I

 

brush my teeth twice and do a far longer skin care routine than I usually do in order to buy myself some extra time to calm down. The only thing that gets me out of the bathroom is the concerning thought that the longer I spend in here post-shower, the higher the chance that Bo thinks I’m

avoiding sharing a bed with him.

Which I am, but not for the reasons he may think.

I knock on my bedroom door hesitantly, even after scurrying across the hall in nothing but a towel.

I hear a mumbled “uh-huh” from the other side of the door, and so I walk right in, summoning as much confidence as I can.

My bedroom is lit dimly by the lamp on the nightstand, casting the room in a soft, glowing hue. Bo is laid out on the bed next to the nightstand, resting above his pale grey comforter. One hand is holding his sudoku puzzle book and the other is in his hair, scratching above his ear. A pencil is between his teeth, causing his lips to form a straight, thin line. He’s wearing a dark purple T-shirt, black basketball shorts, and his glasses. Fuck me,

those glasses. I notice that his prosthesis is leaned up against the wall, next to my dresser and the mess-heap of clothes I forgot to pick up this afternoon.

I hope he didn’t judge me too harshly for that.

“Sup,” he says, his voice exaggerated as he brings the pencil out of his mouth, jots something down, then places it back between his teeth. He’s yet to look up to greet me, and I smile to myself, seeing him in my room so comfortable. As if it’s completely natural for him to be here.

But I do enjoy what happens the moment he does look up to find me, probably wondering why I’m so quiet as I slink into the room. The pencil drops out of Bo’s mouth and clatters to the floor as he stares, slack-jawed, and his eyes practically double in size. Shaking himself, he shuts his lips tight, unable to keep his eyes still, switching between the towel wrapped around my body and the one on top of my head. “Do you need me to…?” He points to the door, vaguely looking over my shoulder, as if he’s in some sort of self-imposed dissociation.

“No, you’re good,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Just, uh, close your eyes for a second.” Once he does, I drop my towel and pull out the only remotely sexy pyjamas I own. It’s just a black slip dress, but it’s the closest thing to lingerie in a drawer otherwise occupied by ripped, baggy T- shirts and biker shorts.

It’s not that I think something might happen if I wear this “nightgown.” Without a conversation first, I highly doubt Bo’s going to suddenly make any sort of move on me after such clear boundaries have been established and upheld. And I’m certainly not going to. I’m already using all my courage just to share a room with him. It’s more of a little reminder…

Hey, I have a body. You like it, right?

When I turn back around, Bo’s eyes are clenched shut and he’s repeatedly stabbing his forehead with the rubber-eraser end of the pencil that he fetched off the ground.

He likes it, all right.

“All clear,” I say, pushing my lips together in order to not laugh at his tortured expression the second he opens his eyes and takes in the nightgown. The look across his face, before he corrects it, is the tiniest, most wonderful reminder of the desirability I felt all those months ago. All I can do is hope he wants my heart just as much as he seems to want my body.

Bo clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the book in his hand, tapping the corner of it with his pencil in a quick, unsteady rhythm.

I attempt to get into bed as delicately as I can, climbing over the shallow baseboard and up toward my pillow. I lie on my left side, facing Bo, propped up on the ridiculous number of pillows I now sleep on to avoid heartburn in the night.

Pulling my duvet over my bottom half, I stretch my neck to see his puzzle. “Four…” I point to an empty spot. “Right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Bo says distractedly. “Thanks,” he adds, filling in the square.

When I move away, his eyes follow me, dropping down to admire the hollow space between my breasts. He bites his lip and shuffles up the mattress, sitting straighter against the headboard. “Will the light bother you?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse. “I can turn it off.”

“All good,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I’m almost done.”

It’s not until I catch myself yawning for the third time that I decide to look up from my phone. Bo’s sudoku book is closed on his lap, and he’s wearing a quiet, lazy smile as he looks down at my phone.

