They insisted on packing their gifts for their grandma themselves, which felt wholesome and sweet until the moment I discovered that the macaroni-covered photo frame, still sticky with glue, doesnotsurvive the bottom of a travel sack. When they dumped the bag out to “re-organize it,” yellow pasta shells and blue beads exploded across the hardwood like confetti.
“Floor is clean,” Steven announces triumphantly as he swipes the travel bag off my shoulder and heads to the car.
I stand in the doorway, suddenly holding nothing at all. I don’t know why it feels so strange, but my arms feel confused, like I’m missing a limb or something.
The boys thunder down the stairs and race past me toward the running car. Josie wiggles in the car seat at my feet, fussing softly. I crouch to pick her up, but Steven swoops in before I get the chance. He lifts her easily, kissing me on the cheek, then glides back to the car. Just back and forth like a man on a mission. When I hesitate to follow, he waves me along, calling, “Let’s go, babe!”
I want to follow. I want to be called babe again. I want to skip to the car empty-handed for once. But my feet are rooted to the porch, a sense of unease holding me there. Steven notices and doubles back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” And I don’t. I truly don’t. I stand there, scanning the open door, the living room behind me, the coat rack, the counter. I wait for the thing I surely forgot—because there’salwayssomething—but it doesn’t come. It takes me a moment to accept that there’s nothing left for me to do. No last-minute bags or grabbing snacks. No sprinting back inside twice because I forgot the baby monitor or a favorite toy. No frantic mental checklist. Nopanic.
Steven did everything. He stayed up late packing and woke up before the sun. Loaded the car. Cleaned up the kitchen. Ran the boys’ checklist without me even asking. All I did this morning was nurse the baby, shower, and pour myself a coffee, and somehow that was enough.
My throat tightens as the startling realization blooms inside me. A gratitude so big it makes me feel almost unsteady.
He eyes me, the brown of his eyes shimmering gold in the morning sun. They shift from worried to happy as he watches the smile on my face slowly take shape. Steven’s never been able to read my mind, no matter what he tries to convince himself. But my face has always given me away; it’s never been a quiet unreadable one. And right now, there’s no denying the joy that’s making my cheeks ache.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome?” He lifts a brow, unsure what he’s being thanked for. His confusion is so endearing I kiss him.
It’s quick, something we’ve done in passing a thousand times before. But when Steven’s face lights up like a neon sign, I realize it’s new for him.
“What?” I laugh as he touches his lips, stunned.
“Can—” He stops himself, scrubbing his hands over his cheeks like it’ll wipe the smile right off. He takes a breath, his eyes flaring as they rove over my face.
“Canwhat?” I ask.
He hesitates just for a second before blurting, “Can we do that again?”
I snort. “What? Kiss?”
He nods eagerly, and I can’t help but laugh again. To me, the answer is obvious, but he waits. Anticipation glimmers in his eyes, furrows his brow, warms his cheeks. It’s such a little thing comparatively, but I try to remember what it felt like those first few weeks of our relationship. Every little touch was significant.
“Do you want my permission?” I bite my lip.
Now he snorts, rubbing the back of his neck as embarrassment pinks his cheeks. “I need to know you want it.”
My breath catches.
I used to crave spontaneity, even begging him to just do it. That kind of heat is intoxicating, the kind you chase when you don’t know how long it will last. But over time, that blazing fire? It’s too hot. It can burn you out, leave you scorched and tired. Somewhere along the way, I started clinging to the softer moments, the ones that leave me feeling safe. The moments made to last.
Stepping closer, I grab Steven’s shirt and tug him to me, emboldened by his simple request.
“I want it.”
His eyes flare, then his mouth is on mine. Tender, excited, and way too short. He pulls back with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face as he glances toward the boys watching from the car.
I steal another quick kiss, softer this time, letting my lips linger just long enough to make it unfair.
He groans again, low and helpless, as I squeeze his elbow and turn away. When I glance back, he’s fumbling with the door, locking it, dropping his keys, then bending to scoop them up before jiggling the knob to make sure it’s latched. All of it done with a boyish grin pulling at his cheeks, like he can’t decide whether to laugh or come after me.
The first part of our drive is quiet. The boys are buried in their books, Josie is asleep, I’m finishing up a few school emails, and Steven hums along to the radio. It’s peaceful.
We hit traffic sooner than expected, and something strange happens. Steven smiles. We’re boxed in between two semis crawling along at twenty miles an hour, and he’s smiling. A real, happy smile.
