“…then we did arts and crafts and they gave us boxes with paper in the bottom and there were all these marbles in different colors of paint and we rolled the marbles around in the box and did paintings!”

“I bet that was fun,” I say, pushing open the door to our apartment and the little boy streaks past me, a blur in blue and white, his backpack bouncing on his tiny shoulders.

“I made one for you and one for Daddy,” he says walking around the living room and then peering past the couch into the kitchen. “Is Daddy going to be here for snack time?”

I check my watch, biting my lip. Justin rarely misses a snack time when he’s home but I’m always weary to commit him to things when I’m not sure what his schedule is. I love having him home, love sharing our bed, tucking our son in at night together, dinner, movies, trips to the playground all together. It’s the family portrait that I’d always pictured myself in when I was growing up. But unfortunately because of Justin’s job it’s not the norm and his presence while always wanted and savored throws off the comfortable routine that I’ve set for our son and I.

“Ben, come on take your coat off,” I say edging around the question as I toe my own sneakers off at the front door. He zips back over, shrugging his small pack off and letting it fall to the ground with a thud. Before I can even reach for his coat he’s sitting and tugging at his shoes.

“Is Daddy going to be here for snack time?” he asks again, tugging so hard on his foot I fear he may rip it off right along with the shoe.

“It’s easier if you untie the laces,” I say, reaching for his shoulders. “Come on lets get your coat off. Aren’t you hot?”

“Yeah,” he concedes, letting go of his foot and it thumps to the ground, raising his arms over his head as I tug his coat off awkwardly and he’s right back to pulling at his shoes.

“Here,” I say sighing, bending down and he sits back, pushing his light brown hair off his forehead as I reach to untie the laces on his sneakers. “Couldn’t get these offa you last week,” I mutter to myself, tugging a little and they come off after some persuasion.

He wiggles his socked toes sighing and I frown glancing down into the shoe. “Do these hurt your feet baby?” I question, checking the size.

“They squeeze my toes,” he states simply pulling himself to his feet and bounding into the kitchen and my brow furrows further looking at the sneakers in my hands, the tread barely even worn on the bottom.

“Daddy just bought you these not three weeks ago, Ben,” I say, standing and looking at them sadly, tracing the small flying Jordan emblem and muttering “spent a bloody fortune on them too no doubt.”

“Daddy has some too,” Ben says and I hear the scraping of wood against the kitchen tile as he pulls out a chair for himself.

“I know,” I say, setting them on the floor and grabbing his backpack on my way to the kitchen. “You ready for your snack?” I ask ruffling his curls as I pass him.

He nods settling in his chair and putting his elbows on the table. I watch him for a moment, taking in the roundness of his cheeks, the wild curl of his hair. It’s getting long, the curls wanting to be less waves and more spirals. Justin has been bugging me to let him shave it for weeks but I just don’t want to. He’s my little boy and ever since he was a baby he’s had these little wavy curls And I know that Ben will only want to do it if his Daddy does it too. He’s in that phase. Justin gets a pair of Air Jordans, Ben wants a pair just like them. Justin starts wearing polos and button downs instead of t-shirts, Ben does too. Daddy wants Ben to shave his head, well Ben’s going to ask if Daddy is gonna do it with him, and knowing Justin’s proclivity to give in to Ben’s more innocent demands I haven’t let him do it. I love Justin’s curls almost as much as I love our son’s.

“Are your paintings in here?” I ask setting his backpack on the edge of the table and looking inside, pulling out his folder.

On the right side are two thick sheets of cardstock paper, streaks of color rolling in wild spirals around the page and I smile. He must have had so much fun making this. But the smile fades as I glance at the left pocket, brow furrowing as I read his daily report.

“Benjamin Paul you got into a fight!” I exclaim, my eyes settling on him and he looks at me wide eyed and that’s when I notice the safety pin holding the ripped collar of his polo in place. “What on earth…”

I trail my eyes falling back on the report in my hands, skimming it quickly. Scuffle with older boys…cause unclear…three demerits…. no outside play for the rest of the week. I sigh, rubbing my forehead as I set the paper down on the table, wondering what’s the best way to handle this. In his entire five years of existence Ben has never been violent, rowdy often, sometimes making a loud fuss when he didn’t get his way but never violent. He isn’t even that prone to tantrums and so rarely have I seen him angry. I look at him perplexed finding his head bowed, looking at his fingers in his lap.

