Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc

It started as a joke.

“You should just leave a drawer at my place,” Camille had said, three months into whatever they were, pulling a wrinkled shirt from her overnight bag. “Like a normal person.”

Remy hadn’t said anything. He’d just looked at her with that look — the one she’d learn to call his *thinking* face — and gone to make toast.

The next weekend, she opened the second drawer of his dresser and found it empty. Completely cleared out. A yellow Post-it note inside: *For the normal person.*

She’d laughed so hard she nearly knocked over the lamp.

That was four years ago. The drawer had since expanded into half the closet, a dedicated shelf in the bathroom cabinet, and a specific corner of the kitchen pantry where her brand of tea lived alongside her preferred brand of dark chocolate.

Camille thought about this while watching Remy sleep, the early morning light making everything in the room look soft and forgiving. She thought about how she had never, in her adult life, felt as fully accommodated as she did in this apartment that was technically his.

Homes aren’t built. They’re negotiated, she thought. One drawer at a time.

She got up carefully, found her tea in its corner, and made herself a cup. When she came back, he’d rolled over and left her side of the bed conspicuously open, even in sleep. Room made. Space held.

She climbed back in and pressed her cold feet against his calves, a move she knew would wake him slightly.

“You’re a menace,” he murmured into the pillow.

“You gave me a drawer,” she said. “This is what you agreed to.”

He laughed — that low, half-asleep laugh — and pulled her closer. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

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✦  Today’s Reflection

How do you make space for your partner — literally or emotionally — and where did you learn to do it that way?