#dobraham

As she toes off her shoes and lets her duffel drop unceremoniously onto the floor next to her, she fires off a quick text to Abe. He’ll want to know that she’s home safe, and also that she didn’t give into the urge to kill the chatty recruit she spent seven hours waiting on a plane with.

He replies with a smiley face and a promise to drop by with food after he’s off work. Because that’s where they’re at now: the occasional roll in the hay turned into drinks after work turned into … whatever they are now.

They’re not dating, Maya ponders, as she wipes her makeup off and brushes her teeth. They’ve been sleeping together in the physical sense off and on for a few months, and in the literal for the last month or so. After work they’ll have dinner together, watch some TV and, really, what’s the sense in one of them driving half an hour home just to go back to work the next morning?

But they haven’t put any labels on it yet. They haven’t had that conversation. Maya is changing into her pajamas when she realizes that maybe she wouldn’t mind a label if they were to have that conversation at some point in the future.

She pulls the curtains closed and wraps herself in her quilt, planning to sleep for at least four or five hours until Abe comes over with dinner.

Two hours later, she’s still lying there, tossing and turning, trying to will herself to fall asleep. The room is dark. She’s counted hundreds of sheep, then grouped them backwards by sevens. She’s taken deep breaths. She’s put on her favorite fuzzy socks.

She’s exhausted. But none of it is enough. She groans and rolls over again, hoping that this time lying on her stomach will do the trick.

It doesn’t, and 10 minutes later she rolls back over and checks her phone. No new notifications, just the same unopened text from Abe, telling her to get some rest and sleep off the homicidal tendencies if she wants him to bring dessert too.

As if she’s not trying.

She puts on classical music, and another hour passes as she wonders why nobody told Mozart that all his songs sound the same. Last week she passed out watching Parks and Rec, but today she listens carefully, trying to figure out what part of government work these people do that’s kept them from becoming jaded by the bureaucracy.

Eventually, she gives up and resigns herself to her inability to sleep in the middle of the day. It didn’t used to be this way; in college, she could stay up all night finishing a paper, turn it in at 9:30 and sleep for 15 hours uninterrupted. During boot camp, she’d be up until 3 a.m. for drills, back up at 7 for revile, then sleep as soon as they were released for recreation, whatever time that was.

But even that was seven years ago, college a full decade behind her. She’s 33 now, and supposes that an actual sleep schedule is her body settling into its age, however mentally and physically drained she may be.

She doesn’t get up though, choosing instead to cling to a last shred of hope that she’ll fall asleep in the two or three hours Abe is still at work.

Maya can’t tell how long it’s been, but she knows it hasn’t been two hours when she hears a key turn in the lock and the door shift gently open. There’s rustling, which she knows is Abe putting bags on the counter, then footsteps down the hall and a soft knock at her door.

“My?” Abe whispers as he pushes the door open a crack, just far enough to peer in at her. “You’re not asleep?”

She groans and shifts around on the mattress. “Nooooo,” she whines. “I’ve been laying here all damn day and I haven’t slept even a minute. Guess my all-nighter days are behind me.”

Abe pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps into the room. He hasn’t changed out of his uniform, but he’s stripped off the button-down, leaving him in a white T-shirt and his dress pants.

“Couldn’t nap on the flight? I know Marine transport puts you right in the lap of luxury.” He moves to stand next to her bed and gently pushes her hair out of her face.

“Ha. Not with that boot sitting next to me. Swear I could pick his grandma out of a criminal lineup, much as he talked about her.”

“Yeah? Didn’t bore you to sleep?”

“Ugh, I wish. I’m so tired.” She relaxes into his touch as his hand comes to rest against her face, thumb brushing softly along her cheek.

“Well there’s Greek food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” Maya hides the grimace as her stomach rolls and groans.

“God, how bad is it that I’m too tired to even think about eating right now?”

“That’s because you’re supposed to sleep at night, My. Not sit on a military base and wait for a plane.” He’s teasing, but his tone is almost as gentle as the way he pulls his hand back and stands up. “But don’t think about eating now. I’ll go put the food up and change, you think about falling asleep.” He’s gone back down the hall, whistling some Top 40 tune Maya is too exhausted to place, before the domesticity of it all hits her.

Abe is in her kitchen. Putting away takeout he bought for both of them. From her favorite place, because he knows she’s had a long day. And he’s changing out of his work clothes in her bathroom, probably into the jeans and T-shirt he left behind last weekend. But they’re not dating. There’s no label attached.

She’s still thinking about it when he comes back – in the jeans and T-shirt, sure enough – and settles on top of the covers next to her, resting a book on his thighs. The movement of the bed is enough to jostle her from her train of thought, and she turns her head to stare at him curiously.

“Nothing good on TV this time of night. But Rami suggested this book, so I figured I’d check it out. Besides, this way you’re not in here all alone.” Abe crosses his ankles and cracks the book.

And she blames it on the exhaustion, but suddenly Maya’s eyes are misty. She’s had her share of exes, but the simple, seemingly thoughtless, care is new to her. He could have sat anywhere else in the apartment with his book, but he chose not to make Maya lay in an empty room. NO matter how tired she is, though, she’d never give voice to how nice it is to have someone care about her in all the little ways.

Especially if they’re not dating.

So, she shuffles closer to him instead, leaning her head against his bicep and yawning hard enough to pop her jaw.

“Take it easy, Dobbins, good God. Are youtryingto break your jaw?” But he’s smiling when he says it, still speaking gently.

Before she gets herself settled in, Abe pulls his arm out from underneath her, dropping her head to his chest and shifting his book to one side.

Maya pushes herself a little closer into his torso and yawns again, smiling when Abe’s free hand comes up to run tenderly through her hair.

“Sleep, Maya. You know your body wants to.”

“Yeah, it does.” Another yawn. “But my brain has spent the entire day proving that I can’t sleep when the sun is up.”

“Mmm, circumstantial evidence. Keep trying.” He’s quiet for a moment, then, in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, starts reading his book out loud. Maya has no idea who the characters are or what they’re doing, but she closes her eyes and listens, feeling Abe’s chest rise and fall beneath her.

When she opens her eyes again, the first thing Maya notices is that she’s the warmest she’s been all day. The second is that the book has dropped flat, Abe’s leg holding the pages open. The room is dark now, and silent, save for the sound of his quiet snoring.

Before the wakefulness can set in all the way, though, she closes her eyes again and brings a hand up to tangle with Abe’s, spread out on his stomach. She sighs when she feels the fingers in her hair tighten just a bit – a sleepy reflex to her movement, she’s sure – and is met with two thoughts as sleep pulls her back under:

Maybe you don’t need a conversation to have labels.

And