Chapter 23: The Shared Bed
The deep quiet of satisfied sleep held until the first grey light crept around the edges of the velvet drapes. Catriona woke to the warm, heavy press of bodies. Aidan was sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Jenny lay curled into his side, her cheek on his chest, her fingers splayed possessively over the hard plane of his stomach. Catriona’s own leg was hooked over Jenny’s, a tangled knot of intimacy.
She watched them breathe, a strange, full stillness in her heart. This was what she had wanted. This peace.
Jenny stirred first. A soft sigh, a flutter of eyelids. Her hazel eyes, still clouded with sleep, found Catriona’s. For a second, confusion flickered there—the disorientation of waking in a foreign bed. Then memory flooded in, and her gaze cleared into something soft and sated. She didn’t smile, exactly. She just looked… quieted.
“Morning,” Catriona whispered.
“Hi.” Jenny’s voice was husky with sleep. She shifted slightly, and a faint wince crossed her features. She was sore. The good, deep, used soreness that comes from being thoroughly filled. A blush tinted her cheeks, as if Catriona could read the thought.
Aidan grunted, his arm moving from his face. His green eyes opened, scanning the ceiling before turning to take in the two women nestled against him. A slow, drowsy smile touched his mouth. He squeezed Jenny’s shoulder, his thumb brushing her skin. “Everyone alive?”
“Barely,” Jenny murmured, pushing herself up on one elbow. The sheet pooled around her waist, revealing the faint red marks from his stubble on her throat, the gentle swell of her belly. “I feel… liquefied.”
Catriona laughed, the sound bright in the hushed room. “That’s the goal.” She sat up, stretching, her auburn curls a wild mess. “Coffee. I need coffee before I form a coherent sentence.”
The normalcy of the morning ritual felt surreal, and therefore sacred. Catriona pulled on a robe, its silk cool against her skin, and padded to the kitchen. She set the coffee to brew, listening to the low rumble of voices from the bedroom. Aidan’s deep timbre, Jenny’s softer reply. No words distinct, just the music of intimacy.
When she returned with two steaming mugs, the scene had shifted. Aidan was sitting up against the headboard, and Jenny was nestled between his legs, her back against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her, his big hands resting on her stomach. He was speaking quietly into her hair.
“...see it in August, if the atmospheric conditions are right. It’s a river of dust and ice, really, trailing behind…”
He was talking about comets. Jenny was listening, her head tilted back against him, her eyes closed. Catriona paused in the doorway, mug warming her hands. This was new. This tender, post-coital astronomy.
“He does this,” Catriona said, smiling as she entered. “Uses celestial bodies as a sedative.” She handed Jenny a mug.
“It’s working,” Jenny said, accepting the coffee with a grateful nod. She took a sip. “Tell me about the dust.”
Aidan’s gaze met Catriona’s over Jenny’s head. There was a softness there, a gratitude that went beyond the physical. He continued, his voice a low vibration against Jenny’s spine, describing the Oort Cloud as if it were a lullaby.
The day unspooled in a lazy, sun-drenched bubble. They made pancakes, Jenny maneuvering around the kitchen with a familiar ease that belied her guest status. Aidan’s hand would brush the small of Catriona’s back as he reached for the syrup, then a moment later, he’d gently move Jenny aside from the hot stove with the same protective instinct. It was seamless.
In the afternoon, they migrated to the sunroom. Catriona worked on a freelance editing project on her laptop. Aidan had a dense astrophysics journal open but wasn’t reading it. Jenny dozed on the wicker chaise, a throw blanket over her legs, one hand resting on her abdomen. The silence was companionable, broken only by the tap of keys and the distant chatter of birds.
Jenny’s phone buzzed on the glass table, shattering the calm.
She jolted awake, her eyes flying to the screen. The name MARK glowed. The peaceful softness on her face solidified into a mask of guilt. She looked at Catriona, then at Aidan, a plea in her eyes.
“It’s okay,” Catriona said gently. “Just answer it.”
Jenny snatched up the phone, pressing it to her ear. “Hi, honey.” Her voice was bright, thin. “Yeah… yeah, just resting at Cat’s. We had a late night. Girl talk.” She listened, her free hand picking at the fringe of the blanket. “No, don’t be silly, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. Just tired.” A pause. “Maybe tomorrow? I’ll let you know. Love you, too.”
She ended the call and let the phone drop into her lap as if it had burned her. The room felt colder. The fantasy of their insulated world had developed a crack.
“He wants me to come home,” Jenny said, not looking at either of them.
“Do you want to go home?” Aidan asked. His tone was neutral, but his body had gone still.
Jenny was quiet for a long time. She looked out at the garden, at the wisteria tangled on the fence. “I want pancakes with you two,” she said finally, her voice small. “I want to fall asleep listening to comets. I want to feel…” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “When I’m here, the hollow feeling is gone. The moment I hear his voice, it starts to come back. It’s an ache for this. For here.”
Catriona closed her laptop. The editorial notes could wait. “Then stay.”
“Mark is my husband. He’s going to be the father of this child.” Jenny’s words were a rote recitation, devoid of conviction.
“Biologically, yes,” Aidan said. The word hung in the air, blunt and factual.
Jenny flinched. She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “What does that mean?”
“It means you have a choice,” he said, holding her gaze. “Every day, you have a choice. You chose to come here yesterday. You can choose to go back to him today. Or you can choose to stay for another hour.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “The choice is yours, Jenny. Not his. Not ours. Yours.”
The air crackled with the implication. It wasn’t just about today. It was about every day after.
Jenny stood up abruptly, the blanket falling. She walked to the French doors, staring out. Her slender frame was tense. Catriona made a move to go to her, but Aidan shook his head slightly. They watched her.
When Jenny turned around, her eyes were dry but blazing with a clarity that hadn’t been there before. The fragile girl was gone, burned away by need and truth.
“I choose here,” she said, the words clear as crystal. “For now. For this afternoon.” She walked back to the chaise, but she didn’t sit. She stood before Aidan, her hand reaching out to touch his jaw. “The hollow is coming back. Just a little. Can you…?”
She didn’t need to finish. Aidan understood. He stood, towering over her. He didn’t kiss her. He simply took her hand and led her from the sunroom, back toward the shadowed hallway, back to the bedroom that smelled of them.
Catriona stayed in the sunroom, the last of her coffee gone cold. She heard their footsteps fade, then the soft click of a door closing. She listened to the birds, to the hum of the refrigerator. The choice had been made. Again.
She knew then, with a certainty that chilled and exhilarated her, that this was no longer just about helping a friend. It was about building a new world, one craving at a time. And the foundation, she realized as a low, muffled cry of relief echoed faintly down the hall, was being laid in the very center of their marriage bed.