The woman I'm going to marry.
She just doesn't know it yet.
The ring is in my sock drawer. Has been for three weeks. I keep waiting for the right moment, but there's never a right moment. There are only moments, one after another, each one better than the last.
Lily teaching Julianna about sneaky numbers.
Julianna teaching Lily about squares and recursive loops at six and a half years old.
The three of us on a couch that's too small, watching a cartoon neither of them is watching, being a family in a way I never imagined I'd have.
Julianna shifts, adjusting her position. At six months along, the couch is getting harder to manage. The curve of her belly is unmistakable now. Round and firm beneath the soft fabric of her shirt. She carries our child the way she carries everything: with precision, with purpose, with the quiet certainty that she can handle whatever comes.
We never used protection. Not once in all those nights in the safe room. I was too angry to think about consequences. She was too focused on penance to care about them.
Now the consequence kicks against my palm when I rest my hand on her stomach.
Lily's appointed herself "Official Big Sister Coordinator." A role that involves making lists of things she'll teach the baby (math, Theodore's rules, how to identify sneaky numbers) and things she'll protect the baby from, loud noises, and bad men.
"Daddy." Lily's voice pulls me back. "You're not paying attention."
"I'm always paying attention."
"Then what did Julianna just say?"
I look at Julianna. She's smiling. That small, private smile she only uses with us. With her family.
"She said seven times seven equals forty-nine."
"Lucky guess." But Lily is grinning.
Then her face shifts. The grin fades into something more serious. More calculating. She's looking at me the way she looks at a math problem that doesn't make sense.
"Daddy."
"What, Lily-bug?"
"I have a question."
"Okay."
"When are you going to ask Julianna to marry you?"
The room goes still.
Julianna's head turns. Her eyes find mine. Wide, startled, questioning.
"Lily," I start.
"Because I found the ring." Lily barrels forward, oblivious to the grenade she's just thrown. "In your sock drawer. Three weeks ago. I was looking for Theodore's backup bow, you know, the purple one, and I found the box. And I opened it. And there's a ring inside. A really pretty one."
"Lily."
"And I've been waiting and waiting for you to ask her, but you keep not asking, and I don't understand why." Her voice is getting louder now, indignant. "Because Julianna is having our baby and she lives here and she's my math teacher and you love her. I know you love her because of the way you look at her when you think nobody's watching."
"Lily …"
"So why haven't you asked?" She crosses her arms. Theodore mimics the gesture, his stuffed arms folded across his purple belly. "It's not logical, Daddy. The math doesn't work."
