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“There’s no better.” She snuggles against me, and I hold her tight.
“I’ll make sure you never regret it,” I whisper near her ear.
“Regret what?”
“Being with me. Every year will be better.”
She laughs softly. “That’s not what I need. I only need tonight to be good.”
For a long time, I’m the big spoon, but as we drift off, it’s Elise who’s got her arms and legs wrapped around me. Her hand is playing gently in my hair. We’ve got Rose right by us, in a little baby bed thing. Even I have to admit: it feels cozy as fuck. It feels good.
“I love you so much,” I whisper. My voice is hoarse with sleep.
“I love you more, Dr. Galante.”
That makes me smile. One day, both of us might have professor desks. All the better to bend her over. That’s the last thing that I think before I drift off. I wake to the sight of Elise and Rose gently listing back and forth in the rocking chair beside the bed. The sun is up. The room is bright.
“Is it…?” I look around.
Elise grins.
“It’s morning? I slept through my feeding.”
“You slept through the night.”
“Did I?”
She nods. “You didn’t even stir.”
“Well, shit.”
She looks gleeful. That’s a goal I’ve had; I’ve still been talking to my therapist, trying to fix my sleep cycle—among other things.
Elise and Rose climb into the bed with me. When rosa starts to fall asleep, with little Rose wiggling on the mattress beside her, I scoop up our bundle and leave the room with her.
“Come with Daddy. Let’s let your mom sleep.”
I change Rose’s diaper and feed her outside in the porch swing we hung behind the house. We’re still out there when Elise comes out an hour later. She sits beside us, leans her head against my shoulder, and, when I can tell she can’t keep her hands off the baby for a second longer, she takes Rose and kisses her head.
“This is perfect.” She yawns.
She shifts the baby into the crook of one arm and wraps her other arm around my waist. I drape mine around her shoulders.
“I think so, too.”
“You do?” It’s a murmur.
I kiss her hair. “More than perfect. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
“Me either.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you more, my husband.”
“I still love you more than lemon cake.”
She laughs. “I love you more than homemade pizza and sleep.”
The baby makes a little coo sound right then, as if she’s trying to chime in, too. The beach breeze ruffles Rose’s hair, and tosses Elise’s. The sun slants through the porch swing’s chains, tossing small circles of light over the three of us. The minutes pass—too quickly, I think, as Elise and I talk, but still slowly enough to be savored.
Finally, the baby cries, and we move inside, exchanging little smiles as I start dinner. A little while later, we take everything out onto the beach, where we eat picnic-style atop a big quilt. Rose squirms on her back, waving tiny fists at the sky. Elise says the lemon cake is my best yet. And maybe it is.
