Jason
It was the last week of May, and I was ready to lay it all out there.
I knocked on the door of a nice-looking brownstone in Cambridge, praying that she hadn’t left for work yet. If I had my way, she wouldn’t be going into work at all, but I didn’t think that opinion would go down well.
She answered the door, looking so damn beautiful my heart keened with yearning. Same messy bun, same glasses off center, same ocean-blue gaze. The video calls and check-ins were great. Necessary. But nothing beat seeing her in person. In the four months since she last visited Chicago, she had grown. At thirty-four weeks, the baby was the size of a pumpkin.
“Hi, Francesca.”
Her eyes went round. “How are you here?”
“Chartered a flight from Vancouver. I have four days off, and there’s nowhere I’d rather spend it.”
I wondered if maybe I’d made a mistake. She might not want me here. Maybe I was interfering with her research process or her routine. But then something shifted in her expression, a softening that I took as a good sign.
She moved to pick up my duffle.
“Hey, are you crazy?” I swatted her hand away and picked it up.
“But you’re tired. A warrior returning home from battle.”
“Get inside, woman, before the neighbors accuse me of God knows what.”
She stepped back to let me in and shut the door.
I grinned at her. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Tired but as healthy as can be expected given where I am in the process and my age. My research is going well, too. We were able to get fascinating video footage of the Deroceras invadens during its mating cycle. This type of slug doesn’t employ selfing all that much?—”
“Like self-fertilization?”
She smiled. “Right. They prefer to seek a mate and sometimes copulate with the same mate several times. It’s unusual in the species.”
“Maybe the mate provides something they can’t get alone.”
“Well, that’s a valid assumption. Its goal may be a higher rate of fecundity. I think—or we think—that sticking with the same mate makes them happier and more fertile. It’s so odd, because biologically, it’s not necessary. But there’s some imperative, driving them to seek out a mate instead of reverting to self-reliance.”
My smarty pants professor was babbling a little. Was she nervous to see me? I wanted to hug her, kiss her, strip her down so I could run my hands all over her body. But if I touched her, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Plus we should talk first before the hormones got a jump on us.
“Maybe the snails can teach us something.” I yawned and leaned against the banister as tiredness suddenly enveloped me. “Do you mind if I sit for a while?”
“Of course! Here I am yammering on about slug sex. You must be wrecked.” She led me to a sofa in the living room filled with books, mostly on geometry and calculus. There was an empty bird cage and a fireplace filled with big candles. “You should have gone home to Chicago to rest.”
I sank into the soft cushions. “I can rest when I’m dead or a Cup winner.”
I hadn’t seen her since the last season game against Boston, and that was only a few minutes outside the locker room with Sean and Melissa there, along with my teammates and the press, then it was full steam ahead to the playoffs. “I can help you pack. Bring you home. How’s she been?”
“Kicking up a storm.”
“Yeah?”
“I think she knows you powered through to the Finals.”
That made me laugh. I had missed her so much. Missed this warmth between us. It had been a long, cold, lonely winter.
“Still sure we have a girl?”
“We didn’t want to know, so until then, a girl she is.”
