Three's Company.

In my house I like clean counters, no cell phone chargers left out, and the air fresh with dryer sheets. That being said, when my husband's brother Brent moved in with us six months ago, I immediately imagined my small quaint home resembling something like a locker room. Sports. Beer. Ugh. When the two of them tried to tell me of the amount of football about to be on my television, I mourned. Men. I was outnumbered.

What had I done? Why did I agree to this? Wait. Is the dishwasher emptied? Brent! You are amazing. I was wrong. I inherited a neat freak! A neat freak who cooks!?! You have got to be kidding. My good fortune!

Things changed around our house. We sat down for dinner. Not in front of the TV. We used my table now, the three of us. Ribs, shark, bacon-wrapped jalepenos. Grilled for me almost every night. We talked about our days. Laughing a lot. We played board games on the deck, drinking margaritas.

The atmosphere in the house changed. I guess it kind of...woke up. Brent liked to prank, do stuff like hide behind doors scaring the heck out of me when I came home from work, or hijack my Facebook page. I hid his dinner on the bookshelf, which I thought was funny. And I made a life-size Mel Gibson and hid it in his bedroom. My greatest creation.

I don't know, but slowly it was like he had always been there. Someone that was just my brother-in-law before was now like...my buddy. I looked forward to hearing his police stories from work. I even kind of like the mounted hunting trophy's he hung up-though I made a rule that anything with eyes had to go in his room. I'm still a liberal from Massachusetts, after all.

Last month when their grandmother passed away Bryan, Brent and I drove 5 hours to go to the funeral. We joined the rest of the family and headed to the wake, or visitation I think it was called, the next day. I remember scanning the room full of relatives I didn't know for Bryan, to see if he was ok. I saw him chatting with someone, he was smiling, and I sighed and relaxed. Then immediately I did the same for Brent. It was like, Bryan is ok-check, Brent is ok-check. My family is ok-check. When they cried at the funeral, I felt an ache. When they are sad, so am I.

I don't know how long Brent will live with us. He'll get a wife, a home, and be happy. I foresee nothing but good things for him to come. He deserves it. I think I'll probably be really sad when it's time for him to go. Yeah, I know I will. My house will be too quiet. And who will tease me? Who will I make fun of? Bryan is too easy a target. And too nice. But for now, when I am doing a jigsaw puzzle, got some Ray Lamontagne on the radio, watching two brothers cracking each other up, asking me to make them homemade margaritas, I'm a happy gal.