"My three a.m. phone calls don't drive you mad?"
"Only if I'm too tired to—" she lowers her voice to a whisper.
I can't hear, but judging from her blush, it's something about sex.
He whispers. Teases her back. Makes her blush deepen.
It's dirty and adorable at the same time.
Again, my stomach pangs with envy.
They make it look so easy.
Can it really be that easy?
She pulls back enough to finish her drink. "Do you think it was the same for him?"
"With Rory?"
She nods.
"She wasn't fucking someone else."
"Does it have to be about sex?"
"Have you ever met a man?"
She laughs. "No. This is the first time. I'm Eve."
"Ian."
They actually shake. "Tell me more. About being a man."
He leans in to whisper.
Again, she blushes. "You're obsessed."
"Of course."
She smiles in a way that screams I love you. "Do you think that makes it easier for him?"
"I don't know. In some ways, maybe. It's easier to trust again. Harder, not having something to blame."
"Not knowing what happened."
"You never really know. Even when I sat there and listened to Laura explain what happened. Why she felt alone. Why she cheated. She broke it down, step by step. I thought it would be easier if I understood, but it wasn't."
"Did you understand?"
"Intellectually, sure. But how could I ever really understand?"
"You don't talk about it," she says.
"You've read all my thoughts on the matter."
She pulls him into a tight embrace. "You were a mess."
"I'm still a mess."
She shakes her head.
He nods.
They kiss.
Then they're whispering in each other's ears, lost in something that's entirely theirs.
I'm intruding. I should look away.
But I can't.
It's too astounding, seeing my brother in love again.
Seeing him trust again.
Seeing him happy.
He was a mess. Miserable. Angry. Ready to destroy anything and everything that reminded him of his marriage falling apart. Including himself.
And now he's smiling. Talking about his ex-wife in a calm, understanding voice.
Talking about me, yes, but still talking as if he's past it.
He's not the same fucked-up mess.
He's okay.
More than okay.
Over the fucking moon.
"Is it really just men that always make it about sex?" She laughs.
"I am the only one you've met, so you'll have to take my word for it."
"Do you really think Ty—"
"He's not as straitlaced as he seems."
"He doesn't seem straitlaced," she says.
"Exactly."
"Oh." Her green eyes light up. Her cheeks flush. "Really?"
He nods really.
"Details?"
"I shouldn't."
"Details he'd want me to know?"
"He'd tell you them."
She presses her hands together in a pleading expression.
He whispers some other dirty comment in her ear.
Not one of my secrets. That is one place I can trust Ian.
He doesn't share secrets.
I finish my drink. Leave it there.
Move into the restaurant.
Eve spots me first. She blushes the second she sees me. Then she waves, trying to cover her fuck, I'm busted expression.
"Hey, Ty!" She stands. Greets me with a hug. "You look great."
"He knows we were talking about him," Ian says.
She laughs. "All good things, I promise."
"Asking about my sex life?" I release her.
"It's been forever," she says. "I have to wonder."
"Three weeks is forever?" I ask.
She nods. Takes her seat. "When you live five blocks away? Yes. I have to wonder how you're spending all that time."
"He's not going to tell you unless you get him drunk." Ian stands. Hugs me hello. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," I say.
"Eavesdropping arsehole."
"I learned from the best."
He smiles with pride. That brotherly pride I so rarely see.
It warms me everywhere.
Erases every ugly feeling in my gut.
He motions for me to sit. When I do, he hails the server. "Bourbon?"
"Manhattan."
Ian smiles. "Of course."
"What, of course?" Eve asks.
"That summer, it was all you drank," Ian says. "I thought it was his when-in-Rome bollocks."
"Manhattans in Manhattan?" Eve looks to me. "That's not what he means."
"White Claw in Long Island," I say.
She laughs. "What do we drink in Manhattan?"
"Craft cocktails that sound like aromatherapy," I say.
Her laugh gets louder. "Oh my god, it's true."
"There's a lot of lavender," Ian nods.
"You like the lavender," she says.
"It pairs well with gin. I'm a sensible man." He waits for the server to arrive. Orders another round. "And one for your girlfriend?"
I nod.
He passes it on. Waits for the server to leave. "Are you going to tell us anything?"
"What would I tell you?" I ask.
"What you two have been doing," Eve says.
"They're fucking." Ian raises a brow, daring me to expand. When I don't, he continues. "What else would they be doing? Playing Scrabble."
"You picked Scrabble on purpose," she says.
"Of course." He traces the lines of her tattoo.
Of course. In the book, the commander invites the protagonist to his office for a secret tryst. She thinks he wants sex, but he wants to play Scrabble.
In a world where women aren't allowed to read, it seems kinkier than any sex.
It's the perfect thing to say. Ian knows his girlfriend well.
They’re perfect together.
"Ty's girlfriend won't like me if I go on about Margaret Atwood all night." Eve turns to me. "Or will she? Is she my new best friend?"
"Ty is a snob," Ian says. "It would suit him."
I'm not sure if she's read The Handmaid's Tale or not. It's a classic. It's possible. But Indie is more of a film viewer than a reader. "She's a musician."
Eve's eyes light up. "Really? What does she play?"
"And does she like Green Day?" he teases her.
"Guitar," I say. "She writes songs."
"Is she good?" Eve asks.
"Amazing," I say.
"And you two… is it true? That you had a fling a few years ago?" she asks.
"We did," I say.
"They fucked all summer," he says. "It was all he did."
Eve smiles. "Was it serious back then?"
"No," I say. "It was only supposed to be that summer." That was the only reason I could let go. Ask for what I wanted. Offer her what she wanted.