I’ve been looking at baby items online, compiling a list that Sarah’s insisted I needed to make for some sort of gift registry. I was dreading it, honestly, but I sort of got sucked into it the moment I realised how real it made it all feel. Looking at all the things our baby could be clothed, held, or wrapped in. It became more about August and less about me.

“Sorry. I disappeared into my own world. Are you ready for bed?” I ask. “Those are cute,” Bo says, pointing to the little pair of crocheted shoes. I

was debating whether I could make them myself before remembering the blanket I have to keep up with.

“Olive green or sage? I can’t decide.” “Olive, I think.”

I add them to the list. “I sent you a link so you can add stuff on here too.

You don’t have to but—”

“How do we stop ourselves from just buying all of this?” Bo asks, plucking my phone out of my hand. “Look at this bear! Gus needs this bear.” He taps add to wish list.

“Oh, wait! I have to show you what I found…” I say, taking the phone back and scrolling up the list before turning it back toward him.

“The ABCs of D&D,” Bo reads, his smile growing. “Did you add this already?”

“Obviously.”

He looks at me, his eyes twinkling even in the dimly lit room. “Thank you.”

I lock my phone and hold it out to him. “Could you plug that in for me?”

“Sure,” he says, doing just that.

I sit up, fix my pillows, and turn away from him to face the wall, curling myself around the body pillow pressed against it.

Maybe Bo’s body will just instinctively find mine in the middle of the night. One body seeking out warmth in another. Or I’ll get the courage to push my ass against his lap and call it an accident. We’re good at those.

Bo switches off the lamp, then lowers himself down the mattress, tucking himself under the blanket he brought with him. The room falls to a hushed, dull quiet. No crickets outside or nearby traffic. Only the sound of heads falling against feather-filled pillows and shifting blankets as we both settle into bed.

“Hey…” Bo whispers into the pitch-black room. “We didn’t ask a question today.”

I roll over, tucking a hand under my cheek. My eyes adjust to the dark enough to see that our faces are lined up. Bo’s scruffy hair and softened, sleepy expression look back at me. “No, I guess not,” I whisper back. “Do you have one?”

“I’ll think of something.” He shuffles a hand under his pillow, propping himself up slightly as he yawns. “It’s funny that we haven’t done this, right? Slept next to each other? We’re having a baby, and we live together, but I don’t even know if you snore.”

“I do not snore.” And I wouldn’t describe this situation as funny either.

“Or maybe you talk in your sleep,” he says.

“Do you?” I ask, looking between our bodies, the thin amount of space and bedding separating us.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” he taunts. “How are you feeling? About tomorrow?” he asks.

“The ultrasound?” I clarify. Bo nods. “Mostly excited but a little nervous that something could be wrong, as always. You?”

“Me too.” He lets out a deep, woeful breath. “I’m sure everything will be fine, though.”

Just then, a fluttering sensation happens in my abdomen. A bit like when my stomach signals that it’s hungry, but less of a rumbling and more like a weaker type of muscle spasm. It happens again when I place my hand down to feel. It’s not until the third time that I realise it’s not my body doing anything. “I think… I think maybe the baby kicked.”

“Wait, seriously?” Bo speaks as if he’s whispering but does so very

loudly.

I bite down on an embarrassingly large grin. “Yeah, I think so. But I’m not sure.” I roll onto my back, placing both hands on either side of my belly.

Do it again, I call through that channel I can’t name inside me that feels connected to the baby, like two cans on either end of a string. When it happens again, I gasp. “Yeah, they’re definitely kicking.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not at all. It’s like… bubbles popping under my skin.” I press my hand to another spot, following the sensation as it moves. “Do you want to feel?” I ask.

“Can I?” He immediately sits up, his blankets thrown away. I pluck his hand out of the air and bring it down to feel. Bo’s hand is warm and heavy against me. And achingly nice. His face appears cautious, as if he’s trying not to startle the baby by moving or speaking. An anticipatory, wide-eyed excitement across his features that has my heart wishing for it to happen again.

After a minute of waiting silently, I remove my hand from his, but he doesn’t follow.

“I think maybe they’re done for now. I’m sorry.”

