“Alexander,” I say, taking a deep breath, “I understand why you did what you did. And over these weeks, as I’ve had time to think about it, I can’t tease apart what portion of my reaction was a feeling of betrayal versus what fraction was shock and sadness over the truth about my dad. It’s been a lot to absorb over a short time—first that my dad was murdered and now that he may have inadvertently set that in motion for himself by making a deal with Malentus in the first place. I still haven’t processed it all.”
Alexander nods and meets my eyes, silent. I see worry in his expression and that makes me press forward. “But the point is,” I say, “I love you. And I want to be with you. Always. And that hasn’t changed. I was angry but I choose to get over it and trust you so that we can move forward, together. I know you’re sincere and I know you won’t keep the truth from me again. I feel like I can see your heart, and feel it, and I know that’s true. I only hope I haven’t damaged what we have by some of the things I said and by making you wait so long.” My voice cracks on the last few words and I look up and meet his eyes with hopeful worry.
“Declan,” he says, taking my hands, “you could never damage what we have.” The look of compassion and love in his eyes goes straight to my heart. “And I would wait for you forever.”
My eyes get misty as he searches my expression. “I’m sorry about how I handled things,” he continues. “I’m still working out how to be a guardian to someone I have such intense, protective feelings for, and I made a mistake.”
I nod.
“Does this mean you still want to marry me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I smile. “More than ever.”
His answering smile warms me like the sun. “I love you,” he says as he pulls me into his arms and kisses me softly. I sigh at the familiar feeling—oh how I missed this. “I forgot how good you taste,” he groans as he kisses me again, tenderly.
“It’s my lip gloss,” I murmur back with a laugh, “it’s flavored.”
He smiles. “No, it’s you,” he says, “all you.”
I wrap my arms around him, basking in the feel of his body against mine. “Make love to me,” I whisper and he smiles and kisses me again, harder this time. “I’ve been holding this in for weeks,” he groans, deep in his throat, as he trails his mouth along my jaw and down along my neck. I smile as I remember how good this feels, to be with Alexander and to be kissed by him, all over. Gradually he makes his way back to my mouth and kisses me again, softer this time. And as I revel in the taste of Alexander’s lips, which I denied myself for far too long, he deepens the kiss once more, reminding me how we were made for each other. I slip off his shirt, gliding my hands over the hard plane of his chest, and drink in the sight and scent of him. We take turns removing each other’s clothing, slowly, as we explore each other’s bodies anew and lie down. “You sure this won’t hurt the baby?” he murmurs into my ear as he kisses me and pulls me against him until my back is cradled against his front like nesting spoons. He caresses my breasts and kisses my neck and as his hands glide over me I turn my head to kiss his lips. “Yes,” I breathe, “the doctor said it’s fine.” I can feel his smile as he presses against me. And then, as we’ve done so many times before, we make love.
And just like the first time, the feeling is too intense and delicious and exquisitely sublime for words.
Chapter Nineteen
“I have an idea for the baby’s name,” I say as I lie in Alexander’s arms. I forgot how good his warm skin feels against mine as we cuddle in a languorous daze, indulging in our usual pillow talk.
Alexander reaches down and caresses my baby bump. “He says he likes Alexander Jr.”
I laugh. “That’s a possibility, but hear me out.”
“Did he just kick?” Alexander asks with amazement. His palm is still resting on my stomach.
I reach down to rest my own hand there and the baby kicks again. “He must feel your energy,” I say. “He’s showing you he likes it as much as I do.”
He moves his hand and the baby kicks once more and Alexander smiles. “There’s no miracle like the miracle of a baby,” he says with a level of awe in his voice I don’t hear him convey very often.
“That’s exactly the name I had.”
“What is?”
“Miracle,” I say. “And we call her Mira for short. Or Michael if it’s a boy, which sounds a little like miracle.”
I can see that he’s thinking for a moment. “I like it,” he says after a short delay. “I thought it might be hard to agree on names, but our baby literally will be a miracle: the miracle baby of a guardian and a sprite. It’s perfect.”
“You really like it?”
“Yes, I really do.”
I raise my head up to kiss him. “I love you.”
He smiles and takes a deep breath. “You have no idea how good it feels every time I hear you say that again. I almost forgot how this feels—between us. At the risk of sounding corny, whenever I hear that song, Powerful, it makes me think of how it feels, being with you.”
“The one with Ellie Goulding?”
He laughs. “Yes. It seems inadequate to compare it to a song, but the way we are together—it’s so good. And intense.”
I smile up at him. “It’s not corny. And I feel it, too. I missed this—being with you. Being in your arms. And feeling this way.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been a miserable wretch these past few weeks without you.”
I plant another kiss on his lips and his clouded expression turns to a smile. “Well then it’s good that that’s over,” I say, not wanting to dwell on it a moment longer. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What are we going to do as the baby gets older?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean how are we going to explain to our child that their father never ages? Not to mention my mom, and our friends, and every other mortal person in the world who doesn’t realize they’re walking amongst guardians all day long?”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“How do guardians usually deal with it? With being around mortals and never aging?”
