He grins back and opens his mouth to say something, then appears to think better of it.
His expression changes to confusion when I pull my phone from my pocket.
I open my playlist and connect it to the outdoor speakers. The sound of a piano and a guitar begin. A drum beat joins in.
I set my phone on the wicker table and step toward him. “You should dance with me.”
His eyes shine behind his glasses and his mouth quirks in a crooked smile. Neither of us dances much. Wedding receptions are about it. He’s enough taller than I am that it usually entails a lot of awkward bending on his end and stretching on mine.
“Good idea.” He tugs me into his arms. Then, hands on the backs of my thighs, he drags my skirt up and up.
“Henry,” I laugh.
“We have privacy back here. There’s no one to see your unmentionables.”
I huff a laugh, then grin fully when he picks me up, holding me under my butt. That’s why he lifted my skirt. So I could wrap my legs around him.
“Is this dancing?” I ask.
He kisses the tip of my nose and steps from side to side in rhythm to the music. “Unequivocally, yes.”
I hold on to his shoulders and watch him, waiting for him to clock the chorus of the song playing over the speakers.Baby Steps.
When he says nothing and just keeps smiling, I raise my eyebrows. “I like this song.”
“It’s nice. Jazzy.”
I laugh. “Henry.”
“Yes, my pregnant wife?”
I swat him on the shoulder. “You guessed.”
“I knew for sure after I saw the look on your face when you stepped outside.”
The chorus plays once more, and he spins us in a circle. I clutch him tighter, then remove his glasses, holding them in one hand.
He heaves a satisfied breath and smiles into my eyes. “Hello, little mama.”
“Hello, daddy,” I twinkle back.
His mouth presses together in an obvious attempt not to laugh.
“That wasn’t sexual,” I protest. “I meant literally, like—”
“I know, love. I know.” And his mouth meets mine.
11
Light
Henry
January
Franki dropped off to sleep tonight the moment her head hit the pillow, exhausted. I lay awake beside her. Thinking.
There is no schedule. There is baby-led feeding and doctor appointments and parenting books, but there’s no itinerary that I control. Our newborn eats when he’s hungry. He sleeps when he’s tired. He cries to communicate needs that we can only guess at until we land on the right combination.