“Son what happened?” I ask, confusion painted across my face and he doesn’t look up, heaving a little sigh and I wait for him to answer me.

But he doesn’t and frankly I’m at a loss. I reach over to finger the ripped collar of his shirt and he shrugs his shoulder up to his ear, shying away from my touch and the gesture pains me. He’s my son; he shouldn’t feel like he should pull away from me. I look around helplessly, taking in the scene of our small cluttered kitchen, wooden cabinets painted white, colorful drawings taped in the inlays, counters cluttered with appliances and cookbooks, toys and knick knacks. The fridge with its pictures and drawings held on by homemade magnets and bright multicolored alphabet letters scattered all over the bottom half, words like CAT and THE running at a slant close to the bottom where Ben had spelled them absently. I sigh, running a hand over my face, wishing Justin was here.

“Fine we’ll talk about it when your father gets home,” I say and Ben’s head snaps up his eyes sad and a little fearful.

“Do we have to?” he asks and I nod, watching him hang his head in defeat.

My heart aches. “Hey…” I say, reaching out to touch his arm, forcing cheeriness into my voice. “It’s snack time. What do you want?”

“Can I have Oreos today?” he asks, his blue eyes large and imploring and that’s another thing he and Justin have in common, the ability to render me gooey with one look.

“Yes,” I say with a sigh turning to pilfer through the cabinet, reaching high for the package of cookies. I shake it frowning at the hollow sound it makes. “Daddy has been in the Oreos.” I hear Ben giggle behind me and the sound causes a smile to pull at my lips. “A conspiracy perhaps?” I question peeking at him over my shoulder and raising an eyebrow.

He looks confused. “Con…con…”

“Conspiracy,” I repeat slower, setting the package on the counter. “It means you two were in it together.”

Just then the front door opens and I look up across the living room to find Justin nudging the door closed behind him, shrugging his coat off his broad shoulders. He smiles at me as he hangs it on the rack, grinning wider as Ben turns in his chair and gasps, crying out to him happily as he worms his way off his chair and runs to him. This time I don’t chastise him for it, my heart warming as I watch Justin bend down and receive the child in open arms, holding him tightly against his chest, face pressing to Ben’s small shoulder.

“Hey buddy how was school?” he asks rubbing his large hand up and down Ben’s back and Ben pulls back looking his father in the face.

“It was okay. We read some books and played outside,” he gasps and Justin’s eyes widen in the way they do when he watches Ben’s eyes widen. “And we played tag! And I won and then we had snack time,” Ben swallows pulling in a large breath so he can continue. “And it was ants on a log which was gross because I don’t like celery but I licked off the peanut butter and ate the raisins. Then it was play time and Julie cried because Mason knocked over her Lego castle but I helped her rebuild it.”

“That’s awesome, I’m so proud of you,” Justin says, moving to stand and grins at me across the room like he always does when Ben does something he’s proud of, the quiet acknowledgement. Good job, Mom. I smile back. You too, Dad.

“Yeah and then we went outside again-”

“What happened to your shirt?” Justin asks, reaching down to nudge Ben back a little so he can take a good look at him, fingers flipping the collar of his shirt.

“He got into a fight,” I say softly and Ben’s chatter ceases, looking up at me wounded, his eyes accusatory. Tattle-tale they say.

Justin’s brows crease, looking down at our son sternly but shock is still evident on his face. He places a large hand on Ben’s shoulder, leaning to examine the rip in his collar and Ben looks up at his father with wide blue eyes, knowing he’s in trouble and shifting his socked feet on the carpet.

“What about?” Justin asks cautiously, looking from our son to me and I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest and our eyes meet, speaking silently. What do we do? we each ask the other and both stare back clueless. “Benjamin,” Justin says softly and Ben shrugs his hand off walking back into the kitchen and working his way back into the chair, his head bowed.

Justin follows, his eyes holding mine and his hand falls on our son’s shoulder again, touching him softly, a comforting but firm gesture and his eyes tell me I got this. He sits in the chair next to Ben, watching him quietly for a moment and Ben picks at the placemat, his tiny fingernails making little scratching sounds.

“Here’s his report,” I say softly, nudging the paper closer to his elbow and Justin picks it up, reading through it quickly.

“What’s with the demerits?” he asks after a moment and I roll my eyes.

“It’s the fancy prep school way they doll out punishment,” I say with a sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder as I read the report again with him.

