sleep gives people time to sift through their emotions. That kind words come easier at the start of the day than at the end of it, and they would finish their talk in the morning, when it would be easier to be kind to each other.
Then he sat me at the table and scooped us some generous portions of ice cream.
The next morning, I came downstairs to find them kissing in the kitchen.
And I never forgot that lesson.
“Just something my dad likes to say. That it’s okay to go to bed angry. People shouldn’t argue when they’re tired or hungry because that just makes everything worse. And that sunshine puts people in a better mood. If you still want to yell at me tomorrow after breakfast …” I trail off because I’d rather not give out permission to be screamed at.
“I don’t want to yell at you,” Luna says. “That’s what my parents do.”
“I don’t want to yell at you either.”
Luna snorts. “Can you yell, Charlie Keller?”
In the darkness, I grin up at the ceiling, hope growing in my chest at her teasing tone.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely. I can scream like a banshee. Just put me in front of a good band, and I’ll yell my head off.”
There’s a scoff from her side of the bed. “That’s fangirl screaming.”
“Excuse me, that’s fan-personscreaming, and I am accomplished at it.”
