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Living with Lily is terrible only some of the time. This shouldn’t surprise Sammy, because it’s not like they haven’t lived together before, but he’s still always taken aback by the reality of the situation.
Sure, she doesn’t clean her dishes, and she drools on their pillows, and she leaves toothpaste caked around the sink hole because she for some reason can’t manage to run the tap for thirty seconds to clean the damn thing.
But also she reminds him of home and family and Jack and happier days, and it’s easier to love her again when he can’t hide away from all the reasons why he does.
He leaves extra oats in the fridge, and washes her blankets and leaves her little post-it note reminders to eat, and drink and take her meds. He tucks spare cash in the pockets of her jeans, and pretends he doesn’t notice when she wonders aloud how it got there.
He leaves out books he thinks she’ll like, he changes the thermostat to her preferred temperature. He leaves his bedroom door open at all times - a silent invitation he desperately wants her to take up.
When she does, he snarks about it on the radio. They bicker and argue, because Sammy’s never been good at letting her know, but he hopes she does.
It’d taken a drunken morning wandering the streets for him to realise that she didn’t know - and for him to know that he desperately wanted her to.
Sammy Stevens loves Lily Wright. He's too afraid to tell her, so he shows her instead.
Ben, to his credit, takes it all in stride. Sammy had thought Jack an anomaly, perfection wrapped up in a person, tied up neatly with a pretty red bow. But Ben is just as wonderful, so eager and charming and accepting and ready. He’d always been in awe of Lily, but all too quickly, he loves her too.
They go grocery shopping together, the three of them. Ben pulls faces at all the fruits and vegetables Sammy picks up, but reluctantly chooses a selection of apples and bananas, because those at least feel safe to him. Sammy will absolutely blend up a variety of vegetables and sneak them into other dishes, but baby steps. Ben is like a child, in all the best ways. Innocent, full of wonder and enthusiasm. Full of love and light and hope. Sammy thinks his inability to appreciate vegetables are a worthy trade for all that.
Lily sighs and places half a dozen tomatoes in their cart, some mushrooms and an onion. She hovers for a while, before picking up a pineapple, and carefully adding it to their pile. “For Jack,” she says simply, and Sammy understands.
Pineapple had always been his favourite. She wants Jack to have something that’s his when he returns. Ben starts mumbling about pineapple pizza, and Lily teases him with gusto - and Sammy can hear the echo of Jack’s voice falling from her mouth. It aches, but not in the way he expects it to. He’s filled with rushes of fear and regret, but squashes them away before they can take root inside of him and be allowed to flourish.
Ben drags them through the aisles, and Sammy finds himself agreeing to purchase way too many things they don’t need. Lollies and ice cream and corn chips and pudding and cheese whiz. To be fair to Ben, he only pouts a little bit when Sammy re-shelves the chocolate milk. When Lily’s face lights up over raspberry liquorice, Sammy sneaks three bags in, and hopes she doesn’t catch him doing so.
Sammy rolls his eyes, when Lily politely asks Ben to grab her a jar of chilli paste from the top shelf, her eyes flashing with mischief. Ben’s indignant bensplosions are truly a sight to behold.
“I’m average height, Lily! Not ‘can’t reach the top shelf’ height!”
“Coulda fooled me, short stack.”
(Sammy ends up getting the jar, because, well. Ben actually can’t reach the top shelf.)
Ben sulks openly whilst they discuss the pros and cons of pulse pasta and brown rice. They end up making a dozen different carb-related compromises, and it feels a lot like love. It’s not easy, but that’s life. They’re three people, so different, trying to figure out how to fit together. The result isn’t perfect, but it works.
Sammy stops and chats to Dwayne Libbydale just as they’re about to leave. His fiance’s sick, it seems, and Sammy gets a little too into the conversation.
By the time he returns, Ben and Lily are in the next aisle, arguing passionately about crisp flavours - Ben can’t believe anybody would choose anything other than barbecue, and Lily’s calling him a heathen for not worshipping the ground that salt and vinegar walks on. Sammy interjects, suggesting that they try some lentil and hummus chips instead, and the resounding chorus of ‘shut up Sammy’ is enough to make him burst into laughter .
“The two of you are absolutely insufferable,” he sighs with affection, and Ben’s only response is to stick out his tongue in defiance.
Lily is quiet after that, which is a little unusual for her, but Sammy doesn’t mention it. They’re unloading the car thirty minutes later, when she pulls him aside.
“I miss him,” she whispers to Sammy, and he doesn’t need clarification. “I haven’t felt right for years,” she continues finally before adding, “this maybe feels right now. With you”
She doesn’t meet his eyes and Sammy can feel his chest twisting, because he knows what’s coming next. He grabs her arm, before she can power through, and simply says, “he’d understand.” He doesn’t know if he believes it, but he wants her to, at least. “He’d want us to be happy.”
“We’re gonna bring him back. Bring him home.” her voice is shaking, but her resolve absolute. Sammy hums an affirmation, and they both watch as Ben tries to carry every bag inside at once. They both smile, softly. Sadly.
“Jack would love him,” Lily says finally, and Sammy has never felt that so strongly as he does then and there. It’s a confirmation he hadn’t known he needed, but he’s glad to have it regardless.
“He loved you too, you know. Through everything.”
“You too, Stevens.”
They smile wryly at each other, a thousand things left unsaid between them, but they understand each other anyway. They always have.