Page 66 of Crosswind

JAN

I wake before Patrick. This is standard. What is less standard is what I do with it, which is nothing. I lie in the Ubud morning and look at the shuttered light on the ceiling and do not immediately reach for my phone or my thoughts or the day's agenda. I lie there.

Patrick is in front of me. My arm is across his chest. My face is somewhere between his shoulder blades.

This was my suggestion. Last night, at some point, I said: let me. He looked at me, slightly surprised, because this is not typically what I do, and then he shifted and I wrapped myself around him as best I could, which given the geometry of the situation is, I am being precise about this, a partial arrangement. He is considerably broader than me. My arm across his chest does not fully reach. My face comes approximately to the middle of his back.

It doesn't matter. He went very still when I did it, the stillness of something finding its correct position. And then he exhaled completely, the way he exhales when something is exactly right, and his hand found mine on his chest and held it.

I looked at the Bali dark and felt, warm is not the right word. Something larger than warm. Something that I am still in the process of naming accurately.

He is still there now.

I understand now what I didn't understand in June: Patrick's need for affection is not high maintenance. It is something he spent years giving without learning he could ask to receive.

I can give it freely. More than that, I want to.

I move my hand and rest it on his arm.

He makes a sound. Not awake. Just… receiving it, the way he receives things in sleep, with the full contentment of someone who is entirely safe.

I look at the Bali ceiling.

I think: if this is what he needs, then this is what I give. That is not a sacrifice. That is simply the correct thing to do.

He wakes up eventually. I feel the change in his breathing. Then he turns carefully in my arms until he is facing me, and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Hey," he says. His face against my hair.

"Hey," I say.

We lie there for a moment.

"We're in Bali," he says.

"We are."

"That's good."

"Yes," I say.

His arm tightens once more. I let it.

"I need to tell you something," he says.

"Mm."

"I noticed you've been… extra. The last few days. More than usual."

I say nothing.

"The hugging," he says. "Last night. The big spoon thing." A pause. "I know why you're doing it."

"I'm comfortable," I say.

"Jan."

"I find your shoulders a convenient resting place."