Page 85 of Crosswind

I look at the canal.

"What did he mean."

I look ahead at the canal. The Amsterdam night, the lights on the water, autumn coming.

"He meant," I say, "that I don't let people in easily. And that I let you in." I pause. "Don't waste it."

Patrick doesn't say anything.

He takes my hand.

We walk home — Patrick's arm around my shoulders, the Amsterdam night quiet and cool, the first proper autumn evening, the smell of it in the air. We come home and fall into bed and he pulls me close and I let him and we fall asleep like that, tangled and warm, and I don't move until morning.

— — —

Saturday is rain. I wake to it, the sound of it on the window, the flat grey light, the quality of a Saturday that has decided to stay inside. Patrick is on me, one arm across my chest, face in my neck, perfectly content.

I lie still.

I have been thinking about something for several weeks. I have turned it over carefully. I have arrived at a conclusion.

I let Patrick sleep for another twenty minutes. Then I wake him with the method that works: I run my hand through his hair until he surfaces.

He opens his eyes. Looks at me.

"It's raining," I say.

"Mm," he says. He pulls me closer. I go. We lie in the rain morning and do nothing for a while and then Patrick says, into my neck: "Can I tell you something?"

"Yes."

"You've been extra this week," he says. "The spa. The breakfast. The bike route. The dinner." A pause. "You've been doing the things I said I wanted."

"Yes."

"I don't want you to change," he says. His voice has the slow quality of someone not quite all the way awake. "Because of me."

I turn my head slightly so I can see him. He is looking at the ceiling, eyes half-open, the morning-Patrick version — soft and unhurried and slightly undefended.

"I'm not changing," I say.

"Jan." Still sleepy. Still meaning it.

"Patrick." I look at him. "I am not changing. I am not becoming someone I'm not because you mentioned wanting more people in your life." I hold his gaze. "I am growing. As a person who loves someone to an extent I did not anticipate and who wants that person to have everything they deserve." I pause. "Those are different things. I need you to understand the difference."

He looks at me.

"I'm not doing this for you," I say. I look at the ceiling. "I'm doing this because of you. There's a difference." A pause. "I had a very settled self-concept. It turns out it needed adjusting. This is mildly irritating and I'm fine with it."

His face. The full warm undone version.

"Come here," he says.

"I'm already here."

"Closer."

I go closer.