“Jesus, Harlow, what are you doing in here?” Lauren whisper-shouts, reaching down to grab the corner of the bedspread and whip it over Chuck’s giant baby self. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“I did. I knocked,” I stammer. “Twice.”
“I didn’t hear a knock,” she says, propping her fists on her hips.
“I think I did,” Chuck says. “But I wasn’t allowed to talk because…rules.” He blushes and adds, “I bet this looks weird, but you shouldn’t knock it until you try it, you know? Might be something you and Derrick would enjoy, too.”
“Oh my God, Chuck, shut up,” Lauren says, her face draining of color as she slaps a hand to her forehead.
“Yes, nurse,” he says in a flirty voice that makes my coffee surge up my throat.
But then, my sister laughs—not just a polite chuckle or a nervous giggle, but a full-blown, snorting belly laugh, the way she used to when we’d watch stand-up comedy specials together as kids—and in an instant, everything changes.
All of a sudden, I can see the love between them, the history, the hardships they’ve overcome to emerge even closer than they were before. I can see this kinky weirdness is part of them, too, a way they play and enjoy each other, a way to heal when times get tough.
“I’m sorry,” Lauren finally says when she can breathe again. “It’s not your fault. I should have flipped the dead bolt.” She sniffs, wiping laughter-inspired tears from beneath her eyes as she adds, “But you can’t tell anyone what you saw, okay? Or I will have to kill you. And I can’t afford to go to prison until the kids are at least a little older.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “I won’t say a word. And I wouldn’t have let myself in like that if I’d thought Chuck was still here. I actually… I saw you two fighting this morning and was coming up here to try to cheer you up.” I lift the bag in my right hand. “I brought coffee and cinnamon rolls.”
Lauren’s expression softens. “Thank you, sissy. That’s sweet of you.” She glances back at Chuck, her eyes full of love. “But we’re working it out.”
“I got halfway down the drive and realized I was being a fucking idiot,” Chuck says. “I belong here. With my kids and my best girl. And my best friend.”
Tears unexpectedly stinging into my eyes, I nod. “That’s really great, Chuck. Keep that up. Because my sister is a rock-star mom and wife who loves the shit out of you and that makes you a really lucky guy.”
He gazes up at her with complete adoration. “Yeah. I know.”
Lauren sniffs, smiling at him with shining eyes. “I love you so much. And we’ll keep making up and making our life even better, no matter how hard things get. Because we’re worth fighting for, and I’m always going to choose you.”
“I’m always going to choose you, too, baby,” Chuck says.
“But what about all the other things?” I ask, the words spilling out of me even though I know I should get the hell out of here and leave them to their making up and kinky foreplay.
But I’m suddenly seeing them through new eyes. Their relationship is stronger than I ever realized, and Chuck may be a dingus, but he’s clearly struggling with some of the same things I am.
I can’t resist the urge to ask, “What about your friends and time away from the kids? What about all the things you’ve missed out on because you chose each other when you were so young? Like college for Lauren and…whatever you were going to do after high school, Chuck. How do you know which priority is the right priority? How do you know you’ve picked the right star to follow?”
Lauren blinks in confusion. “I know because I just know. College would have been fun, and I still want to start my own business someday, but…” A sweet smile curves her lips. “But my babies are my babies. And my husband is my husband. They’re my heart and my family. Everything else is just bonus goodness. And I always know that if a non-family goal is important to me, Chuck will help me make it happen. Because we’re a team and stronger together than we could ever be apart.”
“Yeah. Same.” Chuck shrugs. “I lose sight of that sometimes, but I always pull my head out of my ass in the end.” He chuckles. “With Lauren’s help.”
“It’s okay,” she says, reaching out to pinch his foot through the blanket thrown over his giant baby-dressed body. “The frontal lobe in men doesn’t fully develop until they’re twenty-five, honey. As a woman, mine’s been developed since I was twenty. You’ll catch up.”
“No, I won’t,” he says with a laugh. “But I’m smart enough to know you’re the smart one, and I should do what you think is best.”