Page 15 of Brother in Law with Benefits

Around six, I shower. I shave my legs. I tell myself this doesn't mean anything and fully believe it the way I believe the scale is wrong in the morning.

I pull on jeans and a sweater. Damp hair. Casual. Normal. I am a normal person having a normal evening.

I pace the living room. Adjust a throw pillow. Check the kitchen is clean. Look at the succulent, which I have now moved to the counter near the door, and wonder if I should hide it or if the presence of a struggling plant is actually relatable and humanizing. I decide to leave it. We're in this together.

At 6:58, there's a knock.

I take a breath. Walk to the door.

Grant stands in the hallway, hands in his pockets. Dark jeans, hair damp like he also showered. There's something steady about that — that he also showered. That this is also something for him.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

Brief shared silence. Normal apartment sounds from down the hall.

"Come in," I say, stepping back.

He walks past me into the living room and I catch that scent again. He looks at the bookshelf. At the blanket on the couch. At the succulent on the counter.

"That plant looks like it's in trouble," he says.

"It's a succulent. They're supposed to look like that."

"That one looks worse than supposed to."

"I water it."

"How much?"

"A lot. I care about it a lot."

He picks it up, turns the pot over in his hands. "Succulents don't need much water. You might be drowning it." He sets it back down, looks at me. "Or maybe it just needs different conditions to thrive."

We are not talking about the succulent.

I should offer him something. Coffee. Water. Beer. I have a whole kitchen full of things I could offer and instead I'm standing six feet away from him unable to do anything as complicated as forming sentences.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit.

"Do what?"

"This." I gesture vaguely between us. "I don't do casual."

"Who said anything about casual?"

"It has to be casual. You're leaving in three months."

His jaw tightens. "Yeah. I am."

"So this is temporary."

"Does that bother you?"

I think about it honestly. "No. I think that's what makes it feel safe."

He crosses the room. Slowly. Stops in front of me, close enough that I have to look up. He's warm and solid and he's been in my head since a dance five years ago and he's right here.