“Right,” Justin says heaving a sigh of his own and rubbing a large hand over his face. “Did I miss snack time?” he asks setting the paper aside and his voice is light but there’s tension in it, his eyes falling on our son.

“Nope got here just in time,” I say, my own voice hollow and I wonder how he’s going to handle this. But I trust him. If he says he’s got this then he does. “Oreos and milk.”

“Aw milk?” Ben whines and I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” I say firmly and his mouth puckers in that same way Justin does when I tell him he can’t eat cookies in our bed. Speaking of… “Hey,” I smack Justin’s shoulder lightly and he jumps looking at me over his shoulder. I shake the Oreo package at him and he grins sheepishly.

“Busted,” he says quietly reaching a hand out to nudge at Ben’s on the table, trying to build some camaraderie between them before he attempts to question him again   and Ben giggles, nudging back.

“You better have made him brush his teeth afterwards,” I scold lightly trying to hide my smile and Justin sighs.

“Yes dear,” he replies with a little condescension and I tug his earlobe playfully as I set a plate of three cookies in front of him and one in front of Ben.  Justin rubs at his ear, shifting in his chair.

“So what was the fight about?” Justin asks casually picking up one of his Oreos and working one of the chocolate cookies off.

Ben shrugs again, watching his father’s hands and attempting to do the same with his cookie but it breaks in his small clumsy fingers. He frowns and I turn away, reaching to open the fridge, pulling out the milk.

“Were those older kids picking on you?” I ask as I set a glass of milk in front of Justin and then one in front of Ben.

“Why would they pick on him?” Justin asks, looking up at me, his eyes questioning and I widen mine back at him.

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, glancing at Ben who’s picked up his glass and is sniffing at the top. He makes a face and I purse my lips.

“Have they picked on him before?” Justin asks looking up at me, his eyes narrowing slightly, accusatory.

“No!” I say, my brows creasing in concern that he would think I’d keep something like that from him. “I would have told you.”

I look over at Ben and he’s sitting back in his chair, eyeing his glass of milk moodily and I sigh, leaning on one leg and nudging Justin’s arm. He glances up at me and I look at Ben before giving a meaningful look at Justin’s glass of milk and he rolls his eyes, picking up his glass and taking a drink.

“What’s a bastard?”

A gasp tears from my throat, one hand closing around my neck as if it would mask the sound and the other clutches Justin’s shoulder hard, my nails digging into the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Justin nearly sprays his milk all over the table, coughing and sputtering as he attempts to swallow, both of us shocked to hear something like that come out of our child’s mouth. Ben’s eyes are wide, our reaction enough to let him know that he’s just said something he shouldn’t have and he looks from his father to myself in perplexed apology.

“Where…where did you hear that?” I ask, somehow managing to find my voice and Justin is still coughing.

“They called me that,” Ben says quietly and my chest feels like it’s going to cave in, my throat closing as tears sting at my eyes. “Today at school.”

“Is that why you got in the fight?” Justin asks finally rallying his voice and Ben shakes his head, looking down at his lap. “Then what-”

“They pulled me off my swing,” he says and I close my eyes, fighting the image of a group of wild seven year olds ripping my baby from his swing, causing him to fall to the ground hard. “I got up and they called me that and they pushed me down again.”

Justin’s fists have balled on the table, his shoulders tense, blue eyes hard as steel and I know it’s taking every ounce of willpower to control his temper right now. He’s breathing quickly through his nose, his jaw clenched and I squeeze his shoulder comforting him and seeking comfort in return.

“I got up and pushed Jackson back and he grabbed my shirt and it ripped,” he concludes with a little sigh wringing his small hands under the table and his voice warbles slightly as he continues. “I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know it was bad to say,” he says suddenly looking up at us with wide sorrowful eyes.

“It’s…it’s okay,” Justin says softly, putting his hand on Ben’s shoulder and he relaxes a little. “Just don’t say it anymore okay?”

“What does it mean?” Ben asks, looking quizzically at his father and Justin looks back at me and we both share the same look. What do we say?

“Well…” Justin trails, placing a hand on the kitchen table, looking down at it and thinking. “It means… that…” he pauses and sighs. “that your parents aren’t married.”

Ben blinks. “So?”

Justin and I both laugh, the tension draining just slightly. “Exactly buddy,” Justin says with a wistful smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why aren’t you married?” Ben asks suddenly, tilting his head to the side and regarding the both of us as if we were a particularly interesting puzzle he’d just discovered.