“We don’t stay in one place for too long, so it’s not a problem.”
“But we can’t do that.”
“I know,” he says. “We’ll sort it out when the time comes. Don’t worry.”
“You say that, but what does it mean? How will we sort it out? Move away? Because I don’t want to leave everyone behind.”
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll find a way.”
“But what will you do? Dye your hair gray or wear a mask or something?” I ask with a laugh. “Will you get a degree in Hollywood makeup?”
He smiles. “Don’t worry, it’ll be sorted,” he repeats. “But first we need to focus on getting married and having our baby. I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
“This from the man who always has a plan?”
“I promise you, I’ll have a plan when the time comes.” He meets my eyes but I can see a shade of worry (or is it something else?) in them. “I won’t let anything get in the way of our life together.”
“For the record,” I say, “I’ve made peace with the idea that I’m going to get old and wrinkly and you’re going to stay looking like an Australian supermodel. I just don’t know how we’re going to explain it to the rest of the world, that’s all.”
He laughs. “We’ll find a way,” he says again and then he kisses me, for a long time, until I forget what we were even talking about.
Chapter Twenty
It’s only two weeks before the wedding, which is nearly eight months into my pregnancy, and yowza, my stomach has really popped. I’m sitting on Finn’s couch with my feet up on a large ottoman as I pet Zeno lying beside me. Willow, my cat, was resting on my lap earlier for about three hours while I was doing my homework before I came over here, and I think Zeno must smell Willow’s scent on me because he l
ooks especially content as he snoozes in and out, snoring softly. Willow and Zeno used to play a lot when they were younger but Zeno doesn’t go outside as much anymore and I’ve been keeping Willow inside as often as she’s willing, ever since Avestan caused that girl to hit Zeno with her car. I’ve often wondered about that girl … she seemed stricken and genuinely upset. But could she have been a dark guardian who did it on purpose? Or was she an unlucky pawn in Avestan’s evil games? The madness of trying to figure everyone out all the time and slot them into categories: good and bad; angel and mortal, can spin your head in circles if you don’t shut it down somehow. I try to make assumptions and move on, accepting the fact that I’ll never know for sure. Otherwise, I’ll drive myself crazy.
My last shift at Jack’s Burger Shack was yesterday and now, for the next four months, I’ll be enjoying the extra time on my hands. Of course, once the baby’s born I know all my time will be filled, but until then it feels oddly strange and freeing to only have to focus on school and not have a job to go to. I’ve also been volunteering every Tuesday at the homeless shelter, but I talked with Sarah, the director, and she encouraged me to take the same four months off from volunteering as well, to focus on the baby. She gave me a cute little baby onesie as a gift and when I opened the present and saw it I wondered, not for the first time, if Sarah could be a guardian. On the front it says “Mommy and Daddy’s Little Angel” in script lettering. Whether by design or coincidence, it made me smile.
On my last day at Jack’s, Jack took me aside and gave me an envelope. He joked that the secret recipe for a Hula Burger was inside it but when I opened the flap and saw what it was, I burst into tears. He paid me, in one lump sum, my average weekly salary for all the weeks I’ll be taking time off. He called it a combination baby and wedding present from him and Al. He said Jack’s Burger Shack was doing well, partly due to my friendly face behind the register, and I deserved it. He also instructed me to tell Liz that it was a reward for always remembering to wear my Jack’s Burger Shack t-shirt to work. I laughed and hugged him for longer than he probably wanted me to and I got his shoulder wet from my tears. I blamed it all on pregnancy hormones.
“Man, you’re big,” Finn says as he plops down on the couch next to me with Zeno between us.
“Thanks a lot, Finn.”
“I just mean you’re slim here,” he says, gesturing up and down with his hands to my upper half, “and you’re still tiny here,” he says, now gesturing the same way to my lower half, “but here,” he says, making the gesture of a rounded sphere around my belly, “you’re very large.”
I laugh. “It’s called a baby.”
“I realize that. It’s just that you look normal, except for this giant bump.”
I shake my head. “I am normal. And I still get around like normal. I have this thing called a belly band that I wear when I go running now—although I don’t really run, it’s more like walking fast at this point. Anyway, it supports the uterus.”
“I don’t want to hear about any feminine products,” Finn says.
“It’s not a feminine product,” I say, “it’s a workout thingie for pregnant women. Jesus, I can’t even think of the right words anymore. All my brain cell power is going to the baby.”
“That doesn’t seem wise from an evolutionary standpoint.”
“It’s not like I have control over it, Finn,” I say with exasperation. “And I’m exaggerating anyway. How could I be speaking to you right now if all my brain cells were gone?”
“You said it, not me,” he says with a shrug. “I’m not supposed to argue with you after the seven month marker.”
His comment snaps me out of my mild crankiness. “What? Why?”
