Page 99 of Curvy Cabin Fever
I walk over, peer down at the intricate drawings. “What are you working on?”
“Community development outside Seattle. Sustainable housing that normal people can actually afford.” His finger traces a curved line. “Solar panels on every roof. Shared green spaces. Storm water reclamation.”
“You don’t just build rich people’s vacation homes?”
His mouth quirks. “Those pay the bills. This is what matters.”
I study him, this man I’m still learning. “How’d you meet them? Rhett and Morgan?”
Damien leans back in his chair. “Morgan, I met in college. We had some classes together—I was taking design electives, he was there for...” He smiles. “Actually, I think he was just there to meet people. That’s Morgan.”
I smile, picturing it. “And Rhett?”
“Through Morgan.” He taps his pen against the desk. “They’d known each other since they were kids. Morgan mentions it sometimes. They grew up in the same neighborhood.”
I think about that—Morgan with his big, loving family and easy smile, the unspoken closeness he shares with Rhett that even I’ve noticed. “They seem like they have history.”
“They do.” Something crosses his face—awareness, maybe understanding. “More than they talk about, I think.”
I lean against the desk. “And now?”
“Now we’re family.” He says it simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘The kind you choose.”
I think about my own fractured family—mother lost in grief for fifteen years, brother escaped to Europe, me drifting until the storm that brought me here.
“I’ve never had that,” I admit.
Damien stands, crosses to me in two long strides. His fingers tilt my chin up. “You do now.”
That night,after dinner, I find an old photo album on the bookshelf. Damien sits beside me as I flip through it—snapshots of three men becoming friends, becoming more.
“When was this taken?” I ask, pointing to a photo of the three of them on the porch, tools scattered around what looks like a construction site.
“About ten years ago. Right after Rhett inherited this place from his grandfather.” Damien points to a pile of lumber. “We spent that whole summer fixing it up. New roof. Rewired the place. Built the deck.”
“All three of you?”
“Mostly. Morgan did the heavy lifting.” He smiles at the memory. “You’ve seen those muscles. Not just from the gym.”
I turn pages, watching the evolution of their friendship across time. Damien at a construction site with blueprints. Morgan—even broader than he is now, sleeve tattoos only half-completed—grilling at some outdoor gathering. Rhett in a suit at what looks like a court building, Morgan’s arm slung companionably around his shoulders.
“Morgan’s close to his family, isn’t he?” I question, noticing several photos showing Morgan with a woman who must be his mother—same wide smile, same crinkled eyes.
“Very. Especially his mom. She’s the reason he cooks so well.” Damien points to another photo—the three of them at what looks like a big family dinner. “She used to cook for half the neighborhood. Morgan grew up helping in the kitchen.”
“Is that why he almost became a chef instead of a fitness instructor?”
“He told you about that?”
I nod. “The first night after we...well, after everything started. When he made us breakfast.”
Damien’s expression softens. “Sounds like Morgan. He’s always taking care of everyone.”
As we continue through the album, I notice something—the way Rhett and Morgan always seem to stand close in photos, the way Morgan’s hand often rests on Rhett’s shoulder or back. The look in Morgan’s eyes when he’s watching Rhett and doesn’t know the camera is on him.
“They love each other, don’t they?” I inquire quietly. “Rhett and Morgan. It’s not just friendship.”
Damien studies the photo I’m looking at—Morgan watching Rhett at what appears to be someone’s birthday party. “I think they have for a long time. Whether they’ve ever said it out loud...” He shrugs. “That’s their business.”
