Sunlight spills through the windows in the gym, slanting across the hardwood floors in warm gold. I should probably nap. Or eat. Or catch up on the charts I know are sitting in my inbox at the hospital, waiting like vultures circling overhead.
Instead, I drill a ballet barre into the wall.
It’s absurd, maybe. Definitely not something I ever imagined in my home gym, nestled between a squat rack and a yoga mat that sat abandoned in the corner until Lucy started coming for therapy. But from the minute I had the thought, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Her ankle’s getting stronger every day. She’s going to be chomping at the bit to push harder, do more. This will give her the chance.
And yes, it’s absurd to permanentlyaffix something to my wall for someone who isn’t permanent herself, but no, I don’t care. I’ve decided to enjoy “the bubble” as she calls it rather than worry about the future. It goes against every grain I have, but what the hell? Something special has fallen into my life. Am I really going to let stubbornness keep me from enjoying it?
I tighten the last screw, step back, and survey the new addition.
Elegant. Purposeful. A little out of place in the best possible way.
Kind of like Lucy.
Though…
The way she’s tumbled into bed with me each night this week doesn’t feel out of place. Not at all. It’s starting to feel like she’s exactly where she needs to be. The old Nash would worry about the implication of that thought. This new Nash is learning to go with the flow. To figure it out. To enjoy what he has while he has it.
I set the drill down and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. There’s sawdust on my hands, satisfaction in my chest, and something that feels dangerously close to hope threading through my ribs.
The front door creaks open.
“Honey! I’m home!”
Lucy’s voice, bright and teasing, echoes through the house like music. I smile before I even see her, that automatic response my body has learned to her presence. Like she’s reprogrammed something fundamental in me.
“In here!” I call.
Uneven footsteps pad down the hallway, the bootstriking heavy against the floor. She’s ready to start walking without it, but I keep putting off telling her. It’s unfair of me. Selfish even. Something I should probably address.
I turn just as Lucy appears in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the afternoon heat, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown, still glowing from whatever adventure she managed to find with Stella and Gabby. Her sundress clings to her in all the right places, and there’s something about the way she moves—loose-limbed and relaxed—that tells me today was good to her.
“Oh,” she says, catching sight of the wall. Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “Oh.”
The word hangs in the air between us, weighted with something I can’t quite name. Wonder, maybe. Or disbelief.
She walks in slowly, eyes wide, like she’s approaching a wild animal.
“You did this?” Her voice is soft, hard to read.
I nod, suddenly uncertain. Did I read this wrong? Is it coming off badly? Presumptive? Possessive?
“Thought maybe you’d like having something here that felt like you.”
Lucy crosses to the barre like she’s in a trance, fingers trailing along the smooth wood like it might vanish if she presses too hard. There’s something careful in the way she touches it, like she’s afraid of wanting it too much.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.
“It’s simple,” I say, because I don’t know how else to deflect the intensity of her reaction.The way she’s looking at it—at me—makes me wonder if she’s ever had someone do something nice for her…ever.
“No.” She turns to face me, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect.”
And then she’s crossing the space between us, hands framing my face, and she kisses me. Once, gentle and reverent, like a prayer. Then again, more urgent, with a hunger that catches me off guard. A third time, longer, deeper, with her hands sliding into my hair like she needs something to hold onto, like I’m the only solid thing in her world.
“Thank you,” she says against my mouth, the words warm and breathless.
I cup her waist, feeling the soft curve of her through the thin fabric of her dress. “It’s just a little thing.”
“It’snota little thing.” Her voice breaks slightly. “No one’s ever…” She trails off, presses her forehead to my chest like she needs to hide from the weight of whatever she was about to say. I can feel her heartbeat against me, quick and fluttering. My hands find her back, tracing slow circles between her shoulder blades.
