‘Mmm?’ he replies sleepily.
‘Is Lydia right? Has El’s anti-kids stance rubbed off on you?’
I expect him to sigh or scoff or dismiss the conversation, but, when he doesn’t immediately reply, my fingers freeze in their tracks.
‘I love my nieces and nephews, but being around them just reminds me of how much work it all is.’ Lachie yawns, not seeming to notice how tense I suddenly feel.
‘I know, but everyone says it’s different when it’s your own,’ I point out.
He stills and then cranes his neck to look down at me. ‘Are you getting broody?’ He sounds apprehensive.
‘I don’t want to waittoomuch longer.’
‘How much longer are we talking here?’
‘I don’t know. A year or two?’
He slowly rests his head back onto his pillow and scratches his chin.
I wriggle onto my tummy and prop myself up on my elbows so he can’t escape my scrutiny. He looks pretty uncomfortable.
‘Lachie?’ I prompt.
‘I’m only twenty-eight,’ he replies eventually. ‘But thirty still seems way too young to me.’
I always wondered if our age gap would come back to bite me.
I think it just has.
‘I just… I don’t want to be an older mum. I’m already thirty-four. I thought I’d have children by now.’
‘I thought I’d get married one day, but you don’t believe in marriage, so that’s that, then…’ His slightly shirty voice trails off.
‘I’m nottotallyagainst it,’ I say with a frown. ‘I just don’t really see the point. Wait. Do youwantto get married?’ I ask with surprise.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘No. That’s not what I’m saying.’
His tone triggers a wave of nausea and I find myself sitting up in my sleeping bag.
‘But youdosee a future with me, right?’ I ask cautiously.
‘Yeah. You know I love you. But…’ He’s not meeting my eyes.
‘What?’ I ask warily.
He sighs and my nausea ramps up a notch. ‘I guess I’ve felt a little… stifled lately.’
‘What?!’
‘You never want to go out any more,’ he says. ‘We’re becoming boring.’
‘You meanI’mbecoming boring. You’ve been going out plenty,’ I snap.
‘I’m only twenty-eight, Bronte! We should be out every other night, having a laugh with our mates, not sitting at home relentlessly watching telly on the sofa.’
‘Do these mates include Fliss?’ I ask irately.
‘Don’t start that again,’ Lachie snaps.
