The Co-op

by Tarah DeWitt

For the ones still working on it, whatever it is. Whether finding your way, or finding yourself …

Don’t give up. You’re worth the investment.

Some things never change, even when everything has.

Her death was the first domino that sent me toppling over a string of things in my life since.

“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.”

with the person who felt more like home to me than anyone had, too. My grandmother Cecelia, with her soft voice and cutting sarcasm and her laissez-faire freedom.

I’d learned that girls my age only got comfortable when you made sure their comfort came first. The best way to do that was to pay attention and to match their vibe.

It’s a nice change, bringing someone some joy.

Everything of mine gets overtaken by her. I swear her scent has stayed in my car for seven years, despite it being reupholstered. Every summer she still takes over my mind.

I am completely indifferent to the fact that once upon a time I gave you my body over and over (and over) again and then served up my heart on a platter, plated with accoutrements and expert-level presentation, before you promptly threw it in the trash. All good, bro.

like how interested he is, though. How he’s always so engaged in things. I like that he can pick something up and figure out how to put it together or take it apart or fix it. I love that he is never afraid to make a fool of himself just to make me laugh. I love that he wants my attention. The

“I like knowing how something works, I think. I’d like to know that I could fix something if I ever needed to,” I say. “Or hell, build it myself if need be.”

Knowing that she would take loneliness over someone else’s suffering.

It feels like I can’t get enough of her, or like I’m asking for too much from her. Maybe it’s just me that’s not enough.

I’d rather he fight with me than give me this space, rather he give me an excuse to fight back. I don’t want to be the one who cares more, who’s hung up enough on some fling to drag it all out into the open.

I was damaged, and you played a role. But I’m repairing myself. Not you, and no one else. If you can accept and love this version of me, chipped bits and all, and acknowledge your part in that, then maybe we can have something real.

And I remember him saying I don’t mind your mess.

I’m back to feeling like two people, one that’s happy to see her so pleased, who loves seeing that easy joy. And another man who feels immediately possessive of that look. My home, my girl, my pain in the ass, my world. That fucking force of nature. I want her on my side, that formidable, fierce woman.

Dream and fight with me, let me dream and fight with you, too.

“Because it fucking hurts. It makes me feel like I’m in pain, like I’m being choked by my own goddamn fury. Please, LaRynn. Fuck my pride, I want you to stop because I want you for me, and even if I can’t have that I just—need to be able to make it through the rest of this without wanting to put my head through the floor, alright?! I’m flat-out begging you, please don’t—not in front of me anymore. I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep and I just can’t pretend. I’ll calm down. I’m sorry.” He blows out a trembling breath. “No, fuck it again, I can’t,” he says, a little hysterical. He brings his head back up and our gazes clash, his dark eyes so clear in this moment that their brown is liquid bronze. “I want you for me,” he says again. “I want your smiles for me, the ones that I’ve worked so goddamn hard for and that come so much easier for everyone else. I want it to be easy like that for you to smile and laugh with me, not with Oscar and not just with the people at the café. I want you to get everything you want, but I want it to be with me, too, and I don’t care if that sounds selfish anymore. I want this house, but I want it to mean something more. I want you to

stay with me and I want you to never fucking leave. I want your bobby pins everywhere and your hair in the shower and I want to hear you snore.” He blinks. A rabid, dark laugh tearing out of him before his palm grates across his jaw. He looks away at the floor. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I’m acting like this. I know I should just be happy to be your friend, and I am, okay? I get that we weren’t good to each other before and this is off the table, but I can’t do it anymore, I’m sorry I don’t think I can stand it, I—” “Show me,” I say shakily, heart swelling so fast I think I might break. “Show me where it hurts.” His head snaps up to mine and I step to him, between his parted knees. He studies me for one more echoing beat before he exhales, lets his forehead fall against my lower stomach with a groan. His shoulders drop with something like relief. “Show me,” I repeat, my fingers knitting in his curls. He tips his head back as he snakes up a hand to grasp at my hip, places the other against his chest. “Here,” he croaks. I

“I want it all, LaRynn. You’re a fine friend and everything, but I can’t take having less than all of it with you,”

“Jesus, you’re beautiful, LaRynn,” he says, his thumb sliding along my collarbone. “I know I don’t tell you enough but I think it enough. To the point of distraction.”

“Ask me what I’m thinking, too,” he says. “What are you thinking?” “That I love you,” he says. “That I’d give you that house if I could. That one on West Cliff.”

“Okay,” she tells me. “Let’s do it.” What a gift it is to trust someone, I realize. To know that through every up and down, every unexpected break, they want the same thing as you in the end. Just to be together.

“I love you and I know I don’t always…” I falter through an inhale, frustrated with how difficult it is to find the right words, my mind blanking with emotion. “I’ve been trying to show you, too, and I promise I’m going to keep doing that. I want to live together still. I want you to move in with me.”

But someone loves me at home. Someone who loves my sharp edges as much as all my softer ones, too, and even the ones I haven’t quite got figured out yet. And I’m no longer afraid. I’m tired of acting fine just to spare her feelings.

just want to say it as much as possible. Want to say it enough times to make you forget the one time I didn’t.”

worry because I don’t understand how someone could ever feel the way I feel about you, could feel anything close to it, and end up so far from it like our parents did. I worry that we’re selling this house because of me, because of something I want, and one day this is going to wear off and you’re going to resent me for it.” More tears slide away. “Never,” he says quietly, thumb drawing shapes against my cheek. “I mean I’ll never resent you for it. I don’t care if the whole café crashes and burns, which, I know it won’t.” He kisses me once. “And sure I worry. But then I remember that we’re not them. I know we’re not perfect…” He laughs and his eyes shine. “We might have bad tempers and some baggage, we’re probably way too self-indulgent, and even though for some reason I actually like it right now, no doubt that hair-in-the-shower thing will make me fucking crazy someday.” He kisses a tear away. “But look at us, LaRynn. We’ve had to do so much shit backward. We had to fall back in love while tackling a renovation and some demons. If we can do that, we can do anything.”

“Hate you? LaRynn, I never hated you. I don’t think I could have. You want to know what I hate?” He wipes at more of my tears. “I hate that I married you on some nothing Wednesday, in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. You deserve a Saturday, Rynn. You deserve the Friday night that leads into the entire Saturday, and the whole Sunday in bed after.” He sighs. “I hate that I’ve never danced with you on a proper dance floor, where everyone we love could see that you’re mine.” At that, I smile. “I wish I could say I hated that you wore black to our wedding, but the truth is, you ripped the air out of my lungs in that dress, too.” I breathe a laugh and his face sobers. “I hate that I did that to you when we were younger. I hate that we wasted any time not loving one another right. Hate that you thought I was anything less than gone for you. Because I’m so fucking gone for you, LaRynn. I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

“You’ll understand one day, but marriage is about you and your person. Life tries too hard to get in the way. We wanted it to just be us.”

don’t know if we’ll always get what we wish for. I know that life is going to come with its battles. I know that love will, too. But I’m starting to think that’s the whole point—finding the person, or people, who’ll fight and dream with you. I think we’ve had some great practice when it comes to juggling the hard things.

“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.”