“We were always going to end up here, Brooke. I knew then… I’ve always known. And I would’ve given you this ring at sixteen if I thought you would’ve accepted it, but I wouldn’t change how this has played out, for a second. I’ve imagined this… since I was sixteen and falling hopelessly in love with my best friend.”
She’s crying in earnest now. I cup her cheeks and pray she’ll hear and finally, truly understand. “It was always going to be you, Brooke. You with my Gram’s ring—my ring—on your finger, and me loving you every day for the rest of our lives.”
“I’m… I’m afraid,” she whimpers.
“It’s okay. Tell me your fear, Love. I can handle it.”
“I…” Her hands clench mine. “I’m afraid of how much I want this. Of how I need you. Always in my life. With me…”
I kiss her forehead, her tear covered cheeks, her nose.
“I’m afraid of how much… I… I love you, Owen. Because, I do. I love you.”
She repeats those words again and again, “I love you. I love you. I love you,”like her soul’s known it all along and is bursting with the release of the truth. And on Day Twenty-Five of this crazy game we’re playing, I have no uncertainties, at all.
16
HOME
GOOD NEIGHBOURS
BROOKE
Suite Hearts, Day 30
“I wonder what they’ll throw at us this time,” Clyde says, sipping his morning coffee as we all meet on our roofs, beginning Day Thirty as a group of five couples.
“Anything is better than tuna.” Dakota looks apologetic when Sadie grimaces and holds her stomach. I didn’t think a case of food poisoning could get much worse, but a week of only tuna packets has been a level of psychological warfare I wasn’t prepared for.
When we were offered fifteen thousand dollars and the fully-loaded Ram 3000 pulling our trailers to leave the game or a mystery box with a happy heart printed on it to stay, Owen and I were one of only five couples who took the box—and received five days’ worth of tuna packets to eat.
And only tuna.
“I’d walk off this roof right now for a rare steak,” Gloria chimes, sipping her tea, still wearing her ankle length nightgownand bonnet. I want to be her when I grow up. “Heck, I’d take a cow on a leash if it meant my skin didn’t smell like fish.”
I wish I didn’t know exactly what she was describing.
“What I’m really craving,” Haven says melodically, “is a nice pile of wheatgrass pancakes with homemade, coconut cream whipped topping, and golden sprinkles.”
“Golden sprinkles?” I’m shocked. I can’t imagine Haven consuming anything deemed as lowly as refined sugar.
“Yes, Brooke,” she replies, and now I’m ten and just answered the teacher correctly.Top marks, Brooke. You’ve pleased the professor.A professor whose skin is glowing with the sudden increase in omega fatty acids and probably doesn’t smell like the chicken of the sea. “They’re sprinkles made from moscovado and dusted with actual gold. It’s Peace Blue’s favorite treat.”
Peace Blue being their oldest child, who at eight years of age, I’d wager, was breastfed right up until they left for this competition.
Ocean rubs his hand over his belly like he can just taste those gold flakes now.
Owen leans towards me, whispering in my ear under the guise of a kiss on my cheek. “Who ever thoughtthe Veggieswould outlast the homesteaders from Mississippi?"
“Who knew a wheatgrass, gold dust combo could actually sound appetizing?” I smile into my coffee, the first real taste I’ve had of anything aside from water and tuna in five days. And though the food situation and the subsequent smell in our Tink has been less than ideal, things with Owen since being run over with that food poisoning could not be better.
It’s a lot like we’re on a honeymoon, of sorts. One with more cameras or canned tuna than I ever would have imagined—or preferred—and a cast of kooky characters tagging along beside us. But it has been an unexpected gift, nonetheless.
I know him better than I know anyone, but the last thirty days of confinement have reminded me of what it is to be loved by Owen. And it’s now clear to me, more than ever, that he has always loved me. And I’ve felt the same, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself or to Owen until the other night.
The production team skitters around the lawn outside our Tinkerbells, readying the set, Sumer’s podium, and all the cameras for our morning of filming. Owen and I have already agreed that no matter the amount offered, we won’t accept. We’re prepared to stay until the end. So today, we’ll likely get some sort of mystery box, Owen will meet with his physical therapist, then we’ll have marriage counseling this afternoon. Something I’m strangely looking forward to for the first time.
“Morning, Todd,” Owen greets our quiet cameraman, offering him a cup of coffee when he climbs over the ladder to our roof. Todd silently takes the mug, nodding his thanks and setting up. “I’m gonna need you to hurry things along so I can make out with my wife.”
