Page 73 of The Marriage Policy

“You boys have always been good at taking care of each other,” Maggie says. “That’s what makes your relationship so special.”

“She’s not wrong.” I nudge Donovan with my arm.

“No. She’s not.” He gives me a strange smile I find hard to read. I don’t like it when I can’t sort out one of his faces.

The house smells good—Calvin must’ve been cooking.

Donovan sits on the couch, and I go down beside him.

I try hard not to touch him too much. We’ve always been affectionate, so I don’t think it’s something they’ll notice anyway, but now that we touch each other in different ways, it’s hard not to have my hands on him as much as possible—palm against his thigh, arm around him, curling up against him because Donovan is really good at snuggling.

Calvin goes into the kitchen to check the food, and Donovan goes with him. When the two of them are together, they spend as much time bonding as they can.

“When do you go back to work?” Mom asks, which makes dread fill my gut. Is this when I tell her I don’t have a job to go back to? And then she worries I’ll never get my shit together? I hate feeling like I disappoint her. It’s not something she would ever say to me, but I can’t deny it sometimes feels like it. Maybedisappointmentis not the right word. I’m just not as good at stuff or as smart as she is or Dad was.

“Actually, about that… Cliff let me go.”

“What? Because of your ankle? He can’t do that.”

“Yes and no. But what’s the alternative? Fight for my job back from someone who clearly doesn’t want me around? I’ve started looking for something else.”

“You can’t let him get away with that. I understand not wanting to work with someone like that, but what about your bills? Medical insurance? Are you getting unemployment? Oh, honey, is that why you moved in with Donovan?” And now I feel about two inches tall. She’s right. Of course she is. “He can’t take care of you.”

“I—”

“I don’t take care of him.” Donovan steps back into the room. “Or I guess I should say I don’t do any more for him than he does for me. He gets up every morning with me to make me breakfast. He meal-preps so I have lunch, and makes sure I don’t work too hard, and reminds me to have fun.”

“Shoot. I didn’t mean for it to sound like Eric doesn’t pull his weight.” She turns to me. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I just love you and want what’s best for you.”

I nod. There has never been a doubt in my mind about that. “I know.”

Donovan jumps in again. “Eric is good at what he does. The best. Cliff doesn’t deserve him. He took advantage of Eric’s kindness and work ethic and then tossed him out when Eric needed him. I don’t ever want him to go back to that. Eric deserves more.”

My chest feels too big, like each word Donovan speaks makes it swell more and more. The feeling prompts me to say, “I’ve, um…considered trying to start my own business. Donovan and I were talking about it, and I’ve done some research. I don’t know if I’ll be good at the business part, but—”

“You will.” Donovan comes over and sits sideways on the couch, facing me. “I know we talked about it, but you didn’t tell me you actually started looking into it. I did the same. I have all the information at home, but I didn’t want to be pushy.”

My heart melts. I love that he did this for me but also doesn’t try to get me to do anything he’s not sure I want to do. “Really?”

“Yes. You can totally do this, babe. I know you can. I’m always there to help, but I doubt you’ll even need it. I want this for you so bad.”

I suddenly feel woozy, my stomach all flip-floppy, and maybe like I’m the luckiest person in the world.

“I think I want to try it.” It feels so wild to admit that out loud. Admitting it makes it real, and real stuff hurts to lose.

“We’ll make it work. Whatever we have to do,” Donovan replies, and the worry I’ve been carrying begins to dissipate.

“We?”

“Always.”

I drop my forehead against his. When the air in the room changes, the feel of eyes heavy on us, I remember we’re not alone. As if Donovan thinks it at the same time, he jerks away.

Calvin clears his throat.

Maggie and Mom are smiling.

“What?” I ask.

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