Page 170 of Built to Fall
“There will be a mimosa bar tomorrow!” Abby says cheerfully.
Lina and I both give her the same skeptical look before I say, “You sound far too happy about that for someone who can’t even enjoy said mimosa bar.”
She stands from her chair, walking to grab a glass water bottle from the fridge. “That’s because I’m going to enjoy you beingdisgustinglyhungover.”
“Well, then I should probably make it an early night in preparation,” I say with a hint of sarcasm, already heading for the staircase. Lina says a quick goodnight to the girls before following behind me.
“You owe us back scratches! Don’t forget!” Claire calls after us.
“I know you won’t let me.” That’s the other reason I’m trying to get upstairs earlier than usual. I’m hoping Lina will already be drifting asleep by the time my sisters come barreling in, demanding my attention.
“Same room as last time?” Lina asks once we make it to the landing at the top of the stairs.
“You know where it is.” I let her go ahead of me, watching her hand graze the railing, almost like she’s committing every inch of this house to memory. With her brain, I’m sure she already has. It makes my chest tighten with a certain type of admiration, seeing how Lina loves this house in nearly the same way I remember my mom loving it.
The hallway is quiet and smells like Abby’s favorite linen spray. It’s the smell that coats nearly every memory of my childhood home. The door swings open to the room that looks the same as it had in December. Except this time, Lina’s not starting in a guest bedroom and creeping in later on.
She must know it too because she kicks off her shoes, quickly strips out of her sweats, and flops down on the center of the bed.
“I brought my new melatonin gummies,” she tells me, her voice muffled against the comforter.
They’re something new she’s been trying. From what she’s alluded to, I think she’s starting to fear the idea of becoming entirely dependent on me, wanting to try something else that could help her sleep.
I don’t mind. I’ve never wanted Lina attached to me purely out of dependency. We’re our own people, and if she needs to do this for her own peace of mind and security, I’m going to encourage it.
“Did you take one yet?” I ask, peeling my hoodie over my head and throwing it on the armchair in the corner of the room.
She shakes her head. “Could you grab one for me? The bottle’s in the side pocket of my duffel.”
I find it quickly, doling two onto my hand before kneeling on the bed in front of her. She sits up to take them, chewing them up as I plant kisses along her jaw and down her neck, feeling her throat bob when she swallows.
“You want music?” Sometimes I toss on some instrumental songs to give her brain something else to focus on, rather than the daunting idea of falling asleep.
Tonight, though, sleep is already swimming lightly behind her eyes.
“No. Just talk to me.”
It’s easy for me to comply. We both fall back against the bed, and while she lies looking up at the ceiling, I’m on my side, splaying a hand over her bare stomach while I watch the way her chest rises and falls with each of my words.
I talk about stupid stuff—off-season football training, different meals Braxton has been trying to learn to cook, how Abby has been swearing by prenatal yoga but hasn’t gone in weeks. I talk until her hand falls to her stomach, resting on top of mine.
She lifts my hand for a second, examining the tattoos scattered across my hand and wrist. One of her fingers traces the blue wren—the one I got for my mom and told her about the first time I brought her here.
A few minutes after she lays our hands back down, it goes completely quiet. Her breaths slow, each one a warm gust across my skin. I lie there for a long time, tracing the line of her spine when she rolls onto her stomach.
When she’s fully asleep, I press my mouth to her hairline, closing my eyes and hoping sleep comes easily—because the longer I stay awake, the more I don’t want to go to sleep because of how big this moment feels.
Big enough that it makes me think I want to do this forever with her, in the same way my sisters were suggesting in the kitchen earlier.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
LINA
“How was the baby shower?” Kara asks the moment I walk through the apartment’s entryway and past the kitchen. Her bedroom is wide open, giving me a perfect view of her perfectly made bed, with a model brain on her nightstand, sitting atop a stack of her neuroscience textbooks.
From what she’s told me, she’s been starting to study for the MCAT, and I can only imagine the type of neurotic process she’s turned it into. Color-coded tabs in all of her textbooks, a study schedule taped to her closet door, and highlighters found on every surface in the apartment.
“It was good,” I say, stepping into her room. It’s much cleaner than mine, yet it feels like that's where we always end up congregating. “Claire and a few of Abby’s friends really went all out. They even made Grant wear a tux since he was the only man there.”
