Maybe, just maybe, my heart will hold on long enough to see it through.
The group at the table is engrossed in a card game that seems to involve a lot of yelling and forehead-slapping. James leads me right to the elevator, ignoring them.
“We should say goodbye,” I say.
He presses the elevator button. The doors open quickly, and he drags me inside and presses me up against the wall, his warmth making me shiver.
“They’ll survive,” he mutters. “I need you more.”
When his lips descend on mine, I can’t think of a reason to argue.
41
JAMES
As I stand in the doorway of Maura’s studio, I think god for noise canceling headphones. It's the only way I can watch her work without her complaining. My wife prefers that I not, as she puts it, “lurk around in doorways like some kind of obsessed stalker.”
“What if I am an obsessed stalker?” I asked once.
She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Then you're a pretty good one. You did get me to marry you, after all.”
Now, I stand and appreciate the opportunity to stare at my wife, uninterrupted. She still isn’t showing much at all, but even knowing a little version of us is being made inside of her makes me so hyper vigilant and maybe a smidge overprotective. I find myself more than a little obsessed with her body these days. I never imagined I’d be the sort of man to talk to a woman’s uterus, but I find myself cooing to it every chance I get.
When the baby is a bit bigger, I’ll read to them. The books say it’s good for them to hear our voices in vitro.
If Maura thought I was territorial before she started showing, it’s nothing compared to the way I feel now. Or how I know I’ll feel when she starts really showing.
She dips her brush into glistening green paint, which she applies to the canvas with a broad stroke of her brush. I know it’s crushed Greek porphyry mixed in with the paint.
The industrial rock crusher was installed not long ago, but she’s barely used it for all the morning sickness and fatigue. I think she’s almost through the worst of it, though. Or at least that’s what all the nurses and doctors I’ve harassed about it have said.
I know she’s feeling better because she’s been working up a storm, painting practically every waiting hour. Most of the pieces are inspired by our trip to Greece, incorporating the stones we bought there.
After a few minutes, I pull out my phone and send her a text.
James
Got you a new stone. Sent it up from the storage.
Maura pulls out her phone almost immediately, and smiles as she reads it.
Maura
Is it one of the impossible ones?
James
One of a kind.
A few weeks ago, I coaxed Maura into giving me a list of all the stones she thought would be impossible to get. They'll be arriving next week. This one is a little different.
Humming to herself, Maura walks over to the dumbwaiter and opens the door, no doubt expecting some massive hunk of rock inside. She gasps in surprise, her paintbrush clattering to the floor. With shaking hands, she pulls out a small black velvet box.
She whirls around, ripping off her headphones. Her mouth falls open when she sees me dropping to one knee. She looks so beautiful, so genuinely shocked, that I want to kiss her before she even answers.
“Oh, James…”
“I've been thinking,” I say. “I did it all wrong, proposing the first time. It was all contracts and pressure. No romance. That's not how it's supposed to be.”
