30
Drew
I took her home, and when I went to help her out of the truck, Michelle laughed at me.
“You are not going to treat me like I’m made out of glass for the next eight months.”
“It was the first time, wasn’t it?” I said, wonder in my voice, “during the storm, when we were together in your basement.”
“There’s no way to know for sure, but according to my math, that was probably when it happened,” she said.
“It should be that day. We really listened to each other and I got to let you know how I feel and when you grabbed my arm after the loud clap of thunder, it felt so right. That I should hold you and protect you and that you should turn to me that way. We belong together, and we fit just right.”
She nodded, looking at me with the most beautiful, affectionate expression in her blue eyes. “My all-American girl,” I said, calling her by an old nickname.
“I hated that name. Not as bad as Valedictorian Barbie, but it was close. Like I was just an object. Blonde ponytail and white teeth and blue eyes.” She sighed.
“You’ve always been more than that. Anyone who couldn’t see it was too stupid to appreciate you. I mean, not many people would sit in a smelly, damp library on a plastic tarp going through books about collectible spoons. You’ve got to care about your community to try and save that. I would’ve thrown it in the trash and moved on.”
“No you wouldn’t. You don’t throw things away. I thought for a long time you threw me away, but I was wrong. You’d never do that. You just cut out your own heart to try and protect me,” she said.
I tucked her against my side, arm around her, and we walked up onto the porch and unlocked the door together.
“May I?” I said.
“May you what?” she asked, making a face.
“This,” I said.
I leaned down and slid one arm behind her knees and picked her up in my arms. I carried her inside the house and kicked the door shut.
“It felt like that kind of moment,” I said, half-serious. I wanted to carry her over the threshold, wanted to make it clear to her that my mission in life now was to take care of her and love her. “Plus, I don’t want you climbing the stairs. You just got out of the hospital.”
“Um, I’m pregnant. You can’t drop me.”
“You think I’m gonna drop you?” I asked. “You must think I’m weak.”
“I’ve thought a lot of things about you, Andrew Casey. I’ve thought you were mean and fickle and cruel. But I never once thought you were weak.”
“I’d say thanks but that seems like a really backhanded compliment.”
“You weren’t being cruel. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. And I cannot believe you’re insisting on carrying me up—”
I stopped on the landing of the antique staircase and kissed her softly on the lips. She responded instantly, her body softening in my arms, her lips nipping at mine. It was such a relief to hold her and kiss her. A well of tenderness in me seemed to rise when I looked at her, and I wanted to treat her with the greatest care. I would be so gentle with her, so patient, and keep her safe. I shut my eyes and kissed her forehead, said a silent prayer of thanks.
Then I opened my eyes and carried her to her bedroom. It was changed, but the canopy bed stood in the same spot as when we’d first lain there together as teenagers, never knowing what was ahead for us as we whispered in the dark, kissing and making promises to each other. I placed her on the bed carefully and stood before her.
“I can never tell you how sorry I am,” I began.
“It’s a surprise pregnancy. They happen all the time. It might be something in the water around here,” she joked.
“You know what I mean. I let you down. It’s only ever been you, and if you’ll have me, I’m yours. For the rest of my life, Chel.”
Michelle put her hands over her face for a moment. She made a sound, a sort of ragged squeak that alarmed me, “Are you okay?”
“I’m better than okay. You just made my whole life.”
“So you might be okay with moving in together? Being the woman I spend my life with and raise our baby together?”
“Yes!” she said, throwing her arms around me. “I’m very okay with that.”
I held her to me, arms wrapped around her and cradled her against me. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember.”
“I thought you wanted a Camaro for a long time,” she teased.
“Don’t even joke about that,” I said against her hair. She smelled lightly of coconut sunscreen and I breathed her in. “You’re what I’ve always wanted, and I’m never going to stop trying to deserve the second chance you’ve given me.”