41
After
I wake up sometime after dawn, stirred by the metallic grind of the garbage truck as it clamors down Grove Street. I listen for a moment to the clang of the metal cans next door, and when I open my eyes, I’m surprised to find Sawyer still sleeping next to me: For all the nights we’ve spent together, this might well be the first time he hasn’t slipped out before sunrise.
I take the chance to look at him, face down with one arm slung over his head, freckles dotting his back like constellations. Just for a minute I give in to the urge to touch him, run my fingers over the patterns there, but Sawyer doesn’t stir. He sleeps differently than he used to. He thrashes less, breathes more deeply. It used to be that he shuddered in his sleep, trembled and muttered like the devil was in his dreams.
It’s not until I get out of bed that he wakes up, opening his eyes halfway. “Where you going?” he wants to know, stretching a little.
I smile. “Gotta get up.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head sleepily and holds the blanket open, an invitation for me to climb back in. “Five more minutes.”
“Well.” I consider. “Okay.” I slide beneath the quilt, rolling over onto my stomach and slipping a hand under the pillow. “Hi.”
“Hi. What do you have today?” he asks, one hand on my back, thumb tracing lazy circles there.
“Um.” I run through the to-do list in my head. “The hospital. And then school, if Stef can take the baby for me.”
“I can take the baby for you.”
“Okay.” That makes me smile. “And then work at four.”
“I’m on at seven.” He grins. “We haven’t worked together in a long time.”
“When we were in high school I used to check your schedule right after I checked mine, so I would know if it mattered what I looked like or not,” I confess. I feel a little giddy. “Not that you ever noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed.”
I snort. “You did not.”
“What you looked like was never lost on me,” he says, lacing one arm around my shoulder, pulling me down until my head is resting on his chest. “Nothing about you, my dear, has ever been lost on me.”