Our eyes widen looking at each other before looking away quickly. Justin sputters helplessly and I laugh softly shaking my head. Why aren’t we married? Good question, son I’ve been asking myself that one for a long time.

“Your Daddy’s never asked me,” I say, my voice playful as I lean down to peck Justin’s cheek and his skin is hot beneath my lips, his face red.

“Why not?” Ben asks, looking right at his father and Justin stutters some more, fingers picking at his cookies.

“Well…um…I dunno,” Justin says with a shrug looking over at me and I raise an eyebrow. Don’t you ask for help from me on this one mister. “It just hasn’t come up.”

I snort and Justin’s eyes snap to me, narrowing slightly. “What it hasn’t,” he insists and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“You guys could get married,” Ben says matter-of-factly, nodding his head and Justin looks at him slightly horrified which I would find funny if it didn’t sting a little.

“Yeah we could, buddy,” I say with a sigh and Justin clears his throat.

“Son, why don’t you go back to your room and let your mother and I talk about this?” he says, his voice low as he gestures loosely between himself and I. Ben’s eyes widen, recognizing the tone that Justin only uses when he’s in trouble.

“But…but… I didn’t mean it!” Ben exclaims, his blue eyes going wide and my heart trembles slightly.

Justin’s face softens with his voice. “I know you didn’t,” he says placing a hand on Ben’s small shoulder. “Go on back to your room and find something to play and I’ll be back there in a sec.”

Ben looks from his father to me with uncertainty, his lips puckered, eyes large and begging not to be punished. I turn away lest my resolve crack, wiping at the counter absently. I hear the skid of wooden legs on the tile as Justin pushes back from the table, coaxing Ben out of his chair and setting him on the ground. I turn my head, watching through the veil of my hair as Ben trudges uncertainly through the living room, throwing one last longing glance at us before he rounds the corner and disappears down the hall to his room.

Justin waits a beat before saying, “Fuck, how do we handle this one?”

I chuckle shaking my head as I turn to face him. “I think the school’s done enough. We sit him down and tell him fighting isn’t something we do,” I shrug. “And that’s that.”

“You wanna get married?” he asks, eyeing me skeptically and I look at him blinking a few times, fighting the anger and hurt because I know that will get us nowhere in this conversation.

“After six years of being together that’s how you ask me?” I say and I had meant it with humor but it came out more bitter than I intended.

His face softens and he looks uncomfortable, a mix between wishing he’d said something different or wishing he’d said nothing at all.

“Well they’re beatin the kid up,” Justin exclaims, his eyes looking back out into the living room where he’d last seen Ben before he’d disappeared around the corner.

“They just ripped his shirt,” I reply quietly and I know I’m being a hypocrite but it won’t do for both of us to be fighting mad and it’s his turn now.

“My mom bought him that shirt, ” Justin growls, his eyebrows raising and his neck is red with suppressed rage. “Those little bastards.”

I cringe, reaching for the plates on the table. “And we wonder where they get it,” I say and he glares at me but has the decency to look chastised.

“Well I don’t want him getting teased and beat up just because we’re not married,” he says putting his hands on his hips, his eyes traveling to the living room again. “I mean that’s an easy fix.”

Again his words sting and prick at me and I let the dishes clang in the sink, seeing him jump out of the corner of my eye at the sound.

“Right. Easy fix,” I say softly giving a slight shake of my head at how utterly dense he is sometimes and wondering how after all this time, despite how well he knows me he can still not get it.

I reach for Ben’s glass of milk, barely a sip taken from it and sigh, rubbing my forehead. That child will drink this glass of milk if I have to pour it down his unwilling throat. I shake my head, taking a deep breath and turning to place it in the fridge and am bombarded with every reason I put up with Justin’s sporadic emotional carelessness. Drawings scratched onto white paper, three figures standing on a line of green under a scribble of sky, the tallest and shortest of which have chaotic brown swirls for hair and blue dots for eyes. The other standing between the two with a purple triangle at the waist to represent a dress, has yellow streaks stemming from the lopsided circle of a head, the black lines of her hands crossing over the black lines of the other two’s hands, connecting them. Next to his drawings are pictures, his first visit to the zoo, sitting high atop Justin’s broad shoulders both of them beaming with laughter. Another, the night he was born, Justin’s arms wrapped tightly around the bundle of blue blanket, Ben’s small red face pinched, one hand reaching blindly out of his blanket and Justin’s face, exhausted and a little wet under the eyes but smiling so wide you’d think he’d just swept the Grammys. Another, a self portrait of Justin and I before Ben was even thought of, both of us grinning fools, not quite in love yet but getting there.

