Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I wanted her to have proof of my commitment, even if we couldn’t get to a wedding before she had a baby.
But what we did need was a damn house. One of them. No more bopping between our two places.
“Send me the information. I’ll see if I can get Barb on it.”
“Already sent,” he said just as my phone dinged.
“Thanks, man.”
“Hey, is it good timing for a specific reason?” he asked.
“Well, I’ve got a ring in my pocket,” I said, since I wasn’t going to tell anyone about the possible pregnancy yet. News like that spread like wildfire through my family. I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up until we knew for sure.
“Good for you, man. Really fucking happy for you.”
“Thanks, Leo.”
I walked down the street, my gaze scanning the crowd outside The Met until I found her. She was sitting on the steps, looking a little grayer than usual, her one hand resting on her stomach, the other reaching for one of the ginger candies I’d brought her that morning.
She thought we were at the museum to get some content for her blog.
I had other things in mind.
Which was why I nodded at the photographer I’d hired for the moment before making my way toward Blair.
“Any better?” I asked, offering her my hand to pull her to her feet.
“Eh,” she said, taking a deep breath. “The candies help but don’t take it completely away.”
My hand slid to her lower back, leading her up the steps and into the building.
We walked around for a while, me snapping pictures, all the while slowly leading her toward where the photographer was discreetly waiting.
I’d spent days roaming The Met myself, trying to find the right piece of art that would be a good backdrop for this very moment.
While Blair’s favorite romantic works weren’t on display in New York, I went with one I felt she would approve of.
It was The Storm by Pierre-Auguste Cot.
It had a couple clinging to each other as they ran through a storm. I felt it was poetic, in a way. The storm represented what we’d been through, but the closeness of their bodies and the way they held up fabric to shield themselves showed resilience and determination to weather anything that came at them.
Blair shot me a quizzical look as we moved in front of the painting.
“I’ve always loved this one,” she said, her smile going soft.
When she turned back, I was already on my knees to a chorus of a few gasps from other visitors.
“Blair,” I started, watching her eyes go soft and watery. “I’ve loved you in every version of your life—in your passion, your grief, your healing, in your renaissance. And I want to keep loving you through whatever comes next. Will you marry me?”
The photographer moved around, snapping hundreds of pictures from all angles as Blair nodded her head and offered her hand.
Tears were still swimming as I got to my feet.
“It’s perfect,” she said, looking at the pear-shaped diamond. “I love it. And you,” she added as the first tear slid down her cheek.
I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers to the sound of applause all around us.
Afterward, I pressed my forehead to hers.
“Also, I think I may have just found us a house.”
Blair - 1 year
It wasn’t a stomach bug.
Honestly, I’d known that since the first morning I woke up too sick to move.
Because it wasn’t just the nausea. It was the tenderness, the exhaustion, and the fact that when Nico cooked eggs, it smelled so foul to me that I had to go outside and gulp in breaths of non-eggy air.
I’d just been so scared to get my hopes up after so many attempts and no results in the past.
Even though I knew that it was different, that he was different, that we both desperately wanted a family, I didn’t know if my heart could take it if I got both our hopes up only to get my cycle in a week or two.
But when the week passed with no signs of my period, I bought half a dozen tests and took them over the course of a few days.
When every one of them came up positive, I finally brought the stick out to Nico and shared the happy news.
Did we do things in the order I once said I wanted? No. But Nico had been right about that. The timing didn’t matter. All that mattered was what made us happy.
We were over the moon about a baby.
And we had a giant family who refused to let me lift a finger when it came to packing up our current homes and moving to the townhouse Leo had found for us.
“I’m coming,” I called, voice sing-song, as I drifted from the primary bedroom and into the nursery. There was no need for the light. The sun streamed through every window in this home. “I know,” I cooed as our son shrieked, his tiny face twisted up in rage that I was two minutes late to feed him after rushing through a quick shower. “How dare I try to wash all that throw-up off me?”