You Deserve Each Other (You Deserve Each Other, #1)

by Sarah Hogle

He heaves a deep breath. Wipes a tear away with his thumb. “I’m here, okay?” He grasps my shoulder and squeezes gently. “These aren’t platitudes. I’m right here. And I want to listen. Whenever you’re sad, I want to hear why. I want to know what you’re feeling, all the time, so I can share those feelings with you.”

In hindsight, I’m a little miffed at myself for not being more curious. The man’s a dentist. What did I think he was doing on the computer night after night? Staring at X-rays of people’s teeth for hours? God, Naomi. You are oblivious.

I goggle at him. “Who are you?” He gives me a lopsided smile, which I return. “A giant nerd.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” He rolls one shoulder. “Thought you might make fun of me.” My heart sinks. “I wouldn’t have. If you’d showed me this is what you were doing, I would’ve joined you. I’d be a level ninety-one, too.”

but I gleefully bypass one in favor of stabbing wee mushroom people who give me the ability to bounce really high, like I’m walking on the moon. Ten minutes later, Nicholas is absolutely beside himself and is trying to bribe me with a trip to Sephora if he gets to be alone with the trident for half an hour. I hunch protectively over the keyboard to keep him at bay and moon-bounce into a hot spring.

He bounces me involuntarily on his knee, which won’t stop jostling, and his fingers tighten around my waist. He’s not mindful of his body language, absorbed in his storytelling, his tips and opinions. He’s more animated than I’ve seen him in a long, long time, and he’s loving this. He loves introducing me to a game that gives him so much joy. I smile inwardly and pay close attention to every word he says. When we next glance at the clock, it’s two thirty in the morning and I’m struck by the realization that my fiancé and I are becoming friends again.

He sends me GIFs of people with exploding heads and by five o’clock, he can’t take it anymore and leaves early. When he gets home, I jump out at him from behind a massive pile of leaves I’ve raked, scaring him so bad that he topples into a different leaf pile. He chases me and I scream as loud as I want since we have no neighbors, zipping up and down the hillside until darkness falls.

We’re covered in dirt and leaves. Nicholas’s Toothless tie is ruined. He appraises it sadly, but I give the tie a light tug and say, “We’ll get you a new one. How to Train Your Dragon 2: the sequel tie.”

“Nicky, are you in there? Answer the door!” I’m reminded of vampires requiring permission to cross your threshold, and after you’ve let them in one time they’re free to come and go as they please. Deborah sees our warm-blooded shapes through the door in infrared and bares her razor-sharp teeth, pupils expanding to fill the whites of her eyes.

“Your mom needs to learn how to call ahead,” I whisper. “She called me three times while we were out back,” he admits. “I didn’t answer.” “Ooooh, someone’s gonna be in trouble.” He nudges me with his shoulder. I nudge him back.

“What do you think she wants?” I murmur in Nicholas’s ear. “She needs me to tell Dad he’s not allowed to eat foods that begin with the letter B.”

I cup my hands around my mouth, too. “Nicholas isn’t available to talk right now, but you can leave him a message!” Being an attack dog is more secretarial than one would think. “But where is he?” she demands to know. “Busy!” Jesus, lady. Take a hint. She props her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you going to let me inside?” I think of vampires again and shiver. “Afraid not!” Nicholas makes a strange keening sound. I glance down at him in alarm and wonder of wonders, he’s laughing.

“I am not leaving until I see my son!” She pauses, voice dropping to a suspicious tone. “What have you done with him?” “Nicholas?” I reply questioningly. “I haven’t seen him in days. And that’s the story I’m giving the police.” I check Nicholas’s reaction and think he might be dead. He is keeled over, forehead on the floor, body shaking with quiet laughter.

“He’s not here. A spaceship took off a few minutes ago, so if you run you might be able to catch him.” I’m pretty sure I hear Harold say, “I’m not running even if a spaceship did take him.”

“This isn’t funny. I’ll only tell you one more time to go get my son.” Nicholas sits up, deliberates for a moment, and then hollers, “I’m not home!” “Nicky!” Deborah cries, pressing her hands together. He’s alive! “Nicky, is that you?” He pops up next to me at the window. “No! You have the wrong address.” “Nicky, I’m serious. Let me in.” “Nicky is gone forever. A dinosaur ate him.” “Excuse me?” “He’s a changeling.” “Nicholas Benjamin Rose. I’m losing my patience and do not find this humorous. It’s freezing and I came here to speak to you like adults. I will give you until the count of three—”

I. Completely. Lose it. I can’t breathe. Neither can Nicholas, who breaks down in the middle of his banishment chant and is laughing so hysterically that no sound escapes save for little gasping sobs. Tears stream down our faces. “Look what you’ve done!” Deborah screams, shaking a finger at me. “You’ve corrupted my sweet boy! I know this is your fault, Naomi!” I take a bow.