“One more minute?” he asks, his voice awfully small. “Just in case…”

And his desperation does something to my heart. A tiny twist, like wringing out a wet cloth. I love him so much it’s truly painful. As if every time I resist telling him how I feel when the truth boils up so close to the surface, a tiny piece of myself withers and dies.

“Of course,” I say softly.

A few moments later, August decides to give the performance of their life

—kicking far harder than before, right under Bo’s palm.

And I decide to order the stuffed bear first thing tomorrow.

“Was—was that it?” he asks, looking between me and his hand. “That was it,” I say brightly.

“Holy shit… Hi! Hey there!” he yells to my stomach. I shush him, giggling. “Sorry, sorry.” He falls back, laughing as he swipes both hands through his hair. “That was insane. I can’t believe that.”

“There’s a whole person in there,” I say.

“I kind of forget how wild this all is. What your body is doing. What you

are doing. It’s amazing…”

“You know what I found out the other day?” I ask, turning back onto my side to face him as he does the same. “If the baby has ovaries, that means I’m carrying all of their future kids too. I’d be like a Russian nesting doll of people right now.”

“I never even thought of that,” Bo says, in awe. “We’ve created a whole new line of people, potentially. A family tree. We could have descendants.”

I laugh, tucking my hands between pillows. “See what you’d be missing if you were out there on the couch? Baby kicks, fun facts…”

“I do,” Bo answers, his voice far more earnest than my little jest was. “I don’t take it for granted, Win. I feel very honoured to get to do this with you.”

“What, sleep in my bed?” I tease, feeling awfully shy.

I can hear his eyes roll. “No,” he says. “Being here with you. Not having to miss out on this stuff. You didn’t have to tell me about the baby at all, let alone uproot your life to move in here. I’m grateful you did. I’ll always be grateful that you did.”

“I’m grateful I did too… and for you.”

“Your friendship means a lot to me, Win,” he breathes out. “You mean a lot to me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Now. Be brave. Tell him how you feel. “I—” “That’s the question I was going to ask tonight,” Bo interrupts. “Who in

this world matters the most to you?”

“You,” I answer simply, pleading with him to hear me. What I said and all that it means.

“You,” he repeats. “It’s you for me too. With a very close second,” he says, his eyes on my belly.

I want to be braver than I am. I want to ask what that means to him. What it means for us. Whether he feels this longing between us so deep inside him, so full and abundant, that he’s also started to believe that we have souls after all.

Simply because something inside me is entirely his. Something I know would follow me into the next life, or beyond that, even if I left this body behind.

But I don’t. Because my heart’s just taken off like it has wings at his small admission alone, and I’d rather not risk shooting it back down.

For tonight, knowing I matter most to him is enough. Well, almost

enough.

I shuffle closer, lining up my bent knee with his thigh, looking up at him with silent permission. Bo moves too, until our chests are touching through our blankets. I push my duvet down past my hips, and Bo lifts the corner of his blanket up like a wing, enveloping me in it with his arm behind my back.

The warmth of his body radiates through the cotton of his T-shirt and the silk of my nightgown. I nuzzle into him until my forehead rests on his pillow alongside him, our noses inches from touching. And I take a deep inhale, breathing in his scent—the cinnamon and musk mixed with the freshly cleaned scent of his T-shirt. I shamelessly do it again, breathing him in like another hit of something far better than oxygen.

His arm curls around my back, his elbow at my waist and his hand between my shoulder blades. The tips of his fingers burn into my skin with a delicate, callused touch, while his palm is mostly pressed against the silk between my shoulder blades.

“This okay?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

I mumble a sleepy, quiet agreement in place of the word perfect.

And so he holds me.

His thumb moves in slow circles, as if he’s in no hurry. As if he has zero expectations for more.

With no words needing to be said. With no promises yet to be made. And I let it be.

I let myself feel content. I let myself feel less lonely. I let myself feel safe. Because I am.

“I love you,” I whisper once I’m absolutely sure he’s asleep—his steady breathing loud and throaty.

And I feel lighter for it as I drift off to sleep.