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When her parents hug me goodbye and say I'm always welcome at their place, I believe it.
And when my parents tell her she's always welcome in their lives, I know it's true.
Because we are family.
Whatever else happens, we're family now, and that means we're family forever.
Finally, we walk our parents to their cars, and we return to the calm, quiet house.
Daphne stretches her arms over her head with a low yawn.
"Too tired?" A teasing tone drops into my voice. I want to be back at that easy place with her already.
She shakes her head. "No, but I need to set up. Where should I put my stuff?"
"Do you want to stay in my room or the spare?" It's a big question, but it feels easy on my lips.
"Can I make the spare my office?" she asks.
"Of course."
She pulls me into a tight hug. "Give me an hour. Then meet me outside, at the pool." She brings her lips to my ears. "Bring condoms and silicon lube. Just in case you break."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Daphne
I've had serious boyfriends before, but I've never lived with a lover. A few guys asked. Sometimes for practical reasons—I slept there half the week anyway, why not save on rent—and sometimes for romantic ones—the guy just wanted to wake up next to me.
As a scientist, I saw the logic. I agreed. Yes, it is smarter to save half the rent. In the short term.
But what if I meet someone else? I'll have to find a whole new place to pursue the relationship. Or if he decides to go to grad school in San Francisco? Will he expect me to come with him?
Or maybe I'll just get stuck with the rent, all on my own, in a space that's designed for a couple rather than two roommates.
And what about medical school?
I wasn't over-confident. I didn't assume I'd get into a school close enough to my current apartment to commute.
I did. I got lucky.
But I didn't want the boyfriend to stay with me on that journey anyway. I wanted the space and time for myself.
I didn't trust anyone to give me that.
I saw every other relationship in my life. The way women rearranged themselves around a man's interests, priorities, work, needs.
It always happened that way. Don't get me wrong. Men made compromises, at times. Sometimes, they offered enough the women deemed the trade-off worthwhile. Money, love, affection, sex, cooking skills, the sperm necessary to fertilize their egg.
But from my outside point of view—
It wasn't worth it. I wasn't willing to trade freedom for a shared lease or easy access to a sexual partner or a more efficient division of labor. And would it even be more efficient?
Studies show that coupled women domorehousework than single women, not less.
Instead of sharing things fifty-fifty, they take on new tasks. And I barely had time to take care of myself, much less someone else.
The logic circles through my head as I unpack. Jackson didn't furnish the place with a girlfriend in mind. The open dresser and closet are in the guest bedroom.
