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"Stuff?"
Needing a position change, but not wanting to dislodge Janey's hand, I carefully pull my arm out from under hers, and tuck it under my head. And yes, maybe I'm hoping she'll touch my ribs some more. "Stuff. Like they stink sometimes, or they want to talk, or there's the farting. Other than Zach, none of them can just be quiet. It's like they are incapable of being around others with their mouth shut."
Another small giggle. "And when you're already overloaded, you don't need more input. I get it." A low gasp. "I'm doing the same thing right now. I'm so sorry. You said you were overloaded, and I'm still talking to you." She moves as if she's going to pull away.
It's instinctive. I don't plan it. I slip one hand under the quilt and cover hers. My other arm grabs her, holding her close to me. "Don't go. Please."
Her breathing is loud in the darkness of the room. So is mine. But slowly, inch by inch, her body relaxes. I got what I wanted. Am I supposed to stop touching her now? Maybe I can just wait for a minute.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, big breaths in, long exhales out. My body feels heavier and heavier as my tension melts away. But my fingers stroke over the strands of her hair covering them. Not obviously. I don't want to make her pull away, but I can't stop myself. It's just hair. But it's Janey's hair, so it's infinitely fascinating to me.
I start to drift, losing track of space and time, but I briefly register Janey's breathing, synced with mine. And then, right before I fall into nothingness, I feel her head come to rest against my ribs.
The weight on my chest has changed. I'm aware of the change, even as I appreciate it. My blanket does not smell this good. It's not this warm. I also never hug it.
As my brain comes online, so does the rest of my body. I'm rock hard, aching. My blanket definitely never caused this reaction, only Janey.
Always Janey.
My arms tighten around her warmth. In response, she makes a low sound, and rubs her face into my neck. Somehow, she's replaced my blanket. Most of her upper body is resting on my chest, her face is tucked in my neck, and her arm is hugging me.
I really like being married.
All the things that annoy me about my brothers, the smells and noises, are non-issues with Janey. If warm had a smell, it would be Janey. If home had a feel, it would be Janey.
She groans and yawns, squeezing me tightly. Suddenly, her body freezes. I can almost taste her panic. If I make a big deal out of this, if I comment on it at all, she's going to bolt. I feel it in my bones.
"My headache is gone. Are you feeling rested?" I don't loosen my arms, but I work to keep my tone calm and low. It works, thankfully.
"Ah...yes, I'm feeling better," she mumbles, her legs sliding against the sheets. "My feet are sore from all the walking today."
There it is, my opening. I knew intimacy between us would be challenging, so I'm looking for every opening I can, and she just gave me a perfect one.
"Why don't we get some supper, and make those cookies." My mouth is already watering, thinking of biting into one still hot from the oven. One of my foster moms used to let us have one as soon as it came out, and we'd gobble it up so fast we'd burn our mouths. She'd laugh at us and roll her eyes. She was an older, worn out woman, but that? It brought out echoes of the bright woman she used to be.
We didn't get to stay there long.
"And after we eat, I'll give you a foot rub." I hear her suck in a breath, but I don't give her time to overthink it, or answer me. Instead, with her still on my chest, I sit up, press a kiss to the top of her head, and roll her onto her feet beside the bed. I slap the button for the blinds, but the room barely lightens.
I check my watch and whistle low. "It's nearly seven. We've been out for hours." My stomach, apparently not realizing how late it was until I looked, chimes in with a loud growl.
Janey laughs and smiles up at me. "Come on, let's get you fed."
20
JANEY
I hide my smile as I watch Jonas carefully measure out flour. The look of intense concentration on his face is completely adorable. We're only two cups in and he's already got some on his face.
"Are you sure we need to triple the recipe?" I ask.
He nods seriously, pinning me with a look. "My brothers will sense the chocolate. They will show up demanding some. It is inevitable."
"You're acting like they're going to smell them through the walls."
"Yes."
I laugh, not sure how that's possible, but I don't doubt him. He knows his family better than I do. I turn back to unpacking the mixer, running my fingers over the bright red machine. I dreamed of one of these my entire life. It's an extravagance I could never justify for myself, but now, looking at the bowl of flour growing with each careful cup, I'm wondering if we'll be able to fit it all in this massive mixer.
