Page 86 of Here We Go Again
ROSEMARY
There is something mildly humiliating about waking up as the baby spoon. She feels little and vulnerable with Logan’s chest against her back, Logan’s arms around her shoulders, Logan’s leg over her legs, like she’s a fragile Russian nesting doll.
She wants to roll away and pretend like she never enjoyed being swaddled by another human. But she can’t.
Because the feeling of Logan’s body this close to hers is too delicious. Logan has enveloped her entirely, and Rosemary wants to melt into her body, form a covalent bond between their atoms until their one entity.
Which is… a lot. Especially for day two of a maybe-relationship.
“Are you awake?” Logan grumbles against the back of her neck.
“No.”
“You are; I can hear you thinking.”
“You cannot.”
“You think very loudly.”
Rosemary huffs and rolls over so they’re face-to-face in the cage of Logan’s limbs. She’s about to say something snarky, but she’s arrested by the sight of Logan’s groggy morning face, so close, so all she says is, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Logan says back.
They lay there for a moment, just staring into each other’s eyes, until she starts to feel embarrassed by all of it. “We should get up and check on—”
“Joe!” Logan shouts as the door to the guest room flies open. Logan pulls the blankets over both of their bodies. “Don’t you knock?”
Joe wheels his way into the bedroom, and the second Rosemary sees his face, she knows coming here was the right choice. Because Joe is smiling the way he used to, before the diagnosis and the chemo and the years of hoping and hurting. Joe looks like his old self. “It’s almost ten o’clock,” he says, “and you know I’m not a patient man.”
Remy stands behind Joe in a billowy linen shirt that’s unbuttonedenough to reveal his chest hair, and even though Rosemary isn’t usually attracted to men, she’s a bit attracted to him. Remy seems to transcend sexuality. Like Taika Waitaki.
“I made brunch,” Remy adds, “But I’m very sorry if we’re interrupting something.”
“You’re not,” Rosemary says quickly.
Beneath the sheets, Logan’s bare foot rubs against Rosemary’s leg and she shivers. “I mean, theycouldbe interrupting something.”
Rosemary turns to find Logan grinning mischievously. Wild hair and tired eyes and a little drool crusted into the corner of her mouth. There are too many feelings inside Rosemary’s chest for her to contain, and the most overwhelming urgent is her need to be touching Logan absolutely everywhere.
“Give us a couple more minutes, actually.”
Somehow, while they were sleeping in, Remy managed to run to the grocery store, come home again, and prepare a generous brunch spread, replete with homemade biscuits and gravy, country potatoes, scrambled eggs, and shrimp grits (not made from the auto mechanic shrimp, Logan checks). Rosemary has a giant mug of coffee with chicory, and they eat in a conservatory-style room behind the kitchen, with sunlight streaming in through the glass walls and the AC running to keep them cool.
“Gladys called and left a message this morning,” Logan tells everyone as she heaps food onto her plate. “She said the Gay Mobile just needed a new battery, so as soon as we go pick it up, we’re good to get back on the road.”
Joe shoots Remy a nervous look, and Remy reaches out for his hand and clasps it on top of the table. “Remy and I have only just started reconnecting,” Joe hedges. “And we were talking this morning, and we wanted to ask if perhaps we could stay in Ocean Springs one more day. I think we could all use a day out of the van. Odiecertainly needs it—” In the backyard behind them, Odie is climbing a beech tree in an attempt to eat a thoroughly unthreatened egret chilling on a branch out of reach.
“Do you think that might be okay?” Joe is looking directly at Rosemary. “If we stay one more day? I know we’re behind schedule, but—”
Rosemary looks at Joe and Remy’s intertwined hands. “Of course we can stay.”
Remy sighs happily and stares at Joe like his presence at this table is a miracle that could only be explained by the divine.
“Fuck yes we can stay,” Logan consents. “You dudes need more time to bump butts.”
“We won’tbump butts,” Remy corrects in his luscious Creole accent. “But the Ohr-O’Keefe Museum of Art in Biloxi is wonderful, and I would love to take Joseph there this afternoon.”
Rosemary perks up. “I’ve heard amazing things about that art museum! I’ll just need to take a shower before we leave.”