“Hey…”

Justin’s voice is soft, breaking my thoughts and I look over, finding him staring at me with a lost kind of expression and I sigh again, jerking the fridge open and setting the glass inside.

“What’d I say?” he asks and he’s right next to me, the backs of his fingers running cautiously down my arm and I shake my head, shrugging his touch away.

I’m not going to have this conversation with him. If he wants to marry me he can ask but I’m not going to do it unless he wants to, really wants to. For us, not just because of Ben. I had figured that after Ben was born if he hadn’t asked then he wasn’t going to and I’d been okay with that. But to have him dangle it in front of me, teasing me with something I’ve wanted since I was a child – the idea of a husband, a marriage, that pretty little picture all little girls dream of – but doing it in such a way that I know it isn’t right…it just down right hurts.

“Leah,” he says softly, in that imploring way that loosens my lips every time.

“Don’t do this to me Justin,” I beg shaking my head and slipping around him, moving in front of the sink to rinse off the dishes.

He sighs letting his head hang back. “What am I doing now?” he asks, slightly exasperated, a pout on his full lips as he nudges at an orange plastic J on the front of the fridge.

“You can’t just ask me to marry you,” I say a hand flinging in the air, sending water droplets splashing onto the counter. I bend over to slip the plate into the dishwasher. “Not because you think you have to.”

“I don’t think I have to,” Justin replies petulantly, plucking off letters and gathering them in his hands before reapplying them to form words. “I just figured we could.”

“Oh you did, did you?” I ask the hurt finally reaching too deep as I turn to look at him and he glances at me, his brows drawing at the wounded look that is no doubt on my face. “You just ‘figured we could.’” I look down as the tears prick at my eyes, biting my bottom lip hard. “Never mind that it’s a huge life changing event. Forget that it’s a lifelong commitment.” A sob works its way from my throat and I say the one thing I’ve been keeping from him for years, the effect punctuated by the blubbering mess that has become my voice. “And never fucking mind that I’ve only been waiting for you to ask me since Ben was born.” Justin looks at me bewildered his mouth popping open in shock and I shove another plate in the dishwasher. “You just ‘figured’ now would be a good time.”

The tears are flowing freely now, the hurt ripping jagged tears in my chest because I’d barely even admitted to myself how badly I’ve wanted this. Bitterness and sadness mingle with the hurt because he’s all I’ve ever wanted. He’s a good father, a good man and he loves me fiercely, with all he’s got and the fact that it still might not be enough to want to spend the rest of his life with me is devastating. Justin is staring at me wide eyed, looking around helplessly like he always does when he somehow stumbles onto a subject that makes me cry. I scoff, wiping angrily at my face wishing I could have just held back the tears and knowing that in a minute I’m also going to be wishing I held back the words as well.

“It’s nice to know that all it took was some dumb ass kid knocking our son down on the playground to make you realize that marriage might be something you’d want for us. Not the fact that you love me or want to spend the rest of your life with me,” I sniffle and watch his brow crease further, his own eyes showing hurt and even though I’m pissed at him the fact that I’ve wounded him somehow hurts me too. “So lets just go,” I say, fingers wiping away a few stray tears. “we can go to the courthouse now and sign the papers. It’s not like it fucking matters anyway.”

“Leah…”

“Daddy!” Ben’s voice echoes from down the hall and I turn towards the sink quickly, sniffling and wiping at my face, taking a deep breath to pull myself together. “Come build Legos with me!”

“In a minute, buddy-”

“Go,” I say softly so Ben won’t hear the broken sound of my voice.

“Leah-”

“Go!” I say a little more forcefully this time and from the corner of my eye I watch him purse his lips, listening to him sigh as he turns, his feet scuffing unwillingly against the linoleum.

“What are we building buddy?” I hear him ask and the thumpthumpthump of Ben’s socked feet pounding the hardwood as he jumps up and down with excitement.

“In’er’ational Space Station!” he exclaims and Justin’s laugh pulls unwillingly from his throat but it’s genuine and I hang my head as I listen to their footsteps disappear down the hall.

