“Hey,” she says and covers up a yawn as she walks toward me. She’s wiped her makeup off, and the dark circles under her eyes clue me in to just how exhausting today has been for her.
I grab the hairbrush and ties from where I left them on the counter, then grab Holly’s hand. “Let’s take this to the living room. I’ll start brushing your hair while the chamomile tea steeps.”
She nods, and instead of walking she shuffles, her fuzzy socks sliding across the floor. I sit in the corner and Holly lies down, stretching out over the rest of the couch and resting her head on my thigh, facing away from me. I set down the hairbands on the side table and begin brushing Holly’s hair. The blonde waves are silky soft even before brushing and I lose track of time as I run the bristles through her hair.
Holly’s eyes close and she lets out a weary sigh. “This feels so nice.”
I set the brush down and section out a portion of her hair, braiding it before moving on to the next section. Six small braids later and this side of her hair is done. I need her to turn over so I can do the rest. “Hey Buttercup, can you turn over, please?”
“Hmmm?” she mumbles, her eyelashes fluttering.
I hold in my chuckle at her sleepy response. “Just flip over, honey.”
“Mm-kay.” She rolls over and I gather up her unbraided strands.
Her next words are muffled, but I can still make out her question. “Is this real? Can I keep you?”
She is absolutely out of it, and it’s positively adorable. Though I’m sure she’ll only vaguely remember this conversation, I answer honestly. “I am real, and you can keep me forever, Hols.”
She doesn’t respond or move. I braid the rest of her hair and dream about the future. The past week we’ve moved into a real relationship, as if we’ve been dating and are committed to each other, and it makes me wonder if this can turn into a real marriage. My fingertips take on a mind of their own, tracing the delicate features of her face as dreams of weekly dates and future kids with Holly’s blue eyes and rosy cheeks.
My foot begins to tingle, and I look at the clock in the kitchen. I’ve been sitting here for a half hour, and if I don’t want to fall asleep on the couch in this position, with my leg falling asleep, then I need to get Holly to bed. I lift Holly’s head off my lap and give my foot a second to wake back up before slipping my arms beneath Holly. With my gorgeous wife in my arms, I walk to my bedroom, or I should say Holly’s bedroom.
She stirs, her head lifting off my chest for a second before falling back onto it. “Stop carrying me. I’m too heavy.”
I don’t respond and instead keep walking until I’m at the side of the bed. I set her down and she climbs under the covers, wrapping herself up in the blankets until she’s a little burrito.
I can’t leave just yet. My heart pounds with a need to correct her assumption.
When she settles, I lean over and kiss her forehead. “Mi vida, I love your curves. Your curves do not detract from your beauty, only emphasize it. You are perfect just the way you are, and I’ll work every day to prove to you that you’re a gorgeous daughter of God no matter what size of clothing you wear. No matter how your body changes, your attractiveness won’t fade.”
Her smile is small and sweet and I need to leave this room right now. “Thank you,” she mumbles, and it takes everything in me not to say three little words I don't think she's ready to hear.
I walk out and close her door, heading to the kitchen to make myself a new cup of chamomile tea. Although, I don’t think the sleep-inducing tea will stop my dreams about Holly. They’re invading every one of my thoughts, no matter if I’m awake or asleep.
I can’t stop dreaming about a life with my wife.
Chapter 36
Wisdom of a Mother
Holly
Iwake up in Mateo’s house. That thought is so strange. It feels so weird that being here already feels like home to me. I’ve never envied someone’s house, but I’m starting to understand the feeling.
It’s so comfortable. It’s warm, it’s lived in, it has knick-knacks and memories from Mateo’s childhood on a bookshelf.
It feels like a home.
But really, it’s the fact that everything made of wood in this house was made by Mateo. Every piece looks like and emotionally feels like a treasure. I want to keep all of them, not just because they’re gorgeous but because, well… Mateo made them.
I’ve been coming to terms with my deep feelings for Mateo, but waking up in a bed that still has a lingering pine scent, even though it has clean sheets, has me thinking a little too deeply.
My anxiety doesn’t like the deep end yet.
I need to get out of this house ASAP.
I shower, get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt—channeling my husband’s farm boy energy—and head to the kitchen in record time. It's empty, as is the rest of the house, which is when I spy a note on the counter next to atravel-size Nutella and a small pack of pretzels.
