Since the first time we shared a bed, Tom had always insisted on having some part of his body touching mine. I thought it would phase out, like spooning does when you just need a decent night’s sleep and you’re far enough down the road in your relationship that turning your back can no longer give off the wrong impression. But it never did. Whether it was his knuckle against my thigh, or a pinky beside my ankle, there was always some part of us anchored. And no matter how deep his sleep, if I moved away, he would always find me again.