He arches a brow at me but obliges. While he heads downstairs, I dash into my bedroom and fish a package of balloons out from under my bed, which I’d purchased when he and I were still sabotaging each other. I race into the bathroom, fill one up with water, and return to the window. “Okay, I’m down here,” he says, voice drifting up with a coil of white breath. “What did you need to check?” “This,” I say, letting the bomb drop. It doesn’t land on his head as planned, but splatters all over his shoes. Nicholas jumps back, arms out, staring at the dark spots on his pants. A thrill chases up my spine. Slowly, slowly, he lifts his head and growls, “I’d run if I were you.” With a gleeful scream, off I go.

I spend the weekend getting entirely too used to being on friendly terms with Nicholas. He teaches me how to drive Frankencar, which I’m initially resistant to out of nerves. But I get the hang of it pretty quickly and drive us to Beaufort to buy a canoe, which we strap to the roof of my car. We buy three oars and paddle out to rescue his wayward canoe. We spend Saturday on the pond, stabbing our oars at chunks of ice and playing bumper cars. Then we sit on the sofa in the drawing room, side by side, and watch the snow fall while we drink hot chocolate. He plays Nightjar (on my account, so that he can play God with my trident and exclaim, “Hey, you have to come look at this! I’m a unicorn! Look, Naomi, I have a horn!”)

“What are you doing?” “Going to go make dinner. Come with me?” I raise a mystified eyebrow at him. “Sure?” He sends me a little smile that I return and doesn’t drop my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. What world am I living in, that now I’m holding hands with Nicholas to walk from one room into another? His grasp is confident and sure, the sort you’d want leading you through a crowd. “You’re a pretty good hand-holder, you know,” I tell him.

It’s how his closeness makes my knees weak, and his skin brushing mine jolts me like a spray of hot sparks.

I tried to keep him at a safe distance where he could only see the decent parts of me and it made us both miserable. I inadvertently let him in to see the ugly parts but instead of running away like I’d counted on him to do, he wrapped his arms around all of that ugliness and didn’t let go.

For the first time since he presented it to me, I study my ring and think it’s stunning. It’s exactly the ring he should have picked. I’ll never forgive myself for the moments I took it off.

He’s radiant, lying here. Scintillating and golden. Nicholas is a rare, wonderful man, and I’m going to be so sorry if I have to give his ring back.

One morning after Nicholas’s shower, I draw a heart in the steamy bathroom mirror. He ducks back into the bathroom to brush his teeth and after he’s left it again I find another heart he’s drawn, interlocked in mine. It’s the world’s smallest start. Inside his lunchbox, I leave a note. I hope you have a good day! I’m thinking about you. Reflecting on it, I die a bit because we haven’t been genuinely sappy with each other in ages, so the barest of pleasantries is saccharine. We’re in a sap drought. We’ve been complete idiots when it comes to understanding when a partner needs something they won’t ask for. At noon, he texts me. Thank you for the note. I’m thinking about you, too.

When he comes home, he has a present for me: A plaid earflap hat to match his, because I’ve been wearing his so often that he thought I might like one of my own.

I might be onto something here, so the next day I slip another note into his lunchbox: Good morning! I think you’re a terrific pancake maker and you always look and smell very nice. Thank you for supporting me. Have a great work day! Cavities everywhere are counting on you.

The next day, I leave this note for him: I love our house. It may not sound like much, but it’s a big deal. In those four words I’m validating his decision to buy it, and I don’t refer to it as his house.

I love living in our house with you. Look under your pillow.

I run upstairs and fling all my pillows off the bed. He’s hidden a note for me! My heart lights up like a Christmas tree and I scramble over my mattress to devour every letter of the short message. Nicholas wrote me a note and took the time to slip upstairs and slide it under my pillow. Every step of the action resonates. Good morning! You have excellent taste in music. (And men.) I’m so glad we stayed in Morris. I believe in you! You can do anything you set your mind to and I know you will achieve all your dreams. You are, and will always be, the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.

Myrtle is generally used as filler greenery in a bouquet, too plain to be the main event, but in the Nightjar world collecting myrtle gives characters vitality points. I think the significance will make him smile.

