‘I love you too,’ I said. ‘To the end of the universe and back again. Always.’
Jonah and I ate dinner on the couch in our pyjamas in front of an episode ofSuperchef, the pizza – pesto chicken with a side of garlic bread, same as always – on the table in front of us. ‘I know this is very easy for me to say from here on the sofa, and I know I no longer need this show as a backup career plan,’ he said, nudging me with a socked foot, and then nodding at the screen, ‘but I genuinely think I could take some of these people. You can’t tell me that I couldn’t make a better attempt at coq au vin than whatever that guy’s trying to do.’
‘Do you want me to play devil’s advocate and tell you that you absolutely could not take that guy, and then let you convince me that you could?’ I asked, swallowing. ‘Or do you want me to be your devoted wife and tell you that you’re the best chef in the entire universe and there’s not a person in this country who could defeat you?’
‘Wife,’ he said instantly. ‘Jonah Fisher,’ I said seriously, licking a finger clean of grease so I could hook it under his chin and turn his face towards mine, looking him dead in the eye, ‘you’re the best chef in the entire universe. There’s not a person in this country who could defeat you.’
He grinned. ‘Why the fuck did I waste so many years arguing with you?’
‘It wasn’t wasted time,’ I said, taking another bite of garlic bread. ‘How would we have written a hundred and four battle lectures – and counting – without spending all that time becoming the masters of bickering like an old married couple?’
Our first journal article about our pedagogical approach had come out last month inStudies in Higher Education, a prestigious journal that would score us some decent research points. We were working on a second one, but now the semester had ended, we were daring to dream that we might actually get to return to our own individual research at some point.
‘Oh my God, I forgot to tell you.’ He swallowed. ‘My dad texted me today. He asked me ifthat manhad given us our workload allocations for first semester next year yet and if I needed any advice on how to push back if he did anything unreasonable.’
That manwas new Professor Fisher code for Petrovski. Jonah hadn’t said as much, but he’d been terrified about how his dad was going to react to the media campaign and the news that he might give up his future in academia for me. It had turned out much better than expected, though. Instead of jumping straight toYou have shamed this family! Death, dishonour, disowning!, Jonah’s dad had latched onto the fact that Petrovski was responsible for the fact his son might lose his job and had sworn blood vengeance. I didn’t think it was themainreason the university had backed down on firing Jonah, but it was almost certainlyareason and, for the first time in my life, I’d found myself feeling somewhat warm about Christian Fisher.
…Right up until Jonah had admitted, cheeks pink, that his dad had also saidwhy don’t you just knock Sadie up like I did your mother, that’d solve your problem. Professor Fisher would forever have to be graded on a curve.
‘What did you tell him?’ I asked. ‘I said that we don’t have our workloads yet and that we won’t meet withthat manwithout our union rep present, but if we need his advice, we’ll ask for it.’ He nudged me with his foot again. ‘Emphasis on thewe. What’s mine is yours, and that goes for unfair advantages as well as all my worldly possessions.’
‘I’m glad to hear you think that way,’ I said, nudging him back, ‘because you know that grey cardigan of yours? You’re never getting it back.’
A while later, after the show had ended and we’d put the remnants of our dinner away – ‘You know I love you, but this really is unacceptable,’ Jonah grumbled, ‘pizza is just not an appropriate breakfast food, Shaw’ – we curled back up on the couch, with Jonah’s head resting in my lap.
‘When you do that, it makes me think I should have just let the uni get rid of me,’ he said, making a satisfied noise as I scratched at his scalp. ‘This is my real dream career. Lying on the couch while my wife babies me.’
‘The pay is pretty shit.’ I combed my fingers through his hair. ‘Mmmm, but the perks are great.’ He found one of my hands and pressed it to his lips.
He tried to let go, but I wouldn’t let him. ‘The finish is coming off your wedding ring,’ I said, running my thumb across it. ‘We’re going to have to swap it out again.’
‘We should just bite the bullet and get real ones.’ He kissed my hand again. ‘We’ve got some money saved up. We’re both employed. I know there’s still two years until our probation is up, but Petrovski wouldn’t fucking dare fire us now. And we can’t keep wearing fake rings forever.’
Forever.
A warm, honey-golden feeling started to bloom deep in my belly. ‘Okay,’ I whispered, leaning down to kiss the tip of his ear.
Then I shoved at his shoulder. ‘Up.’
‘No,’ he groaned.
‘Come on, up,’ I said, pulling him into a seated position and then tugging the ring off his finger. ‘I’m not having you go around with a wedding ring in this condition, Fisher. I have my pride. We need to swap this one out until we can get real ones.’
The idea came to me as I was rummaging through my underwear drawer for the last of the three-for-$12 pack of rings. It wasn’t a sudden realisation; nothing sharp, nothing piercing. It settled over me gently, like one of Jonah’s cardigans wrapped around my shoulders, and it left in its wake not the ecstatic joy of eucatastrophe, but something more akin to satisfaction, contentment. It was a different, gentler, more everyday form of joy, but it was nonetheless deeply profound.
I put a pin in that thought, deciding to interrogate it later. That sounded like a concept I needed to theorise.
‘So, about that money we have saved up,’ I said, tossing the last of the wedding rings up into the air and catching it again as I came back into the living room, ‘I have a thought.’
‘House deposit?’ There was something slightly nervous in Jonah’s expression.
We’d talked a little about starting to save up for a house of our own.I love this apartment, but it really is so small, I’d said to him a while ago. He’d agreed, and replied,especially if we decide we want to…
And then we’d both blushed and looked at each other for a long moment, the memory of his dad making that crack about him knocking me up hanging awkwardly over us.
‘Before we start seriously saving for a house deposit,’ I replied.
We weren’t ready for the rest of that particular conversation yet. It was awhen, not anif, and I was pretty much positive we were on the same page, but we were still so new, in so many ways, and that could wait.
