So the relationship remains safe for me. I keep telling myself that I can end it anytime, and it won’t affect the safety or contentment of my solitary life.
But even as I remind myself of these facts, I can’t helpbut admit I’m enjoying Micah’s companionship as much as I’m enjoying the sex. I like hanging out with him. I like going through our normal chores and outings together.
I like having someone at my back and by my side.
Molly has been enough for the past year—so much so that I haven’t felt any lack. But with Micah around, I can tell the difference.
It’s undeniable.
I like not being alone.
Occasionally I try to imagine how I’ll feel after Micah moves on. He will. Of course. He’s got a full life that has nothing to do with me. Friends. A community. He’s retreated temporarily because of his lingering grief over his sister, but it’s not going to last forever. Not for a man as naturally warm and social as him.
He’s not like me.
Sometimes the thought of being alone again scares me so much I’m tempted to go ahead and lower the boom simply to get it over with.
But it’s going to be hard no matter when it happens. I might as well have a little bit longer with him.
Those are the thoughts in my mind on a Friday morning six weeks after he showed up wounded on my doorstep. We got up early to hunt for an hour in the hopes of replenishing our supply of meat. We move together easily. Instinctively. Both of us know what we’re doing and are acutely aware of the other’s position and intentions. We hunt well together.
Molly knows and loves Micah now. The dog has adopted him into her very small pack.
She’ll grieve when he leaves the same way I will.
Shit, I need to stop thinking about that.
“What’s the matter?” Micah asks out of the blue. The first thing either of us has said for forty minutes.
“What do you mean?”
“It feels like you’re stewing about something over there.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why does he have to be so intuitive? Men aren’t supposed to be like that.
“You’re imagining things.”
“If you say so.”
I sigh. “Am I not allowed my private thoughts?”
“Course you’re allowed them. But how am I supposed to help if I don’t know what they are?”
“Was I asking for your help?”
“No. But you never ask me to help with anything. But I still get to offer it, and usually you’ll let me. So why not with this too?” He’s stopped our slow hike through the woods and is looking down at me steadily.
I shake my head with a rueful huff. “There’s nothing to help with here. Sometimes I think things that have no fix. You can’t help me with those.”
“Maybe I can. Run it by me, and we’ll see.” His mouth is twitching, and his eyes are glinting with the dry humorthat’s always characterized him, even in his very worst moments.
I snort. “I’m keeping this one to myself.”
“Okay. Your choice. But tell me the truth.”