I run a hand over my face, still sniffling softly, the pain still lodged in the middle of my chest. I hate when we fight and I hate it even more when it’s an argument about something that I’m not sure can be solved. My eyes fall on the fridge, the words he’d made stacked atop each other at chest level.

Ben

Justin

Leah

I smile despite myself finding it oddly appropriate. Ben first because…well…he is first. He’s the satellite our lives revolve around and he’s at that top of every list no matter what the topic. Then Justin next, Justin first, Justin before me. I purse my lips, hand wiping at the letters, jumbling them until they’re just a mess of consonants and vowels, then, as an afterthought that I would later insist was the real reason for scrambling them, I move them down to the bottom half of the fridge so they would be within Ben’s reach.

Later that night while I lay in bed listening to the dull hum of Justin’s voice through the walls as he sings Ben to sleep I wonder if maybe I had overreacted. Justin, although wonderfully romantic and thoughtful, is still particularly dense a lot of the time when it comes to things involving us. I shouldn’t hold it against him but I can’t help it. No matter how dense he is he should know that after being together for nearly six years that I would expect to get married at some point. And part of me can’t help feeling a little hurt that he doesn’t expect the same thing. If he doesn’t think that we’ll be together forever than what the hell are we doing? And the thought that this is all for naught scares the hell out of me because as dense as he is, as clumsy with my feelings as he can be at times, I can’t fathom being without him. I don’t even want to try.

I’m curled on my side when Justin pads his way into the room, his socked feet making virtually no sound on the carpet. I feel the bed dip behind me and close my eyes, hoping he’ll accept that I’m asleep but his hand on my shoulder lets me know he wont.

“Leah…”

“I’m tired Justin,” I say softly, not opening my eyes and burrow farther under the covers. I hear him sigh, his fingers squeezing my bicep lightly.

“I don’t want us to go to bed angry,” he says gently, the wounded lilt in his voice driving itself right into my chest and I grit my teeth. He knows just how to get me.

“I’m not angry,” I say and his hand rubs lightly up and down my arm. I sigh. “I’m not Justin. I guess I’m disappointed.”

It’s his turn to sigh and I feel him shift behind me, settling on his hip as he lies down behind me, his elbow depressing the pillow as he props his head on his hand, his other still rubbing up and down my arm. He doesn’t say anything and I know he’s waiting for me to turn over, to look at him so we can talk about this but I don’t want to. I can’t look up into those soulful blue eyes and tell him that it’s okay, I forgive him. Because I don’t and it’s not. And I’m not going to let him try to charm me into it.

“Leah,” he says, his voice deep and I feel a tremor thrill down my spine despite myself. “You know I love you…” My shoulder twitches when I feel his lips press to the bare skin exposed by my camisole. “I didn’t mean to upset you… I would never want to do that. I love you.”

His arm snakes around my waist pulling me snugly back against his chest and I hate that he knows just how to get me to melt, how his nose nuzzled against the back of my head lets his breath fan against my neck in a way that makes goosebumps break out over my skin. The hand on my bicep tugs and I find myself turning towards him unwillingly, staring down at his chest because I can’t look at him right now. Looking at him will be my undoing and he knows it, his finger hooking under my chin and tilting my face towards his, his blue eyes imploring and apologetic. His lips brush mine, coaxing me into a kiss that I tell myself won’t last, just a quick good night peck, letting him know that we’re okay so he’ll drop this for tonight but his hand slides to my hip tugging me closer as he tongue slides in against mine.

Before I can really decipher what’s going on he has my clothes off and he’s on top of me, pushing inside and I swear no matter how hard I try it’s impossible to stay mad at him. He’s slow and gentle, keeping his mouth over mine and kissing me slow and deep every time I start to moan, stifling the sound down to a muffled whimpers. This is the best apology he knows how to give and I accept willingly three times before he lets himself go, curling himself into me in that way that lets me know how vulnerable he is, how even though he’s inside me, he’s let me into himself just as deeply. And when it’s over and we lay spent together, limbs tangled in each other and dozing I find that I’m not all that angry anymore, not really, because he does love me. We have a son and a life together and while he screws up, sometimes a lot, he’s always desperate to make it right in the end.

And I don’t need a piece of paper from city hall to tell me that.