“That’s what the book recommends.”
“What book?”
“The pregnancy book.”
“You read a pregnancy book?”
“The top five pregnancy books, according to sales and average review ratings.”
“Are you kidding? Why?”
“I wanted to make sure I knew what to do if something happened while we were together.”
“You mean like if I went into labor?”
“That’s one scenario.”
“But wouldn’t you just take me to the hospital?”
“Cars can break down or there could be traffic. A surprising percentage of babies are born on the way to the hospital.”
“So you were reading up on how to deliver my baby for me on the side of the road?” I ask, incredulous.
“Among other things.”
“Is that one of the scenarios on your list of things to worry about that you have alphabetized in your brain?”
“It is now,” he says with a furrow in his brow.
I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Finn,” I say, “thank you … for caring about me that much. But I can assure you that I’ll make it to the hospital in time. Please don’t add that to your worries.”
“Statistically, especially with a first pregnancy, it’s unlikely. I’m not worried.”
“Okay,” I say with a smile, “you’re not worried.”
“The scenarios to be more worried about are pre-term labor, preeclampsia, placenta previa, pla—”
“Stop,” I say, holding up my hand. “Please. I know all the things to be worried about. I read the books, too. I don’t want to hear about it though. It’s like bad juju.”
“That’s not a thing.”
I smile. “I thought you weren’t supposed to argue with me.”
“I forgot.”
“Have you thought any more about taking the driving test?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I took it.”
“What?” My mouth is hanging open. “When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I realize, in my gobsmacked state, that he probably didn’t tell me for a reason. “Did you pass?” I ask tentatively.
“Yes.”
“What? You did? So you have your license? Oh my God! Congratulations, Finn, this is a big deal! How did you do on the test? Was it hard?”
“The DMV test administrator said I was her first perfect score,” he answers with a proud smile.
“Oh my God, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs. “It never came up.”
I shake my head in astonishment. “What do you mean it never came up?! Finn, we need to celebrate. What made you change your mind about finally taking the test?”
“I wanted to be able to drive you to the hospital if you went into labor.”
His words hit me with unexpected emotion and when I meet his eyes, tears pool in mine. “You did it for me?”
He looks down and pets Zeno cuddled between us on the couch. “When I saw that girl hit Zeno with her car, I froze. Zeno ran out in front of her and she didn’t have time to react. It wasn’t her fault. I decided I didn’t want to ever be behind the wheel of a 4,000 pound vehicle that could hurt an animal, or a person, without warning like that. But now that I’ve had more time to think about it and review the statistics again, I realize that I can be safe and minimize the risks. I don’t want to be helpless if you or someone else needs me. And, ultimately, the same reasons that motivated me to ask you to teach me to drive in the first place still exist. I want to have the option to drive myself places I need to go.”
He glances up at me and I nod.
“That being said,” he continues, “I still mostly ride my bike. It’s good exercise and much safer statistically. Bike fatalities are typically less than two percent of motor vehicle fatalities each year. Of course bike trips make up just one percent of trips in the U.S., so it’s hard to parse the numbers unless you know how many miles all the cyclists are covering or take into account what time of day it is and how experienced the cyclists are, but, by most calculations, it’s still statistically safer. And I’m very experienced so the risk goes down even further for me …”
I reach over and touch his forearm so he’ll look up at me again. His earnes
t, touching sincerity combined with practicality squeezes my heart. I stand up and walk over to give him a giant bear hug. “I’m glad you did it,” I say.
“Thanks for teaching me,” he says, hugging me back, “so patiently. Like Mrs. Denuzio.”
I laugh. If Mrs. Denuzio can somehow see us right now from wherever she is, I hope she knows I paid it forward, using her as a model. I pull back and sit down beside Finn and I reach over and squeeze his hand. “You know, you don’t have to worry about me and this baby, Finn. I want you to know that. Please don’t add me to your list of worries. There are a lot of other people around to help, too. I trust you with my life, but please know it’s not all on you.”
He nods. “I know.”
“You’re going to be the greatest uncle,” I say and I mean it—kids adore Finn. He gets down to their level and plays with them and he understands and appreciates their curiosity about everything. He joined me once at the park when I was babysitting, and Charlie still talks about it to this day. The last time I babysat he asked me when Finn was coming to play again.
I look up and meet Finn’s eyes. “That’s all you need to focus on, just being a super fun uncle … and my friend, like always. Truly.”
“I don’t need to focus on being your friend. We just always have been.”
I smile. He’s right. From the moment we met in pre-K all those years ago and I sensed his goodness, I hoped he’d be my friend. It always feels good to be with Finn, surrounded by his steadfastness and pure honesty. “Do you want to go out to lunch and celebrate getting your license?” I ask. “My treat. Does Liz know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t remember telling her.”
I shake my head. He has the entire California vehicle code memorized but he doesn’t remember if he told his girlfriend he can drive. “We’re calling her,” I say, “and she’s meeting us out. Where do you want to go?”
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