Taylor’s surprised laughter is the best sound in the world.
I sprawl on the sofa and drag her onto my lap, and together we choose a pregnancy test for her to take. It’s in the biggest box, says it gives early results, and promises no question about the result with a digital display that can’t be mistaken.
She goes to put her clothes back on, but they’re ruined, so I fetch her one of my shirts. Hopelessly oversized, it falls past her thighs, and I roll up the sleeves and button it for her.
Taking care of my girl.
She emerges from the bathroom with the little plastic stick in her hands and apprehension in her eyes.
I can barely breathe for how much I want this.
I said it didn’t matter, and sure, it’s true that we’ll have children together one way or another, but now this has been dangled as a possibility, I long for her to be pregnant with a fierceness that’s in every drop of my blood.
“What does it say?” I manage to get out.
“I haven’t looked.” Her voice is breathy.
Taking her wrists in my hands, I draw her to the bedroom. My bed, that’s a thin wall away from hers in her next-door apartment. Her proximity has kept me sane, but this is so muchbetter. The pillows are normal ones for sleeping on, so I pile them up on one side and then sit onto the bed, bringing Taylor with me, into the “V” of my legs, her back to my chest.
She clutches the precious little stick in her hands, not letting it go or turning it over to see.
I wrap my arms around her, and she relaxes into me. Breathing in the sweet apple scent in her hair and having her close calms me.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Whatever the result is, it’s okay. I’ll still love you. Nothing is going to change that.”
“Kon.” She snuggles closer and stretches to look up into my face. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Something very bad in a past life, I assume,” I reply dryly, and I’m rewarded with her laughter.
I hold her tighter.
“I was walking around like a zombie, neither alive nor dead, with a hole in my heart. And you fit perfectly in that gap, zhizn moya.”
“What does that mean?” she asks in a small voice.
“My life. You’re my whole life, Taylor.”
“You’re too good to me.” She shakes her head.
I squeeze her and grumble with disagreement. “You deserve love and affection and understanding and anything you want.”
“Books?” she asks teasingly.
“Yes.” I take that question seriously. “Anytime you need more book money, you just tell me.”
“Like, ‘Oy, I need more book money’.” There’s laughter in her voice.
I tuck a strand of hair that has fallen over her cheek behind her ear. “More like ‘where’s my book money, husband?’”
“I could never!” She sounds scandalised, and not acknowledging the husband part.
“No more book money for you unless you say it exactly like that.” I keep my tone light, not letting on how important this is to me.
“I already have more than I could spend in two lifetimes,” she replies softly, toying with the pregnancy test in her hands. We still haven’t looked at it.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” I don’t know how to deal with her anxiety, but I have all the time in the world. Infinite patience. Anything she needs.
I wait.