***

The next morning I wake up slightly disoriented, my eyes peeking open to find late morning sunlight dappling through the curtains. The bed is empty except for me, the mattress behind me cold and I blink slowly, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on. My eyes fall on my alarm clock, staring dumbly at the large red letters that say nine-fifteen and that can’t be right. I know I set my alarm for seven. Why the hell didn’t it go off?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, stumbling around and letting my fingers skim the floor, gathering the clothing that Justin had tossed willy nilly the night before. I rip my panties up my legs, tugging Justin’s t-shirt over my head as I try my best to wake myself up.

“Ben!” I holler, feet thumping on the hardwood as I careen out of our bedroom, my shoulder bumping the doorframe hard. “Ben, we’re late for school!”

I skid to a stop in front of our son’s room, his door open and his bed is empty, covers pulled up in an attempt to look tidy. My brow furrows farther in confusion, hurrying down the hall and I find Justin sitting at the kitchen table his back to me, facing the sink. He cranes his neck, looking at me over his shoulder and smiles, giving me a quick once over before turning back to his bowl of cereal.

“Mornin’ sugar,” he drawls and I hurry into the kitchen, standing next to him at the head of the table.

“Where’s Ben?” I ask, my voice croaking from lack of use and he smiles, taking another bite of his cereal.

“School,” he states simply, chewing slowly.

I look around confused, my brain still fuzzy with sleep. “You took him? Why didn’t you wake me up?” I question, running a hand over my face tiredly.

“You were sleeping so good when your alarm went off,” he says with a shrug and I sigh, falling into the chair next to him. “I figured I’d let you rest.”

“You got him off to school okay?” I question, rubbing at my eyes and I hear Justin chuckle.

“Yeah, got both shoes on his feet and everything,” he deadpans and I glare at him playfully. “Relax,” he says looking at me, his eyes dancing playfully. “get yourself a glass of milk or something.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah, glass of milk, sure,” I say with a sigh, letting my head fall back, stretching my arms high over my head, feeling the soreness in my muscles from the night before.

“Okay maybe I just want one,” he teases and I roll my eyes, letting my hands fall back to the table.

“Are your legs broken or something?” I tease and he pouts at me before grinning slightly.

“Yeah last night took a lot outta me,” he replies playfully and I feel my face flush, listening to him chuckle. “Come on, please?”

I growl, pulling myself from the chair and swinging open the cupboard door, snatching a glass out before letting the door bang back noisily. I let my feet stomp a little as I make my way over to the fridge, clanking the glass down on the counter just to be obnoxious while reaching for the handle.

But my breath hitches in my throat, knees turning to jelly when I see it right there in front of me. At eye level in bright rainbow letters are the words “MARRY ME,” the  letters traveling downward at a slight slant. I blink a few times, my heartbeat ratcheting up to where I can hear nothing else, adrenaline making my vision pulse and it’s then that I notice the ring dangling from a stray piece of yarn that’s stuck to the fridge with one of those magnetic rocks Ben got at the science center. I can’t speak, my fingers shaking as I reach up to touch it, the diamond cold against my fingers and I pull back, startled that its actually real, hanging there and the words stand out starkly against the white of the fridge. “MARRY ME.”

“J-J-Just-”

“Will you?” he asks softly and his voice is directly behind me, startling me so that I whirl around to face him.

He looks terrified, uncertainty making is features look pained, his blue eyes nervous but imploring. My voice is gone, lost somewhere in the back of my throat and I can’t summon it, my jaw moving ineffectually. Justin dips his head, trying to look into my eyes and I can see he’s scared shitless, his hands trembling just slightly as they wrap around my biceps.

“Leah,” he says softly, his voice jumping slightly like it does when he’s really excited or nervous and his teeth cut into his bottom lip, chewing brutally. “Babe…”

“I don’t…” I manage to choke out and the alarmed look on his face deepens, his eyes bulging and I feel his fingers tighten, his knees trembling. “I mean… I want to,” I blurt, gripping his elbows incase his legs give out and the panic in his eyes lessens, a shaky sigh rattling past his lips.

“Then say ‘yes’ don’t fuckin scare me like that,” he replies hoarsely, bringing a hand up to his chest and rubbing slightly, swallowing hard.

“Justin,” I say, a laugh pulling from my throat as I reach to touch his face. “It’s…” I glance back at the ring dangling from the fridge, “MARRY ME” written in a rainbow of color. “It’s wonderful…” My voice trails at tears prick at my eyes because really it’s so incredibly sweet; a perfect proposal.

