It’s a dim light—the curtains and blinds are still drawn—but the light making its way through the fabric tells me that the sun has chased the clouds away.
The fire’s going bright, as though Cash must’ve just put another log or two on, but he’s curled up behind me again, one hand cupping my breast, his breath warm on my bare shoulder.
I stretch my legs, and his grip tightens.
“Morning,” he says softly.
“Morning,” I murmur back.
“Can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to get up and do something.”
Translation: don’t you dare move, we’re staying right here because it’s cozy and warm and perfect.
At least, that’s how I choose to translate it.
“I don’t do lazy well,” I tell him.
“You’re not being lazy. You’re keeping me warm. Essential job. My family thanks you.”
He’s made sure I’m nearest the fire the entire night.
It’s a little thing, but it’s not something I take for granted.
“The bigger I get, the more I worry my family will come after me,” I whisper.
“I won’t let them.”
I don’t need other people to take care of me.
But I’m starting to believe in the idea that I’m not alone.
I have people in my life that I call friends. People other than Waverly, I mean.
But I don’t let them close. Not close enough to tell them why I don’t let them close.
It’s something of a self-perpetuating cycle, and generally, they move on after a few years. It’s the way of things, and I’ve accepted it.
Until now.
Now, I don’t want to move on to a different friend group. I want to stay here, with Cash. I want to know that eventually, when the power comes back on, I can call Waverly and she’ll worry and then I’ll tell her a bear got into Cash’s car and we’ll both laugh about it.
Once we’re safe.
Once the power’s back on and the driveway is clear.
“You don’t even know why that’s a bad thing,” I say to Cash.
“Don’t need specifics. I just need to know you don’t want them to come after you. PS, family should never come after you. That’s not how family’s supposed to work.”
“Did you really just sayPS?”
“All the young people are doing it.”
I smile at the fire and stroke my fingers up and down his arm.
I like his arm. It’s strong and sinewy, with wiry light brown hairs all over it giving it a rough texture.
He kisses my shoulder, and I doze back to sleep.
