New
It's hard to adjust. They've had their traditional roles for so long: non-threatening, one-of-the-girls guy for Harrison; always-second-best, never-Brooke for Sam. And now it's different to have to bloom into the new position of first and foremost, beloved. Birth is always painful, but the overriding quality to the newness is an awkwardness that neither of them has ever felt with the other. Sam spends wasted hours in front of the mirror, wondering if it would be beyond stupid to bleach her hair, if she'd be what he wants if she wears a better eye shadow. Harrison haunts bookstores, looking for the perfect words to soothe his nervous tongue. It shouldn't be like this: it was never like this before.
But sometimes, when they're together, they can get caught in the moment, in the experience of one another, and completely forget that they're supposed to be dating, and it's almost like nothing ever happened, that no new territory was ever staked out.
And that's better.