I tilt my head to look up at him, surprised. "Oh, he's your brother?"
He nods, but still looks pensive.
"Are you close to your parents? Do they live around here?"
He shakes his head no.
I'm not sure if it's a sore subject, or he's merely lost in thought. Either way, doesn't seem like I'm going to get much from him.
I hug him extra long before I let him out the door. It's not as hard as it was to let him leave the first time, but it's still hard. It's still scary. I'm still worried about what he's going to be doing and how much danger he'll be putting himself in.
His lips linger on mine for a minute before he pulls away. I want to stall some more, but I understand he stayed as long as he could, and now he has to hustle back.
I don't cry when he leaves this time, but I want to. This cottage is lonely without him, and I can only sweep the dingy floor and wipe down the short, weathered counter so many times. I imagine I'm preparing the house for him to come home to, but knowing this isn't where we'll stay takes away any accomplishment in such busywork.
Daydreams about the future are a little scary, too, but in a good way. What will it be like, just the two of us? No Paul, no Raj, nothing to keep us apart. I’ve lived with a man before, but I don’t know if he’s ever lived with someone. There’s still so much I don’t know about him, so much I want to learn.
I don’t want to wait. I don’t want there to be a chance for anything else to go wrong.
I call him.
I know it’s fruitless, but I also know he’s still walking through the woods, so I can.
As soon as he answers, without even a greeting, I ask, “Have you ever lived with a woman before?”
“What?”
“A woman. I mean, that you’re in a relationship with.”
It sounds like he’s pushing through some brush. “Not exactly. Why? You leave the seat up?”
I crack a smile. “No, but I’m really bad at checking mail. Like, really bad. I’ll bring it inside, but actually opening it feels like too much work, so I put it somewhere and forget about it. Prepare for some late fees on our bills.”
“I don’t think it’ll be an issue,” he says, apparently unconcerned.
“I also keep food, like… days past the expiration date. Two days. Three if I’m living on the edge.”
“Oh, well, in that case, never mind.”
“I kick in my sleep sometimes.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” he asks.
I’m quiet for a minute, then I admit, “I’m just kind of afraid you won’t like me if I’m around all the time.”
Now it’s his turn to be quiet. My heart races after the vulnerability I’ve just exposed. Finally he just says, “Annabelle,” in this trailing off, going nowhere kind of way. I don’t know exactly what to make of it, but I guess it’s supposed to be reassuring.
“We’re skipping dating entirely and moving straight to living together. You aren’t going to have a chance to see if you even really like me that much,” I add, like I can’t stop. All of a sudden my insecurities are running out of me like a faucet.
“I do like you,” he states. “I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I didn’t.”
“But what if you stop?”
“Then you can kick me in bed and pretend you were sleeping.”
I crack a smile. “I’m serious.”
“Please stop worrying about this,” he says. “We have enough legitimate shit to worry about right now, you worrying that I’m not going to like you enough to live with you doesn’t make the cut. I think about you all the time. I want you with me all the time. Now you will be.”