CHAPTER 21
CLOSE, BUT NOT TOO CLOSE
Aaron
The thing about spending a lot of time with one person is that they get to know your habits, and you get to know theirs.
Devon used to have this terrible tell when we would play cards. Every time he had a good hand, he would get this look on his face. It was how I always knew when to fold. He also used to snap his fingers when he was nervous. It amped up when he first started dating Lydia. Every time they had a date, he’d sit on the couch and snap his fingers until it was time to leave. It drove me up the wall. I’d give just about anything to have him sit beside me and snap his freaking fingers again.
I’m guessing it’s the same with most relationships. Things that don’t bug people in the beginning can turn grating. Quirks that are cute in the beginning can sometimes become annoying. From what I’ve witnessed, it’s often a sign that the relationship is going south. I’ve seen it happen enough times with my friends to get a gauge on how relationships work, even if I haven’t spent much time on my own.
With Teagan, it’s different. Her patterns and the things she does tell me something about how she’s feeling. Or what she’s avoiding. Like how she rolls up on the balls of her feet when she’s excited, as though there are springs under her, ready to launch her into the sky.
At first, I didn’t think much about the insomnia, maybe because I don’t typically have problems sleeping. Except after Devon died. For a while I had constant nightmares. I used to dream that I could see him lying in the snow, making snow angels—something he loved to do even at the age of twenty-one—and I’d watch this wall moving toward him. I’d be stuck in the chalet, unable to open the sliding glass door, screaming his name, but he couldn’t hear me. And that wall of frozen air would sweep over him. He’d stop making snow angels, his smile fixed in place, arms outstretched, eyes wide and unseeing.
Those dreams aren’t all that frequent anymore. But when they happen, it’s typically around the anniversary of Devon’s death, and occasionally after I’ve seen Lydia and Jamie. So at the beginning I didn’t pay much attention to Teagan’s sleeping habits.
But over time I start to notice things. Like the way she compulsively checks her purse for her medication.
Or how she always makes me an elaborate breakfast but often has a few bites and tells me she’s going to eat later and opts for coffee instead. And then there are the times that I wake up at five in the morning and she’s already up, working away on her laptop, one of those nasty energy drinks on the table beside her, perky to the point of being jittery. I assumed she was an early riser, but now I’m starting to wonder if that’s the case, or if she’s not going to bed at all. Pulling all-nighters.
I used to do it in college every once in a while, when I had a huge assignment due and I’d procrastinated until the last minute. But I’m worried that it’s more than that with Teagan. I sleep like the dead, so she could literally be up all night, and I’d never know.
To test that theory, I set my alarm for two in the morning and tuck my phone under my pillow the next time she stays over. I wake up with a start and stifle it quickly. I run my hand over Teagan’s side of the bed. It’s cold, and not because fall is closing in but because Teagan most definitely has not been in bed for a while.
I lie there for a minute, waiting to see if I’m wrong and she’s gone to the bathroom, or if she heard my alarm go off, but there’s no immediate sign she’s awake. Although if I listen closely enough, I catch the soft click of her keyboard. Which means she’s working. She’s been taking on more and more projects for the Stitches lately. And she’s taken on the fall farmers’ market in early November, which looks like it’s going to be twice as big as the one in August. Both of those things might be manageable on their own, but with her still working five days a week at five different jobs, I think she’s biting off more than she can chew. A lot more. And she’s trying to balance it all by cutting out sleep. Which is a dangerous and slippery slope.
I carefully slide out of bed, watching my step so I don’t hit any of the creaky floorboards. I find her in the living room on the couch, laptop in her lap, typing away.