When I leave the house twenty minutes later, Juniper is still asleep in my bed. It’s weird, that knowledge. I haven’t had a woman in my bed in years. And even though her presence there wasn’t sexual, it still feels intimate, somehow; my bed is a space where no one else goes. But she’s there. Her tears and probably snot are on my pillow, which probably smells like citrus. I’m going to wash it, though. I’m definitely going to wash it. Eventually. At some point.
