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“I mean our son has an eternal body clock set for farm life, so how about we shh shh while we still have time?”
My chuckles naturally spur her snickers filling our luxury cabin bedroom with true warmth for the first time all night.
Goddesses have mercy, sometimes I forget just how much I need her laughter more than air.
It brings me life.
Shebrings me life.
“Our little magician in the making is actually still with his grandparents.”
The announcement receives a quirked brow.
“Claude and Cherie booked a private aquarium tour in Dalvegan for him and Mom and Rich today, so instead of all the shuffling between cabins they just volunteered to keep him. Take him to the bakery for breakfast and then head into the city.” I barely pause for her to retort. “I would’ve talked about it with you first, but you weren’t exactly answering my texts. And I would’ve mentioned it when I got in, but you were asleep. Hope you don’t mind.”
“As long as he doesn’t come home with like a pet shark or penguin, I’m good.”
More mirth floods my expression. “Yeah, I told Rich the same shit.”
“I like when we’re on the same canvas.” She does her best to smile. “I like it a lot more than when it feels like we’re competing for the last spot in a galleria.”
Her choice of art metaphors prompts my grin to grow wider.
More adoring.
“Same.” Rising to my feet is followed by me kindly offering, “How about I make you some ginger and dewberry leaf tea?” I slide my hands into the basketball shorts I had planned to paint all night in versus just the two hours I was gifted. “I remember you had to limit tea intake when you were pregnant with Lo, but that ginger tea was safeandhelped curve the nausea.” Two steps towards the bed are taken. “Dew B Farms has a special blend that includes dewberry leaves, and according to some locals – including Torrance’s grandmother – it’s been known to knock out all morning sickness symptoms.”
Hope doesn’t hesitate to hop into her bleary gaze. “I’ll tryanythingat this point to not puke my guts out.”
Sharp pains of sadness pump unforgivingly around my heart.
Hygeia knows how much I can’t bear to have my woman in agony.
Especially when I can’t do shit to stop it.
Forcing myself to nod occurs prior to quietly promising, “I’ll be right back, June Bug. Stay put.”
I exit the room with one mission in mind; however, by the time I actually reach the kitchen I’ve got two more. Getting her a hot cup of tea doesn’t take long yet hunting down the box of saltines I know we packed – because they’re one of Lo’s favorite while crafting snacks – and replacing David Hopperfield’s water transitions my time in the kitchen from brief to “What the fuck are you doing?” territory.
Thankfully, my wife never shouts out the latter due to her studying my sketch from the chair I was previously occupying. My tone is equally playful and soft, “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”
Her startled nature results in the pad flying out of her hand directly onto her foot. “Ou!”
“Baby…” I rush over, bits of the hot beverage splashing out of the mug, “you okay?” Placing the drink down on the tiny table precedes me picking up the book. “That looked bad.” After gently returning the object to her lap, I gingerly inspect the appendage, thumb lightly caressing her wiggling toes. “I don’t see any scratches.” Faint bits of sunlight pour through the large window behind her illuminating more of the area. “No signs of bruising either.” Giving the space one last loving stroke is done before meeting her gaze again. “But we’ll keep an eye on it, June Bug. You seemed much more susceptible to bruising when you were pregnant the first time.”
Faint redness reveals itself in her cheeks as she nods her understanding.
Rather than relocate to the seat beside her, I stay put.
Position myself on the ground.
Arrange her feet to rest in my lap.
My possession.
Somewhere that allows me to wordlessly express my love and devotion no matter what messes we have to clean up.
“Is this supposed to be Lo?” She cautiously asks.
