"I don't have one," I say.
She's the first to pull back the comforter and slide in, sitting with her back against the black headboard. I do the same, shaking my head at how weird it is to be getting into bed with someone this way. I guess married people do it all the time. When I'm hooking up for sex, it usually involves a lot of frantic kissing and clothes removal standing up before tumbling together onto the bed.
When I slide into bed next to her, there's an awareness across my skin that she's near. Just a few inches, and I'd be touching her. As I'm getting comfortable sitting, Sandy slides further down until her head is resting on the pillow, so I do the same. We smile at each other like newlyweds who've been waiting for the honeymoon to pop their cherries.
"It's funny," she whispers, "but I can already tell you apart from your brothers."
"Well, Arden always has a beard, so he's obvious."
"Even without that," she says. "It's in the eyes," she says. "They're supposed to be the window to the soul."
"And what do you see through my windows?" I ask.
"Someone who doesn't like taking risks," she says. "Someone who measures out life in increments, so you don't make a mistake."
"There wasn't much measuring done tonight," I say.
"Which is why your shoulders are bunched. You're not relaxed." Her hand reaches out to touch my shoulder, and she's right. I am tense, but that tension slips away as soon as her fingers trail over my skin.
"What is this for you, Sandy?" I ask. "I just want to understand what you're thinking. I mean, one minute you're driving down a road to a wedding, and the next, you're here and in this situation. It seems like everything's moving fast."
"It is," she says.
"And that's okay with you?"
Sandy blinks slowly, pursing her lips slightly as she thinks carefully about how to respond. "Have you ever had a time in your life when you feel like everything is out of control? You've done your best to get your life in order, but nothing stays that way."
"Yes," I say. "It's frustrating."
"So, when you're in that situation, do you fight it, or do you go with the flow?"
"That would depend," I say, playing with the edge of the pillow that Sandy's head is resting on. "I think it's in my nature to fight."
"I'm tired of fighting," Sandy says. "I'm tired of battling to keep my head barely above water. It doesn't seem to matter how hard I try; life sends me challenges, and then I'm drowning."
"You don't seem like you're drowning to me."
Sandy shrugs, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. "I don't have the fight in me anymore," she says eventually.
"But that isn't good for us. I don't want you here with us because you're too broken down to do what you actually want."
"It isn't about what I want or don't want. It never has been. It's about how I think things should be. What's expected of me. What I should be doing versus what I shouldn't, and I don't even know anymore whether it's me I'm trying to please, or my parents, or my sister, or the world in general. But in the end, I don't seem to be pleasing anyone."
I know I'm not imagining the glassiness to her pretty eyes. "All I need to know is that you want to be here with me. In this moment. Just tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."
Her eyelids drop and stay closed for long enough for her to compose herself. "I need to let go," she says. "I need to not fight anymore and let life happen around me."
"And what do you want to happen?" I whisper.
"I want to make new memories…to wipe away some of the old ones."
Sandy's fingers touch my face, running softly down my jaw, grazing over my lips, down my neck, and over my chest. Her eyes follow the path, mapping out my face and body as though she wants to commit it to memory.
This doesn't feel simple. It feels so complicated that I don't know what's best for any of us—Sandy's right about me. I need to measure risk, and I don't like making mistakes. But I also hear what she's saying about life. Sometimes we battle it, but the fight just feels overwhelming, like an old man waving his walking stick at a tumultuous sea. There is something tempting about what she needs. Maybe letting the waves of life lap over your feet is better than resisting. Maybe succumbing to Sandy's charms and indulging Tyler's fanciful ideas is what I need to do.
Maybe taking risks is part of the path to love.
Tyler loved Sandy once. The way he talked about it was like a fairy tale, and I can see why. She's strength and vulnerability, beauty, temptation, and coiled pain. In her eyes, I can see weakness and fortitude. She's unmeasurable, and it's scary.