“The tub is deep. Comfortable.” He made a raspy, growly sound. “Bet it could fit two.”
“But you like being alone.” I almost slapped myself for that. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Probably something to do with being dead.
“Not always.”
“Oh. Hmm. Yeah.”
“It’s a nice place,” he went on, immune to my sputtering. “Great pillows. I might ask them to send some home with me. I like a good pillow.” I could still hear the water as if he was pouring one handful after another down his chest. Like he intended for me to hear that. “Big bed. I like that too.”
I thought about last weekend at the hotel in Kentucky—and the night he’d stayed at my apartment. I didn’t remember the size making much of a difference when we’d chased each other even as we’d slept. “You are something of a beast so that’s understandable.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Am I wrong?” I asked, all indignant teasing.
Another splash. A sound like skin running over skin. And then, “You have no idea.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what this was or where it would go if we kept on this path. And I didn’t know why it made heat rush through my veins and energy buzz over every last inch of me. I didn’t know how one bath time phone call could zap the life back into me.
But it wasn’t just one phone call. It was my new hair and his visit to my school. It was moving Ines to his condo and my tangerines on the plane. It was being able to take a deep enoughbreath to hold my head up and feeling like I mattered enough to someone to order a fuck-ton of antibacterial wipes for their classroom.
And it was getting myself off on his leg last weekend too. I hadn’t been the only one playing then, just as I wasn’t now.
I didn’t know what it meant for us but I knew I’d finally roused enough of my old self to feel like this life was worth living. Like I was worth it.
And the man I was going to marry was worth it too.
I smiled as I said, “I think I have some idea.”
He sucked in a breath and I knew—Iknewthere was no turning back from here. The Ryan and Emme of the past were gone and this new version of us, this couple, were much more than childhood friends.
I didn’t know what lived in the dark unknown of thatmuch morebut I knew we’d figure it out—together. Like we always did.
“Have you softened up yet?” I asked.
A choked sound echoed around him. “Not even close.” He cleared his throat and then turned the water on again. “You told me a few months ago you wanted to be married. You wanted to be settled.”
“Yeah,” I said, snuggling into the pillows. “I do.”
“What does that look like for you? Is it a house and kids? A backyard for some dogs to run around? Or a brownstone in the city and traveling every chance you get? What is it?”
It took me a minute to find the right words. “I don’t care about the house, the backyard. The place, the things—they don’t matter. They’ve never mattered. I just want something that belongs to me. Something that’s permanent.”
“And the kids?”
I scowled at the bottles of vitamins, supplements, pain relievers, and hormones lined up on the bedside table. “That’s complicated.”
“Why? Because of your condition?” he asked. “Or because you haven’t decided about kids?”
“The world is a riotous, melting disaster and I’m truly concerned about handing over that shit show to anyone,” I said. “But I’ve always been told getting pregnant could be difficult. For me. So. I’m not sure.”
“I can make some calls and get you in to see better doctors if that’s what you need. If you decide that it’s what you want, I’ll find the specialists. We can—we can do anything, Em.”
I hummed as I thought about this. There wasn’t a lot anyone could do. There wasn’t a cure for endometriosis. The treatments were limited. The options were split between semi-constant pain and surgery—and I’d already gone under the laparoscopic knife once. I was probably due for another nip and tuck of my errant endometrial tissue. It had an annoying tendency to attach itself to places it didn’t belong, filling me with something akin to painful, diseased cobwebs. Or they could chuck my uterus right in the bin.
That was an option but…I always saw myself with children. They were in the far-off future when my apartment wasn’t the site of a great flood and I wasn’t fake-marrying my best friend to exact some revenge, but they were there. Two, maybe three. I didn’t have a master plan for any of these things but I knew I wanted to give my kid some siblings. I didn’t want them to be alone the way I’d been alone.
I knew there would be medical challenges though, and I had to block out those worries before they convinced me it’d never happen and it wasn’t worth trying. I tried to manage my expectations because I wasn’t great at handling disappointment. And it wasn’t like I was in any state to start that process. In my mind, I was still a kid myself. It didn’t matter that thirty was coming up. This was a problem I’d solve another day. When I grew up.
