I’m not scared, I think.I’m terrified.
47.
Callie
With the sliding of the weeks, spring is trickling in, and the world is getting brighter, lighter. After so long spent flattened by winter, the earth seems to be developing dimensions. Its lungs are slowly filling with the fledgling dawn chorus, and foliage is fattening its limbs. Butterflies become stray sparks among explosions of ocher daffodils, and at Waterfen, the breeding season is blooming. I love hearing the chiffchaffs whistle me in to work, as redshanks reel and lapwings hassle harriers in an ever-expanding sky above my head.
Though there’s lots that I love about winter, after weeks spent clearing dikes and waddling about in waders, it’s a relief to feel the earth hardening beneath my feet as the light lengthens and the sun slowly warms, like an egg about to hatch. The air has shrugged off the scent of soil and stagnant water, swapping it for the sweetness of April blossom and nectar. And as nature repairs itself, so do we—we set down the chainsaws and brush cutters and begin mending fences and servicing machinery, enjoying the gentler jobs of tugging thistles from the ground, mowing meadows. I become consumed by breeding-bird surveys and spend hours inclining my eyes to the sky, or tuning my ears toward elongated undergrowth as I wait to catch a flash of flight, the telltale turn of a feather, a mellow segment of song.
In our nest box on the garden shed, a pair of robins has set up home. Joel and I see the female occasionally, a delicious dart of orange, her beakto capacity with dead leaves and moss, bedding for her eggs. It’s a privilege to watch her, like she’s trusting our company and the little wooden home Joel chose. I hope we can catch the chicks fledging in a few weeks, clumsy bundles of brown wobbling their way into the world.
And down by the river, the willow tree is growing full and fleshy with greenery. I climb it sometimes after work, just for five minutes, to feel the warmth of its bark and its comforting bulk, to be close to Grace again, examine how our initials have weathered yet another winter. With every changing season, I worry she’s going to fade away, like an autumn leaf absorbed by the earth, patterns tarnished and colors dulled, until its character and complexity are simply dust in the dirt.
I always tell her I love her, up there in that tree. It feels a bit like saying it to Joel, in that I’m waiting for a reply that will probably never come.
•••
We’re off to a book launch, a friend of Zoë’s, when I decide to broach the subject. I’ve been thinking about it for a while—since Christmas, really—and although it’s a risk and I know it could backfire, I’m going to do it.
I’d been planning to ask him tomorrow at breakfast, a long, lazy window over coffee for him to consider the question, no pressure. But as I’m curling my hair cross-legged in front of Joel’s bedroom mirror, and he’s standing behind me buttoning his shirt, it seems so opportune. Because here is a snapshot, right now, of how we could be—at home and comfortable, together.
“Don’t freak out” is how I begin.
Oh, good one, Callie.
In the mirror, Joel smiles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’ve been thinking...”
He nods, like,Keep going.
“... about whether or not... I mean, would it make sense...?” And then I clam up completely. I can’t find the words, now that his reflection is looking at mine, those carbon-dark eyes pulling my gaze to his.
He waits. “Still not freaking out...”
I take a breath and jump. “I was thinking perhaps we should move in together.”
In the mirror, he stays still. The seconds stretch. “Is that... what you want?”
I catch his eye.Oh, you’re freaking out now.But I decide to be brave anyway, give him the nod that I feel in my heart. “Yes. You?”
“I hadn’t really...”
“It’s too soon,” I surmise.
“No, not like that—”
“Don’t worry,” I say gently. “You don’t have to say anything just now.”
The tiniest part of me is hoping he’ll protest and offer me a yes or a no, but he doesn’t. He simply says, “All right. Thanks.”
•••
We’re crammed into the underventilated bookshop where the launch is, so when Joel takes my hand as the speeches are coming to a close, whispering that he needs a breather, I’m secretly relieved.
“Do we have to buy a copy?” he says, once we’re out on the pavement, both pleased to be in the open air. It’s been warm today, and the early-evening breeze across our faces is still streaked with sunshine.
Softly, I shove his arm. “Yes! It’s a book launch. Why else are we here?”