Nicholas’s car rumbles up the drive shortly after six, which means he hasn’t made any stops after work, and I run to greet him right as he’s shutting his door. He turns and looks down at me, a grin instantly appearing on his face. His eyes are bright and flickering like firelight, and a swarm of butterflies threatens to fly up from my stomach and right out of my mouth. He’s holding my myrtle bouquet. “Hey, you,” he says, nudging my arm with his elbow. “Hi.” I take his lunchbox from him. (Look, I can be gallant!)

“Thanks for the vitality boost,” he says. “It came in handy when a three-year-old bit my finger.” He shows me an indentation of tiny teeth on the tip of his index finger. “I hope you bit the kid back.” “Her mom wou...

“Well.” I pick at the thread until it unravels another inch. I can’t hide my disappointment. Nicholas seems disappointed, too, but the ghost of a smile lifts his cheek and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Going to miss me?” “Not even,” I mumble. It convinces no one.

I’m such a mess over his accusation that I barely hold it together long enough to say good-bye. He says, “Good luck at your interview. I know you’ll knock it out of the park. Be back before you know it, pretty girl.” He winks, and then he’s gone, in his Jeep that’s going to crash, with a contagious illness and either too much or not enough caffeine.

I burn away the next few hours painting the front door purple, ordering Nicholas a new phone charger—one that’s long enough to reach his nightstand—and setting up my new Instagram account dedicated to the gruesome salt and pepper shaker babies. I’ve named them Frank and Helvetica and I’m going to position them in a new location every day to bewilder Nicholas. It will be like Elf on the Shelf, and I’m calling it Demon on the Ceilin’.

My favorite ideas involve suspending them from fishing line at Nicholas’s face-level. The shower! The car! His office at work! It’s going to...

He beams. “I’ve got other names if Backwoods Buffet sounds bad. The Grizzly Bear. Fireside. Timber! With an exclamation point, like you know how loggers used to yell

“Did it work?” I’m not sure I heard him right. “Did what work?” “The house,” he replies. “Nicholas told me it was going to save you. She’s worth the pain of trying, is how he put it. Worth the risk of failing.”

He’s my friend. My partner. A selfless but complicated man who would drive seven hours because his parents asked him to, and he’s a better son than they are parents. He texts at six thirty. Finally done. Going to go grab dinner and find my hotel. How’s your day been, Miss Backwoods Buffet? That devious man. I’m going to kiss him so hard when he comes home.

I’m asleep when it sinks into my consciousness that I’m not alone. I open my eyes to the darkness, fuzzy-brained and not quite out of my dream yet. It’s late, after midnight. There’s a man lying next to me, in exactly the place he’s supposed to be. This is where he belongs, and yet it’s a lightning strike straight to the heart to see him here.

“What are you doing home?” I blink several times, waiting for him to disappear. I’m still dreaming. “You missed me.” “You came home because I missed you?”

“I missed you, too,” he says, and presses those lips gently to mine.

When we part for breath, I ask, “Do you know you’re my best friend?” “Am I?”

“I like it right here,” I tell him, cradling either side of his face between my hands. “You make me happy. It makes me happy that you came home because I missed you; I’m appreciative of everything you do, for me and anybody else. I’m lucky to be with a thoughtful man like you and I’m sorry that I’ve taken you for granted and acted like a jerk. I’m thankful that you stayed put until I found you again. You supporting me, and making me feel valuable, is everything.”

He smiles and leans his cheek into my palm. My throat constricts, more tears welling up. I blink and splash the pillow. It’s not scary anymore to strip down like this in front of him. He’s got me. He’s right here, and I’ve got him, too. “Relearning you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I’m thankful you’ve forgiven me,” he says. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve ever made you feel unimportant. You are the most important, and I’m working on showing that better. You’re my best friend, too. I have more fun with you than anyone else, and I like how you challenge me. I like being around you and when I’m not around you, I’m always thinking about you. I want you to know I’m thinking about you all the time.”

It feels so lovely to be good to...

“Nicholas?” He gazes down on me. “Say you love me?” he whispers. My heart bursts in my chest, white light popping behind my lids like fireworks. “I love you,” I say, and watch it blaze through him. “Of course I love you, Nicholas.”

Of course I remember. It’s been sitting in the lost and found of happy memories, waiting for love to spin a revolution like the sun and light it up again. “How could I forget?”

A man in the lane to our right is bowling alone. I know he can hear my family arguing, because even though I keep telling them to keep their voices down their hissing ends up being just as loud. Also, he’s glanced in our direction a few times.