Page 24 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

“What?” he says.

“Nothing.” I put my cheek back on his chest.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” I say to his sternum. “I genuinely thought— I don’t know. Maybe that sex was a little overrated. By everyone. You know, like carbonation. Everybody talks about loving carbonated drinks and I’ve never understood it. The little bubbles bite at your tongue. So I thought maybe I was just a person who doesn’t get the appeal.”

A pause.

“You compared sex to carbonation,” he says.

“I’m saying I didn’t know sex could be like that.” I lift my head again. “Thatsexisn’t overrated after all. That was extremely rated. Underrated, in fact. I just never knew?—”

I break off, because clearly, everyone was trying to say itcouldbe like this. I just didn’t believe them before now because I hadn’t experienced it before.

August looks at me for a second and then laughs. It’s the real-from-deep-inside laugh, the same laugh I got from him on the pool deck when I saidapproximately swimming. And something about being the reason for that laugh does something in my chest that I’m going to put very firmly in thedon’t examine tonightcategory.

“Underrated,” he says.

“Significantly.”

He shakes his head, still smiling, and I put my cheek back down because the smile is doing things I don’t have bandwidth for right now. This is just a one-night-stand and I’m basking in the fabulous afterglow while it lingers.

Still, I never imagined there could still be the pleasant togetherness-quietaftersex.

We’re quiet for another long while.

I become aware of my phone on the nightstand. I haven’t looked at it since we got back to the cabin.

There’s a reason I left it behind when I went to the hot tub. Even from a distance I could feel the notifications accumulating all night like a physical presence: Jake’s name appearing over and over in the dark of the screen.

So I reach out and flip it face-down without looking at it.

The silence in the cabin felt unbearable before August came inside.

Now I lie with my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat beneath my ear, and the quiet feels like something else entirely.

It isn’t empty.

It’s two people not talking because neither of us has to perform.

I spent nine years beside a husband who made me feel lonely whenever I took up too much space.

One night with a stranger, and I finally understand that the right person can make silence feel like being held.

“I’ve never lived alone,” I whisper.

I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and if it were any other day, and any other person, I might feel embarrassed about how vulnerable it sounds. Talking is probably breaking the afterglow spell and will make him leave, but today I’ve lost my ability to keep true things on the inside.

“Not one night,” I just keep going, saying the things you’re not supposed to say out loud. Because fuck it. What if I don’t want to keepanythingbottled up inside anymore? “I went from my mom’s house to my husband’s apartment and I’ve never— There’s never been a night where I was just—” I stop. “I know that’s weird. For someone my age.”

“It’s not weird.” August’s voice rumbles through his chest, his fingers casually running through my hair now. I like how that feels. I like it a lot.

“It’s a little weird.”

“It’s whatever it is.” He says it matter-of-fact, with no judgment attached. He’s not performing comfort. Just also saying the true thing.

I look at the dark window.

“I always hated the dark,” I say. “Even as a kid I needed… something. Music or a podcast or the TV on in the other room. I never thought there were monsters under my bed or anything. It can just get so—” I don’t have the word for it.