CHAPTER 36
TREY
The conversation about living together lasted three weeks.
Not because they were fighting.
Because Paula had questions.
A lot of them.
“What happens to my apartment?”
“You keep it until you don’t want it.”
They talked longer than they touched. Trey preferred it that way.
Paula asked what he liked, what he did not, what experience had taught him, what mistakes he had made, what he would never repeat.
He answered without polishing himself. Trust built faster when neither person had to pretend expertise meant perfection.
“That’s financially stupid.”
“Then we discuss the finances.”
“Whose furniture?”
“Some of yours. Some of mine.”
“My books?”
Trey looked around his study.
Paula followed his gaze.
“Do not even think about it.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were thinking shelves.”
“I like shelves.”
“You like built-ins.”
“I do.”
Paula pointed at him. “This is how it starts.”
Trey laughed.
They sat at his kitchen island with coffee and an actual blank legal pad between them.
This time Paula held the pen.
This time, Paula held the pen and set the terms.
She wrote:
SPACE.
MONEY.
COMMUTE.
WORK.
FAMILY.
PRIVACY.
Then, after a moment:
SEX.
Trey looked at the list.
“Sex?”
“If we live together, I do not want every night to become a scene because we’re in the same house.”
“Agreed.”
“And I don’t want kink to disappear because we’re doing laundry.”
“Also agreed.”
Paula tapped the pen.
“We need normal.”
“Yes.”
“And not normal.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
They talked about money longer than either expected.
Paula refused to move into a house where she contributed nothing.
Trey refused to pretend his mortgage needed rescuing.
They compromised on shared household expenses and separate assets.
“No joint account yet,” Paula said.
“Agreed.”
“No asking what I spend on shoes.”
“I have never asked.”
“Your face asks.”
“My face is innocent.”
“Your face has a credit score.”
He laughed.
The commute was harder.
Brooklyn was still Paula’s professional center even with Washington work increasing. Trey’s life was anchored in D.C.
“We’re not solving geography tonight,” Paula said.
“No.”
“We may never solve it perfectly.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You okay with imperfect?”
Trey considered the question.
“I’m learning.”
Paula smiled.
That night there was no scene.
They folded laundry.
Paula discovered Trey folded fitted sheets correctly and accused him of witchcraft.
Trey discovered Paula considered matching socks optional.
By midnight they had not decided when she would move.
But they had decided something more important.
Neither person would disappear into the other’s house.
Whatever came next had to become theirs.