Bernard
We’ve got a game tonight. It’ll be late.
Me
I don’t work tomorrow. I can stay up so we can figure this out.
I pocket my phone and press my palms against my eyes. Figure this out. Like, there's a protocol. Why aren’t there protocols for people like there are for assessing trauma patients?
I walk home from work today, since the weather is decent and I’ve got a lot on my mind. It occurs to me that I could go to the guys’ games. Shouldn’t one of them put tickets aside for me or something? In a fantasy world, Bernard would get me seats right on the blue line, and I’d wear his jersey like I did the last time we had sex on the couch.
My cheeks heat at the memory, both because he made me come so many times and because I really like spending time with the guy I used to pray would disappear from the backseat of my parents’ car.
At home, I change into sweats, make myself a sandwich, and study at the counter until I hear keys in the lock.
Jason’s voice arrives before he does, whooping. “Did you see me give that Buffalo asshole a face wash? Man, I’m amped up for another go at them tomorrow.”
Bernard enters the room, and his eyes snap directly to me, revealing an anxious expression before he slides on a mask of indifference as my brother squeezes past him en route to the snack cupboard. “Ellie-belly, you haven’t been eating my jerky, have you? We talked about this.”
I groan. “I have a negative desire to eat your elk parts, Jason.”
He holds up a stick of dehydrated meat like a pointer. “Just checking. I’m hitting the sack.” His door slams and rock music blasts, slightly muffled, moments later.
This means Bernard and I are alone for the moment. I close the laptop and walk over to where he’s seated stiffly on the couch, still wearing the suit he must have put on to watch the game from the stands. "Hey."
"Hey." He starts loosening his tie.
"So." I tap my hands on my thighs.
"So."
I tuck my feet under me and face him. "We need ground rules. For when Jason's home."
He pulls off his belt and sets it on the coffee table. "Okay."
"No touching. Not in common areas, not where he could walk in."
"Okay."
"No lingering looks. No inside jokes he can't follow. No calling me anything that isn't my name."
"I only ever call you your name."
"You called me baby the other night." I press my legs together at the memory of my body’s response to hearing him call me that, like a treasured, precious thing.
Something flickers across his face. He remembers. "That was … a heat of the moment thing."
"It was a nice heat-of-the-moment thing. But not when Jason's around."
"Okay,” he repeats, and his voice is flat. Not angry. Just drained. Like I'm reading him a list of things he's lost.
"Bernard."
"I'm fine with the rules, Ella. They make sense."
"But?"
He rubs the back of his neck. Stares at the curtains he hung. "No buts. You're right. This is smart."
