“One more minute?” he asks, his voice awfully small. “Just in case…”
And his desperation does something to my heart. A tiny twist, like wringing out a wet cloth. I love him so much it’strulypainful. As if every time I resist telling him how I feel when the truth boils upsoclose to the surface, a tiny piece of myself withers and dies.
“Of course,” I say softly.
A few moments later, August decides to give the performance of their life—kicking far harder than before, right under Bo’s palm.
And I decide to order the stuffed bear first thing tomorrow.
“Was—was that it?” he asks, looking between me and his hand.
“That was it,” I say brightly.
“Holy shit… Hi! Hey there!” he yells to my stomach. I shush him, giggling. “Sorry, sorry.” He falls back, laughing as he swipes both hands through his hair. “That was insane. I can’t believe that.”
“There’s a whole person in there,” I say.
“I kind of forget how wildthis all is. What your body is doing. Whatyouare doing. It’s amazing…”
“You know what I found out the other day?” I ask, turning back onto my side to face him as he does the same. “If the baby has ovaries, that means I’m carrying all oftheirfuture kids too. I’d be like a Russian nesting dollof people right now.”
“I never even thought of that,” Bo says, in awe. “We’ve created a whole newlineof people, potentially. A family tree. We could havedescendants.”
I laugh, tucking my hands between pillows. “See what you’d be missing if you were out there on the couch? Baby kicks,fun facts…”
“I do,” Bo answers, his voice far more earnest than my little jest was. “I don’t take it for granted, Win. I feel very honoured to get to do this with you.”
“What, sleep in my bed?” I tease, feeling awfully shy.
I canhearhis eyes roll. “No,” he says. “Being here with you. Not having to miss out on this stuff. You didn’t have to tell me about the baby at all, let alone uproot your life to move in here. I’m grateful you did. I’llalwaysbe grateful that you did.”
“I’m grateful I did too… and for you.”
“Your friendship means a lot to me, Win,” he breathes out. “Youmean a lot to me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.Now. Be brave. Tell him how you feel.“I—”
“That’s the question I was going to ask tonight,” Bo interrupts. “Who in this world matters the most to you?”
“You,” I answer simply, pleading with him tohearme. What I said and all that it means.
“You,” he repeats. “It’s you for me too. With averyclose second,” he says, his eyes on my belly.
I want to be braver than I am. I want to ask what that means to him. What it means for us. Whether he feels this longing between us so deep inside him, so full and abundant, that he’s also started to believe that we have souls after all.
Simply becausesomethinginside me is entirelyhis. SomethingI know would follow me into the next life, or beyond that, even if I left this body behind.
But I don’t. Because my heart’s just taken off like it has wings at his small admission alone, and I’d rather not risk shooting it back down.
For tonight, knowing I matter most to him is enough. Well,almostenough.
I shuffle closer, lining up my bent knee with his thigh, looking up at him with silent permission. Bo moves too, until our chests are touching through our blankets. I push my duvet down past my hips, and Bo lifts the corner of his blanket up like a wing, enveloping me in it with his arm behind my back.
The warmth of his body radiates through the cotton of his T-shirt and the silk of my nightgown. I nuzzle into him until my forehead rests on his pillow alongside him, our noses inches from touching. And I take a deep inhale, breathing in his scent—the cinnamon and musk mixed with the freshly cleaned scent of his T-shirt. I shamelessly do it again, breathing him in like another hit of something far better than oxygen.
His arm curls around my back, his elbow at my waist and his hand between my shoulder blades. The tips of his fingers burn into my skin with a delicate, callused touch, while his palm is mostly pressed against the silk between my shoulder blades.
“This okay?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
