“Why are you out here?” he whispered from above me.
“You’re mad at me,” I said in a small voice, coiling around my pillow. “And I’m mad at you.”
He turned off the fireplace, then crouched down and cleared a piece of hair from my face. “I’ll never be so pissed that I don’t want you sleeping next to me.” He bundled me in his arms and lifted me to his chest.
I closed my eyes and burrowed my nose into his t-shirt, inhaling fresh laundry and David while he carried me. “I’m still angry,” I said. “You shouldn’t have yelled at me like that.”
“I know.” He set me in the middle of the bed and wrapped himself around me. “We’ll figure this out. Just promise you won’t leave my bed again.”
I nodded my agreement, already drifting off as I told him I loved him.
20
Iawoke still in my robe, unable to remember how I’d gotten from the couch to the bed. The faucet started in the bathroom, and I quickly ran through David’s and my conversation from the night before. My stance hadn’t changed, but since my plans for the night had been thwarted, I decided that I’d be up for angry sex if he was.
I wasn’t looking forward to our impending conversation, however, so I avoided the bathroom altogether and went to his office instead to grab my laptop from the couch. I stopped at his drafting table to look at a mess of papers that hadn’t been there the night before. The blueprint on top was labeledHome.I leaned closer, my eyes darting over a drawing of the Oak Park house, and tried to envision what he’d created. Even while upset with me, he’d been thinking of us. My heart filled with love as I took in all the care and detail he’d put into the plans. I ran my fingers over the copious and hasty notes scribbled in his handwriting.
“That’s just a rough sketch,” he said from behind me. “Obviously, I’d get your input before we move into the next phase.”
I turned around. He was already dressed for work in a crisp, royal blue dress shirt and black slacks. “You’re amazing,” I said. “And whatever you do will be perfect.”
“Perfect?” he asked with an arched black eyebrow.
“Perfect,” I repeated because I meant it. With the thought and care he put into things, I couldn’t imagine anything less, however it turned out. “Thank you.”
He came into the room and stepped around me, pulling the chair out from under his desk. He sat down and rolled closer before gesturing for me to sit on his lap.
I obeyed cautiously while holding my robe closed, unsure of his mood. His fingers grazed against my neck as he swept my hair away, and his chin hovered over my shoulder. “See this here?” he asked into my ear, pointing to the bedroom.
I nodded.
“I’m picturing a bathroom like the one in this apartment but even bigger. We can put in a gigantic shower, and then over here, a clawfoot tub.”
“I like those tubs,” I said.
“I thought you might. That would mean losing a little space in the bedroom, especially if you want a walk-in closet.”
“I do.”
“I thought you might.”
I smiled to myself as he laid out the rest of the bedroom. Sliding his fingers down the hallway, he explained that he’d need one room for his office, that way he could work from home more often.
But the room across the way had noticeably fewer notes. David’s finger lingered there a moment before he spoke. “This is a free room, unless you have any ideas. I suppose maybe a guest room would be a good idea. At first, anyway.”
I didn’t tense despite my body’s impulse to. He would notice, and I couldn’t have that. Not after we’d gotten this far and hadn’t even had a chance to really enjoy each other yet. Because his implication was clear. In his vision of the future, that room would one day be a nursery. I didn’t know how a discussion about children would go, but, it was the only thing left that had the power to destroy us.
“It’s not a huge house,” he continued, “so as time goes by, we may want to . . . add. In case we need more, you know, space. I’ve taken this into consideration, and we’ll have the ability when the time comes. Unless you want to do it now.”
My heart fell.Add? Exactly how much does he want to “add”? And when what time comes?
He proceeded through the remainder of the house, describing his ideas and what they’d entail. I was confronted with the immensity of the project, from replacing the plumbing system to reroofing, retiling, repainting . . . I sighed at the fact that he was doing this, essentially, for me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, raking his fingers through my hair to tuck it behind my ear.
“Nothing at all,” I said. “Except that it’s a lot of work, David. And money.”
He stayed quiet as he continued to pet me. I closed my eyes, succumbing to the power of his hands on me. “I always knew I wanted to be an architect,” he said. “I was lucky, I guess. I never even considered anything else . . . I don’t know why. It felt like my calling. It has given me a lot—purpose, gratification, wealth. It’s hard work, but it’s also my hobby. And you are my passion. I want to do this for you. I need to.”
