Page 39 of Smooth Sailing

“I don’t think you should share a bathroom with Suzette,” I stated, and his attention came to me. “She needs her space and to feel totally safe in it. So you can park your crap in my closet and use my bathroom.”

“Right,” he replied.

“If I’m not in here, feel free to come on back. If I am, and you need something, obviously, just knock.”

“Right,” he repeated.

“Not to feed into antiquated gender norms, but I’ll put some towels out for you. Yours will be blue, mine will be white.”

“Got it.”

“I have two sinks in there. Go for it in unpacking. You’ll see which one isn’t used and that’s all yours.”

He said nothing, just stood there.

“Do you need me to clear you some closet and drawer space?” I offered.

“I’m not movin’ in.”

My brows drew down. “I thought you were, at least temporarily.”

He didn’t respond to that.

He asked, “You got a problem with my shit bein’ all over your closet floor?”

I gave that a second’s thought.

But I only needed half a second.

“Totally.”

He shook his head in a this-bitch-is-a-trip way and said, “Yeah. Clear me some space.”

“I’ll do that after dinner,” I told him. “And just so you know, I don’t have a pullout couch, but we’ll take the back cushions off and the seat is wide. I fall asleep there all the time. It’s super comfy.”

“You’re a hundred pounds lighter than me.”

Aw, wasn’t he sweet?!

“If it’s uncomfortable, maybe we can get an air mattress,” I suggested.

“I’m not here on vacation,” he reminded me.

“Everybody needs good sleep,” I reminded him.

“I’ve crashed on couches. I’ve crashed in the back seats of cars. I’ve crashed on floors, in tents, out of tents on the ground in a sleeping bag. I crashed once on the top of a bar. I don’t have a problem getting to sleep just about anywhere that’s available. Don’t worry about it.”

Man, I wanted to know the story behind the “top of the bar” thing.

I didn’t ask after that.

“Okeydoke,” I replied.

“We done here?”

“Yep.”

“Can I drop my shit so we can eat?”

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