I close my eyes at his touch, trying to shut myself off from all ofit. From the sensation of his skin on mine, from the tenderness and care I feel radiating off of him, from the fantasies running wild in my mind.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Really.”
His fingers travel down from my forehead, coasting over my cheek, where the glass of the guest bedroom window had scraped me. “Is this any better?” he asks.
And it’s not. He’s still touching me, and I need it to end. Because I don’t trust myself. I don’t know what I’ll do—what I’llaskfor—if he doesn’t stop.
I step away. “Yes, it’s much better. I’m doing much better.” I clear my throat. “So, what were you looking for in here?”
His eyes linger on my face, stopping for a moment at my mouth.
Does he feel this too? This pull between us? The one I’ve been trying to deny ever since I got here?
My pulse increases, and for a moment the air in this kitchen feels charged. There’s potential swirling, gathering. I watch as something builds in his eyes, something dark and intense, but then he blinks, and it all vanishes as he bends back down.
“I was grabbing some cleaning supplies so I could get started on the guest bedroom,” he says, his voice carrying up from under the sink. He pops back out with bottles and rags, and I take some from him.
“I’ll come help you,” I offer.
He looks as if he’s going to disagree. I brace myself for it as he opens his mouth, but he closes it almost immediately, as if he’s swallowing the words down. “Okay,” he says.
He stops to grab a broom from the closet, and we head upstairs.
The gaping hole where the glass used to be gives us a clear view of the street. Unlike the last time we were outside, it’s bright now.Midday. But the water’s still high, the sun glinting off the brown, murky surface.
Without the rain and the wind—and ignoring a felled tree or two—it almost looks peaceful out there. Nothing like the disaster in here. Shards of glass litter the floor, the carpet and mattress are still damp to the touch, and there are water stains splattered on the wood furniture.
I pour some polish onto one of the rags, reaching for the desk in the corner first. I don’t want these stains to set in. I don’t know about the other furniture in this room. We didn’t have the rest of it when I lived here, but Nikhil made this desk, and I don’t want to see it ruined.
Nikhil pauses in the doorway for a second, then begins sweeping, gathering the broken glass into a pile.
We work in silence for some time. The only sounds in the room are the swish of his broom, the glide of my rag against the desk, and I realize I like this, us working together. It feels like it did when we were back in the canoe. At first, it had been hell, neither of us understanding the other, pushing when the other pulled, but after some time, after some give-and-take, we’d found the right rhythm. We’d trusted each other, and our journey back home had been so much easier than that first stretch on the water.
I finish my task, turning to start on the bed. “We’ll need to get this mattress out of here, right?”
Nikhil’s bent over, gathering the glass into a dustpan. “Eventually, yeah. Mold will set in if we don’t do anything, but I don’t know how we’d dry it. We can’t stick it outside in the sun with all the water still around. I may just have to toss it.”
“We could lift it together,” I say. “Whenever you need to do that.”Trust me, let me help.He didn’t see me as a teammate, as apartner, back when we were together, but I want to know if the way we’d canoed back home was just a fluke. I want to know if it’s possible he could see me that way now.
“That’s all right,” he says. “You don’t have to.”
“Iwantto.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it, and Nikhil’s gaze snaps to meet mine.
“Meena, what—”
A crackly voice breaks through the room. “Ten-four, ten-four. Do you read me?”
Nikhil straightens. He leans his broom against the wall and reaches for the radio. “Alan, the power’s back now. You can just text me.”
“Negative,” Alan replies. “My phone’s dead. Betty’s only got one charger and she’s not letting me use it.”
Nikhil looks over at me and playfully rolls his eyes. The familiarity in that gesture infuses every corner of my body. The warmth melts my insides, making me feel all sloshy.
“You all doing okay?” Nikhil asks.
Alan heaves a loud sigh. “Still fighting like cats and dogs, but you know, I think we might be on the verge of a breakthrough. See, it was really our parents who pitted us against each other. Who made us feel like we had to compete for their time and attention, and even their love, and I think if I can just make her realize that, she’ll see—”
“That’s great, Alan,” Nikhil says. “But everything else is okay? No flooding at Betty’s house or anything?”
