Ask Me Again Someday

Both my hands were full, so I knocked on Avery’s door with the toe of my shoe.

He opened it in socks. His hair was still damp from the rain.

“Is your room leaking?”

“No.”

He looked at the pillow and the blanket. “Is my room leaking?”

“I’m making you room.” I adjusted my grip. “I’m apparently doing it backward.”

He stepped aside.

I’d been in the duty room before, but I’d never been there this late. A lamp cast warm light over the pile under the window. Avery had stuffed a rolled towel into the drafty seam. I recognized the towel. At this point, so much of my laundry lived with him that I could have started charging it rent.

I handed him the pillow. We sat down against the wall and got the blanket over both our knees on the third try. He waited for me to say why I’d come.

“I was thinking about you with that kid,” I said. “You waved back every time.”

“He kept waving.”

“I know. That’s why I liked it.”

Avery ran a finger along the stitching at the edge of the blanket. The lamp made his eyes look almost brown until he raised them to mine.

“I’ve thought about us having kids,” I said. “I’ve thought about you buying them rain boots. I think it would take you an afternoon to pick a pair.”

“Water can get in from the top.”

I laughed. I’d known him well enough to predict the amount of time involved, and somehow I’d still underestimated how quickly he’d get invested in the boots.

“I made that joke because I was embarrassed,” I said. “You were taking it seriously, and so was I. I should’ve told you that.”

He turned toward me far enough for the blanket to slide off his knee.

“If you still want kids with me someday,” I said, “ask me again. I think I’d like that.”

“Can I take that seriously?”

“Please do.”

His hand found mine under the blanket. He was quiet for so long I could hear a little clock he’d put on the shelf. I’d never noticed it before. He’d set it seven minutes ahead, probably so he could be at my door at exactly six fifteen.

“Can I ask you something now?” he said.

“Depends what it is.”

“Can we have breakfast tomorrow?”

I leaned against him until he leaned back. “We can have breakfast tomorrow. We could also look for a place with one front door.”

He turned his head. His hair brushed my temple.

“For both of us?”

“Unless you want to make a hobby out of knocking.”

“I like that you open it.”

“I could open it from our side,” I said.

He considered this long enough that I started to think I’d made it sound like some kind of riddle. Then he smiled. He tucked the blanket back over his knee and asked how many rooms I wanted.

“At least one big enough for all your blankets.”

“You brought that one.”

“I’m aware of the problem.”

We pulled up listings on my phone. I checked the commute and the kitchens. Avery zoomed in on every living-room window to see whether a couch would fit underneath. On the fourth house, I finally asked him why the window mattered.

“So we can watch the rain like we did tonight.”

I went back a page. There was a little house with a yard and a wide window in the front room. I’d saved it while he was looking at the kitchen.

“That one,” he said. “I was going to ask you to go back.”

I showed him the little red heart I’d already tapped.

He touched his forehead to mine. We stayed that way long enough for my phone screen to go dark.