And I want to say yes to it. I want to throw my arms around him and hold him close, drag him down and make love to him on the kitchen floor but I can’t. Because somewhere inside me I know he’s only doing this because of what happened yesterday. I bite my lip, holding his face in my hands.

“Justin,” I say soberly. “This is all very sweet-”

“I wanna marry you Leah,” he says gravely, his fingers wrapping around my wrists, his eyes holding mine and it’s my turn for my knees to weaken.

He’s staring at me evenly, his eyes speaking so much more than his mouth ever could. I love you. There will never be anyone else but you. You’re the mother of my child. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Please God don’t hurt me.

“I would never hurt you,” I find myself saying, my thumbs rubbing across his cheekbones and he sighs.

“I know you think that this is just for Ben,” he says, his tongue snaking out to wet his dry lips, his blue eyes large and pleading. “and yeah to a certain extent it is, but I would never do that to you, Leah.” His brows draw as if it pains him to think that I might feel that he would. “ I know yesterday I said some dumb shit but that’s just me babe. I’m a fuckin’ moron.”

I laugh at this and he does too, grinning at me like he did the first day I met him and just like that day I’m dazzled by it, speechless and dazed. He sighs, regarding me easily, staring at me in that way that makes me feel like he’s memorizing my face so he can hold it in his memory forever. Like that memory will sustain him no matter what he faces. And just like that I know my answer.

“Yes,” I say and he looks at me confused for a moment before his face goes blank in shock, his eyes widening.

“Yes?” he questions, his voice thin again and I laugh, nodding.

“You’d think I’d say no?” I question but it melts into a squeal when he lifts my feet from the floor, whooping as he spins me in a tight circle.

I laugh, my head falling back as he lets my body slide down his, his face burying in my neck as he squeezes me tight against him, his whole body shaking. My arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers delving into the wild curl of his hair and I feel him exhale shakily against my skin before coming back up and his eyes are wet. I grin at him giddily, my thumb swiping under his eyes and his bottom lip protrudes.

“You’re the one that’s supposed to cry,” he grumbles, reaching up to wipe at his face with the back of his hand and I feel my face may break open from smiling so hard.

“I’m too happy to cry,” I respond and he snorts out a laugh, his body brushing mine as he reaches past me.

I turn to see what he’s after and the light glints off the ring as he pulls it from the fridge, his nimble fingers undoing the yarn around the band. My hand rests on his waist as the other goes to my throat because it’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen and it’s for me. In all my fantasies about how he would ask me, what the ring would look like I’d never fathomed it would be like this and that’s what makes it so perfect. This moment is like nothing I could have ever imagined because it’s too wonderful for my brain to even fully comprehend.

“It’s not very big,” he says quietly, pulling my hand from my throat and holding it in his, watching his thumbs smooth over my knuckles. “I didn’t think you’d want something too-”

“It’s perfect,” I breathe, all the air sucking from my lungs as I watch him slip it on my ring finger, nearly missing because we’re both trembling so hard and we just stare down at it, the diamond twinkling in the midmorning kitchen light.

“This is it,” he says quietly and I look up at him, his eyes still riveted on our hands. “You’re really gonna be stuck with me. For-forever.”

“Does it make you that nervous?” I question and his eyes snap to mine but his face softens when he finds only curiosity in mine.

“Compared to this,” he says, gesturing at my hand and at the fridge behind me. I glance over my shoulder and giggle at “MARRY ME” still there, bold and loud in yellows, oranges, reds, and greens. “No…no forever will be cake, compared to this morning.”

“Did you really think I’d say no?” I ask with a laugh and he grins at me.

“I dunno,” he says biting his lip. “I mean I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure you’d say yes but...” he sighs heavily, blowing the air out his puffed cheeks slow. “That’s some scary shit,” he says pointing at my ring and I giggle, moving my hand this way and that, watching it glitter. “Ben had to talk me down from the ceiling.”

My eyes widen. “Ben knows?” I ask and he nods.

“Well yeah,” Justin says, a slow grin pulling at his face. “Had to ask his permission of course.” He pulls me in slow, pressing our chests and bellies together as his nose nuzzles mine. “I’m marrying his mother.”

And when he kisses me my mind goes blank, my heart fluttering excitedly in my chest and there’s nothing more that I could want in this moment. Just his mouth on mine and the promise of forever.