Page 36 of Homestead

That feels like too personal a question for our relationship, so instead, I ask, “What was she like?”

I wouldn’t have asked that question earlier today. He’s not a talkative man, and I’ve been trying not to pry into his private thoughts and history. But he asked about me, so maybe I’m allowed to ask about him.

I want to know more. A lot more.

“Oh,” he mutters. “She was… I loved her.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

I understand.

He’s a good man, so he doesn’t want to use me or take advantage of me, but there are clear boundaries around our relationship, and those boundaries will remain.

He wants us to share this life and help each other out. He wants me to do the inside work that’s more than he can handle by himself. He wants to fuck me—no doubt about that. And he wants me to be safe and content in our practical arrangement. And he wants me to be honest and not keep secrets from him.

But he doesn’t want me to be close to him.

He’s not going to open up to me.

His mother told me before I moved here that he got closed off after Impact, and it’s clear to me now that he’s likely to stay that way.

That’s okay.

It’s a little disappointing since something inside me wants to get close to him, but I don’t have to indulge that soft little instinct.

I can be practical too.

And I can be happy with everything Jimmy has given me that I never would have gotten without him.

With all that finally resolved in my mind, I’m finally able to go to sleep.

7

The next morning,I’m feeling a lot better. I slept well, and I’m not as stressed and exhausted as I was yesterday.

In fact, as I splash water on my face and pull on my jeans and sweatshirt, both my mind and body feel undeniably relaxed.

Maybe that’s what the kind of sex we had last night does for me.

It’s a kind of cringey thought. So is the memory of how eager and uninhibited I was in bed. It doesn’t fit with the way I’ve always understood myself. Not to mention the silly hope I had of getting Jimmy to open up to me emotionally.

But I brush the self-consciousness away. Brooding on it won’t accomplish anything, and Jimmy is acting perfectly normal as he goes through his morning chores.

I prepare an omelet with the last of our cheese along with some buttered toast. Jimmy makes a lot of satisfied sounds as he eats, so it must have turned out pretty well.

“Do we have any way of getting more cheese?” I ask him. The block we’ve been using came from the basket his mother packed for us on Sunday.

“Yeah, Mike Hurley will bring by our week’s supply to my folks’ place this evening, so we can pick it up when we’re there.”

“Oh, we’re going to your parents’?” This is the first I heard about that. It’s not bad news. Just a surprise. And my voice reflects that much.

“Yeah, sorry.” Jimmy swallows his bite with a gulp. “Everyone gets together on Saturday evenings at the farm. Thought you already knew. Is that all right?”

I should have known. There was always a crowd for dinner on Saturdays. But for some reason I hadn’t put the pieces together that I’d go too now that I no longer live there. “Yes, it’s great. I should have realized we’d go.”

“I need to go this week or my folks will worry when I don’t show up. But you don’t gotta if you’d rather stay here. And if we tell ’em in advance, we don’t always have to go.”

“No, I want to.” It actually sounds like fun. Something different to break the sameness of the days. “Do I need to make anything to bring?”

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