"No, you're more like a home science project gone wrong."
He grins, then goes quiet.
"You know, I hated you at first."
I let that hang.
"Which time?"
He bites my shoulder gently.
"The first time I saw you at this house. I mean, I didn't really hate you. It was more of… who the fuck is this girl with the balls to look me in the eye?"
"Didn't take you long to get over it," I say with a chuckle.
He snorts.
"Didn't have a choice. The old men started betting on who would crack first. Fiachra put twenty on you, which hurt more than the roof did."
I stretch, rolling my shoulder until the joint pops.
"He still owes me from that."
"He owes everyone."
The wind changes outside, and the curtains billow.
I pullthem shut with a toe, then tuck my feet under his thigh, anchoring myself.
"You ever think about leaving?" I ask.
"Where would we go?"
I almost say anywhere.
There are places in the world where people wake up without an agenda, where the only threat is weather or time.
But I know he wouldn't last a day in that kind of exile.
"Vietnam," I say instead.
"We could get a dog. Raise two small, willful kids."
He laughs, full and sharp.
"This life would follow us wherever we go."
"True enough."
He goes still, then says, "It's not too late, you know. We could burn the plan, walk out the front door, and let the city eat itself."
"And Fiachra?"
"Fiachra would be bored inside of a week. He'd start a fight club in the first pub he found."
"Would you miss him?"
He's quiet for so long, I almost regret the question.
