“How are you feeling about it?” Bo asks.
“Uh, I’m a little nervous. Excited to see Gus, though.”
“What day?”
I tsk, trying to remember. “Uh, not sure. It was a Friday.” I lift up, moving to grab my phone. “I think the tenth?”
“My dad will be here then,” Bo says, swallowing another helping before handing me back the carton. “If that’s still okay?”
“Bo, I haveswornto you that it’s more than okay. Multiple times. I’m excited to meet your dad.”
“Just checking,” he says, raising his palms up defensively. “I’ll have that day off, though. So maybe we can drop Dad off somewhere and pick him up after the appointment.”
“No, don’t miss out on time with your dad.”
“Are you crazy? As if I’d miss an ultrasound. This is when they look like a baby, right? Not a little bean anymore?”
“Yeah, think so.” I take the final scoop of ice cream, finishing off the carton and setting it on the coffee table. “And how areyoufeeling about turning thirty, old man?” I say, draping my feet across his lap. He, rolling his eyes at both his new nicknameandmy silent demand, begins rubbing my feet.
“Honestly? Fine. I was thinking about it the other night, and I’m just grateful to still be here, and for all that’s to come. My birthday last year was pretty terrible. During the dark times.” He laughs dryly.
Bo has recently taken to referring to last year as thedark times. I’ve picked up little bits and pieces of information here and there without needing to pry all that much. After he was given the all-clear to live alone, three months post-surgery, his dad went back to France. And hewasalone a lot, from what it sounds like. Other than DND with his friends once a month, he didn’t really see anyone.
“Another year older and wiser…” I say, rolling my neck as he presses his thumb into the centre of my foot.
“And more handsome,” he adds.
I snort. “Ofcourse.”
Bo squeezes his hand around my heel, builds pressure, then releases. I let out a not-so-subtle moan, but I’m far too blissed out to care.
“There?” he asks teasingly.
“I need to get new shoes for work.”
“Youneedto tell them you’re pregnant,” Bo says.
“They’ll treat me differently…”
“You mean, like, give you a stool to sit on? Or maybe longer breaks? Heaven forbid.”
“Watch it. I could easily kick you right now.” I fall back against the couch, letting my eyes close as Bo wraps his giant hands around my swollen ankles and massages those too.
“Permission to bring down the mood?”
“Always,” I answer. And I mean it. I’m so desperate to know everything Bo’s got stored away that I’d let him say just about anything. I think he could unwrap the very worst parts of himself, and I’d still sit here, hanging on every word.
“I keep thinking that, as of my birthday, I’ll be older than my mom ever was. Ihatethat.”
I sit up slowly, peering up at him. His eyes are held absently on the mantel across the room, his hands busy working my ankles over. I consider whether I should move my feet off his lap, but it seems to me that this is keeping his hands occupied while his thoughts wander. Like he was throwing stones at the beach all those weeks ago.
Maybe Bo requires physical distractions in order to open up.
“That must feel really strange. I’m sorry,” I offer gently.
“It’s bizarre to live more life than the person who gave me mine…” he says, his voice far off.
“Is that a quote?”
