Joke's on you

I’d left the door to my tiny water closet—which wasn’t even a bathroom in the sense that there was no tub, only a bit of a bathing area with extremely limited duration hot water—shut that morning, with the result that it was on the chilly side now. But I hadn’t peed since before the interview hours ago, and after the whiskey I was about bursting. When I took down my underwear, I was resignedly disheartened to find the crotch soaked through to the point that the inside of my leggings was hopelessly stained. “Goddamnit,” I muttered, then called, “Mag?”

“Yeah?” he called back immediately.

“Could you fetch me a clean pair of underwear and some new leggings?”

“Sure.” I heard a sound as he set the basket down again and got into my clothes dresser, then his footsteps approaching the door.

“Thanks,” I said, opening the door to his gentle knock and taking the fresh clothes from him. “I guess now we know why I’ve been such a horrid cow today.”

“I’m not so sure,” he said, turning his back and leaning against the door jamb to give me some privacy while I cleaned myself up. “I can’t remember you ever talking like you did tonight. Not even that time after Lydell. You were rattled but you didn’t tear yourself down. This doesn’t feel anything like your usual period mopes.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so instead of answering I busied myself changing into the clean clothes.

“Have you been feeling like this a while, and just not saying anything?” he asked after we’d been quiet a minute or two.

I thought about that. “I don’t think so,” I said finally. It seemed that yesterday I’d felt fine, and then the conversation with him and Baggett today had simply cast things in a different, deeply unflattering, perspective. “I think with that stuff earlier it just started to feel like I’m kidding myself to pretend this is freedom, if it's really just refusal to commit, or refusal to grow up, or something.”

“I’m sorry I was so unavailable the last couple weeks while I was trying to get through all that permitting stuff for Nan,” he said quietly.

“It’s all right. Really. Do you care if I go ahead and pee?”

Curry’s back was still turned. “Have I ever?” I heard the pleasant, almost laugh in his voice.

“Still seems polite to ask.” When I was finished and cleaned up and properly outfitted to avoid dirtying my fresh clothes, I pulled my leggings up and adjusted things more comfortably before washing my hands in the tiny basin and drying them on my bathing towel.

Curry turned back to face me while I was doing this, then when I was done, reached into his shirt and pulled out the small rook of Rava pendant his mum had given him when he graduated secondary school, from where it hung on a silver chain. He lifted that off over his head, then motioned for me to come closer. “Wear this for a bit, yeah? Nan always says Rava’s better than the rest when it comes to just needing some comfort.” He slipped the chain over my head and dropped the little silver totem into the collar of my shirt. “She also says to wear it next to your skin.”

“Thanks, Mag.” I adjusted the little rook so it nestled more comfortably between my breasts, then hugged him, hard.

When I withdrew Curry moved over to let me out of the privy, then settled one arm around my shoulder. I let him lead me back to the fireplace. “Third time’s the charm, I guess?” I asked, as he picked up the toasting basket again.

He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “As many times as it takes.”

“I’m just thinking about what you said a bit ago,” I said after considering it a while in silence. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t really remember ever feeling quite like that before. I don’t know what it means.”

“Do you feel all right, physically? Apart from regular period stuff?” he asked, turning the basket to make sure everything heated evenly.

“I thought I did.”

“Maybe you should get checked over. Be sure everything’s all right.”

“Maybe. Yeah.”

Curry pulled the toasting basket off the fire and distributed the curry buns between two of my small plates, then went to the tiny not-really-kitchen area and got my kettle. He hung that on the hook above the fire, then handed me one of the plates. “In case you want some willow tea or anything in a bit,” he explained as we settled on my bed with our dinner.

“I’d rather have more whiskey.”

“Then eat,” he said, motioning with the already half-eaten roll in his hand. “It’s good,” he added.

I took a bite of the steaming hot bun and chewed it slowly. I was actually pretty hungry, I supposed, even though it hadn’t seemed that way. “I was never embarrassed before that I don’t have anywhere to properly sit down,” I said after I finished the bite.

“My place isn’t a lot better.”

“You have Nan’s settee, at least. You have someplace to sit that you didn’t sleep in last night. You have a bedroom, with a door.”

Curry shrugged. “So we’ll figure something out. Let’s chew on it a few days.”

His we and let’s gave me a sudden pang of longing for when it had just been us and Nan, at her house, and we hadn’t worried too much about our relationships with other people. But that didn’t seem like a helpful thing to bring up, and the knowledge of how inaccessible that feeling seemed struck me with such mournfulness that it brought me to tears again.

“Oh, no, what’s the matter?” Curry set his food aside and moved over to hug me again.

I shook my head against him, unsure how even to explain myself. “I miss you,” I said eventually, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Which is ridiculous. You’re right here. It doesn’t make any sense, I know. And it’s such a weird, unfair thing to tell you.”

There was a short silence, during which I reflected on exactly how little sense it made, when I still saw him most days—until he surprised me by asking, “Do you want to move back in with me?”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You haven’t got room.”

“So we find a bigger place. It’s not like we couldn’t afford it. We’ve both got tons of savings from living so cheaply for years now. We might even be able to afford to buy.”

“Nobody just moves in together as friends, though,” I said. “Not at our age.”

“Who cares?”

“People would talk. We'd be back to all that bullshit, all over again, every time yet another shit-for-brains decides it would be fun to report the wonder duo.”

“People talk now. Plenty of people still genuinely believe we’ve been fucking for years. We just hear less of it now because we’re finally their ranking officers. And the verification—we lived with it before. We can again.”

“This is an awfully big sacrifice for you to propose, just because I was in the dumps for an evening,” I said finally, because it seemed wrong to admit how comforting the idea was.

Curry shrugged. “Maybe it’s not a sacrifice. Maybe I miss you too.”

“Living with me again would really fuck over your chance of finding somebody you want to marry,” I said, reflecting on what Baggett had said on this subject all those years ago.

“I dunno.” He sighed. “Honestly? The longer I go, the more I think I’d rather see more of you, than go to the trouble of trying to find somebody I like better, just for kids and all of it. Kids were a notion I had once. Now it seems like something I should have messed with five years ago, not something I should worry about now when I haven’t even got anybody to have them with.” Curry let me go so he could pull back enough to look at me. “I’m not in love with living on my own. I miss waking up with somebody else home. Specifically you. Having breakfast and bullshitting with you in the morning was a great start to every day. I kind of want that back.”

“Me too,” I admitted, then felt obliged to add, “But I don’t know if it’s wise. We should think on it a bit.”

Curry nodded, but then he said, “Maybe something like, two connected apartments with a shared front room and kitchen. Or one of those split townhomes. Or—it wouldn’t be as close to work, but—what if we looked in one of those neighborhoods more built for extended families and the like? We can live like we did at Nan’s and just politely ignore it when one of us wants to bring somebody home. Or—actually, just… live with Nan even. I think she’d love it, actually.”

I was starting to get the reassuring notion that Curry might have been mulling this over a while. “So we’ll think about all those things, then,” I said, slipping my arms back around his middle. “Honestly—this might be a really bad idea—but it does make me feel better to talk about it, even if we don’t do anything. Thanks. I love you.”

“And just think,” he pointed out, sensing that the correct moment for some levity had arrived, “neither of us dies alone.”

“Joke’s on you, if we die next week in the same firefight,” I said, and Curry snorted.

“Not alone is still not alone,” he said. “I’ll take it. But, I love you too. Now let me finish eating. I’m still starving.”

When I pulled away he took a moment and smoothed down my hair where I’d messed it up clinging to him, and we returned to our dinner.