The Co-op

by Tarah DeWitt

“Quit trying to force it into looking exactly like what you picture. Let it be imperfect, ma fille. Shape it into something new. Just because it’s not what you thought it was doesn’t mean it’s not made of the right stuff.”

“Missing me already?” came Deacon’s voice. “I told you I’d be back soon, sweet pea. Keep the bed warm and leave the door open for me.” “Bite me. And maybe install a door!” “We need to work on your dirty talk game.”

I guess when the ones who are supposed to love you the most never made you feel safe or important, I’d assume the worst of people, too.

I wonder if she’s quick to want justice for other people because no one ever did that for her.

I’m worried I’ll want too much, too fast again. It feels too soon to hope that she might want everything from me, too.

“What if I told you I was scared I’d get lost in myself again? That I’m scared of changing, too. What would you say?” My brows pinch together. “I’d find you,” I tell him, firmly. “And I don’t think there’s a version of you I couldn’t love.”

“I think I’ve become more … connected to the place, but I think that’s because it’s been ours. And, yeah, I wish we could hold on to it and still have everything. But it’s not just you who needs—or wants—the money. There’s plenty that it could do for me. And I think as far as the grands go … I think they’d be happy for us.”

“Be my wife. Stay my wife. Forever, LaRynn. I don’t care where we end up or what we do as long as I have you.” He’s a blur in front of me, until my smile spills the tears from my eyes. “Yes,” I tell him, giving myself over to this crushing wave of happy. “Yes. I’m yours, forever.”

That night, when Deacon strips off my dress and proceeds to kiss every inch of me, I tell him, “I thought of one more thing I want for my birthday.” He laughs into a particularly sensitive spot. “Yes, love?” “Your name.”

Sally only lived to meet Leo before she passed, and to see LaRynn and me fulfill a few dreams. And even though she’d backhand us for it, sometimes we still let ourselves feel deeply sad that our kids won’t grow up knowing or remembering her.