The Co-op

“Goodnight, Lar.”

“Sweet dreams, Deacon.”

“When I left him alone in the waiting room for fifteen minutes the first time he took it upon himself to repair a shelf.”

“It was already leaning. I was actually trying to prevent an accident!” I say, trying to defend myself.

“Someone wheeled in poor old Ruby Chester at the same time the whole thing collapsed. Knocked her clean out.”

“Kindly eat glass,” Sal replies from the backseat. “But I do have to agree, dear.”

“Lar—LaRynn,” comes his voice. I feel the bed dip when he sits at the foot and I pull the sheet tighter around my head.

“LaRynn. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just—” he sighs. “I just thought we could have a laugh, that’s all. I shouldn’t have, though.” He finds my ankle and squeezes. “Maybe I should’ve known that you wouldn’t like to be laughed at when it comes to that kind of thing. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t appreciate when you left me to fend for myself against him for three years. Or when you returned and still may as well have been a ghost for how present either of you were.”

adjust the volume so that it’s loud enough to drown out the buzzing of my–assistant–and close my eyes . . .

For the ones still working on it, whatever it is.

Whether finding your way, or finding yourself . . .

Don’t give up. You’re worth the investment.

She’s only grown more stunning, and it’s even more overwhelming because I get to know her soul.

“We need music,” I declared.
“We need drugs,” she deadpanned, before she snorted a short laugh at the ceiling. “Music will do just fine, though. You pick.”

After only a few minutes I feel her eyes on my back. Another one of those wonders of marriage—the way you start to become so accustomed to the other’s presence that you recognize the way that spaces change when they walk into a room. A personal source of gravity.