My wife simply nods, sniffling when she looks into her lap. But I’ll happily take her tears over her silence.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Evan says to his wife, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and speaking a bit softer, likely so that we truly do have privacy. Todd signals that he’s gotten what he needs and steps away from the camera, making his way down the ladder and out of sight so that we’re really and truly alone. “First, I want to thank you for being honest. These aren’t feelings that will just go away overnight. Love between two people doesn’t magically fix a lifetime of hurt, which is why for the next week, Brooke, I’d like you to voice a fear to Owen daily.”
She sighs but agrees.
“Owen, it’s your job to listen and assuage those fears, without feeling like you have to solve them. She needs your presence and your reassurance, not the abandonment of something that you clearly love, on her behalf.”
Baseball. I meant what I said. I’d leave baseball behind if Brooke asked me to, but even just the small correction from Evan hits me between the eyes. Why would Brooke believe I’d never leave her, if I’d so quickly leave behind something I’ve worked for my whole life?
“Of course,” I agree.
“Owen,” Blaire says sweetly, still holding my wife’s hand. “Why don’t you share with Brooke, daily, one thing you’re unsure about? Rather than having all the answers or a clear path forward, it might help Brooke to hear that she isn’t alone in her uncertainty. Give her the chance to encourage you.”
When Brooke finally looks at me again, I nod and mouth,“You and me, Babe.”
One truth I’m not uncertain about in the least. And though her eyes are red-rimmed and her lip trembles with emotion, she echoes, “You and Me, Ruth.”
12
LITTLE BIT MORE
SURIEL HESS
BROOKE
Suite Hearts, Day 10
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat.
“Remember the Vermont season?” Owen whispers, like if he talks too loud, we’ll have to leave the bed. Up until now, I didn’t even know he was awake. Though I’ve been up for hours thanks to the woodpecker that was surely planted outside our window as some sort of psychological torture element to this competition.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
“With the micro-cabins?” I ask, face cozied quite nicely against Owen’s chest. Another day ofSuite Hearts,another morning waking up to my shirtless best friend’s chiseled pectorals. Not that we’ve discussed the matter.
I was embarrassed the first few mornings waking up this way, attached to Owen’s body like a koala clinging to her favorite tree. But I’ve come to accept the fact that unconscious Brookeseeks out Owen’s body warmth in the night like a moth to a flame. He’s a very hot, very snuggly, always shirtless magnet my subconscious is deeply attracted to, and, yeah, awake Brooke is attracted to him, too.
I tell myself Gretchen is most likely to blame.
Owen nods with his chin resting against the top of my head, tucking me in close. “Yeah, that one.” His voice is deliciously scratchy. Some primal part of me loves that I’m the one who gets to hear his first thoughts in the morning, when everything is a little softer and the whispers shared feel like secrets only for me. A girl could get used to this simple domesticity. “Remember that CEO guy left because he couldn’t deal with how quiet it was in the cabin?”
“And he missed his emails. And his Asana tasks.”
Owen shrugs. “He was a busy guy.”
“I remember.”
“I thought he was crazy. Who wouldn’t want the chance for more quiet? A rest from the craziness and the electronics and the need to be present everywhere but where you’re actually present.”
I pull my hands up, cupping my mouth so my morning breath doesn’t do something crazy like waft up to my husband’s nostrils. We don’t need any reasons for Owen to change his mind about these morning snuggles I’ve grown accustomed to.
“We were two stupid kids then,” I say. “Naive.”
“What did we know?”
“We knew it was fun to judge poor souls crying over the loss of their electronics from the safety of our couch while eating pizza and having our feet warmed by our best friend’s butt.”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat.
