“But my brookie,” Laurel objects. “I’ll be a polygamist if the alternative is I have to wait longer to eat the brookie.”
My eyebrows rise. “This must be some dessert.”
“Say cheese,” Carly says.
We take the picture, then take the picture in two more poses before Laurel abandons us to go make hot chocolate to go with our dessert.
“Let’s take one of just us now,” Carly says, adjusting the zoom and bending down to check it. She comes over, flashing me her sultry little smile. “Arms around my waist, prom date style.”
I roll my eyes at the thought of prom, but I assume the position and let her take her stupid picture. Laurel bustles in, setting the table with brookies and hot chocolate. We already have place settings. Carly crafted upside candy canes into little bases and put Vince, Carly, and Laurel cards at each of our seats so we’d know our places.
Mine is in the middle. I take a seat and cock my head, reading the mug they selected for me. It reads, “A fun thing to do in the morning is not talk to me.”
I snort. “This is what you think of me?” I question, quirking an eyebrow at Laurel, the mug picker-outer.
Laurel side-eyes me. “I’m not sorry. That suits you. You’re a grump when you wake up.”
“He wasn’t this morning,” Carly says, breezing in and winking at me.
“Next Christmas I’m sure I’ll know you better. I’ll get you a more fitting mug,” Laurel assures me.
“Oh, we’re already planning next year?”
“Mm hmm,” Carly murmurs, taking a seat and grabbing her own hot chocolate mug. “When we move into the house, we should get a whole cabinet for mugs. I realized when I moved here and had to fill a whole cabinet with mugs, I own many more ironic mugs than the average human being.”
“What’s yours say?” I ask Laurel.
She uses the handle to turn it to face me. There’s a little picture of Einstein and it reads, “Y’all motherfuckas need science.”
“Classy,” I tell her.
“Only the classiest for me,” she agrees, turning the mug back in her direction and lifting it to her lips to blow on it.
Carly blows hers, winking at me over the brim. Her Christmassy mug reads, quite accurately, “Festive AF.”
“So, we’re already planning next Christmas, I’m buying a house, and you demand an entire mug cabinet in my house.”
“Our house.” Carly nods. “We should get Bandit an ironic water bowl, too. He won’t want to be left out.”
“Aw, you guys are getting a dog?” Laurel asks.
Apparently my life is planned now, so I don’t bother agreeing or disagreeing. I shake my head, looking down at the half cookie, half brownie on my plate.
“I wish you could invite Cherie for Christmas,” Carly tells me, using her fork to cut off and stab a piece of brookie.
I frown at her cookie eating habit more than her suggestion. “You use a fork to eat a cookie?”
“Of course. Or a brownie. So, especially yes with a brookie.”
I frown and look over at Laurel. She also has a fork.
I pick mine up like a normal human being and take a bite.
“He’s a savage,” Laurel says, as if scandalized.
Carly grins, bringing her fork to her mouth. “Right? I love it.”
—
Waking up next to someone every morning again is weird, but good weird. I still won’t let her sleep over at my apartment just to be safe. It’s probably an inane precaution to insist on taking. If I’m discovered, if anyone puts in any effort to find me or to watch me, they will easily be able to see me going over to Carly’s every night, even if I get home from work in the wee hours of the morning.
I just love being with her. I love being there in the morning to wake her up with breakfast, I love standing in the kitchen watching (or helping) her make dinner while she tells me about her research. Since we both somehow like Connecticut, I’ve even caught myself looking at houses in the area. It’s too soon to buy, but Carly makes comment after comment about it, casually mentioning how next Christmas we should invite Cherie and Laurel, so we need to make sure we get a four bedroom house. It should freak me out that she’s already talking about this stuff, but I’m so comfortable, it doesn’t bother me.
Carly feels like home. No apartment ever has. So, I stay with Carly.
Laurel bought me a selection of small business books for Christmas. I thought it was a weird gift, but Carly talks about how I’m going to own and run my own bar so much that it seems like a given to me, too.
Carly’s a subtle leader, but I’ve realized she leads me around by my dick. I have no problem with it, but she definitely does. When I finally got around to asking what it is she’s going to school for, she explained she’s getting her doctorate or some shit and she’s going to become a counseling psychologist. It’s kinda funny. Sal made a comment or two once about how we all needed shrinks; I guess at least I get one, I’m just dating her.