Page 40 of Carver
“Yes,” I say, caressing his hair, laughing.
“I didn’t know that I loved them until you introduced me, but you sitting across from me so boldly and fearlessly, with your radiance, so regal and beautiful that was like getting hit straight between the eyes with one of those.”
“Or reading a really good book for the first time. Something that just blows your mind and you know you’ll think about it forever.”
He mock sighs. “Books are more profound than ice cream, I do agree.” It’s so good to see some of his dry wit returning. He leans further back on the bed, releasing me to take my hand. He kisses one palm and folds my hand up tight. “I’m going to pretend to get into this bed gracefully. I’d be more than honored if you’d join me.”
“Should I keep your t-shirt on?” I mean for it to be playful, but it comes out so much deeper, just like his response.
“Yeah. I like seeing you in it.” His eyes are a starry night sky after weeks of clouds.
He takes the side next to the wall so he can sleep on his left and still face me.
It’s amazing how you can want someone so badly, and how quickly that carnal desire can be replaced with something nearly transcendent.
I tuck myself in against him, so tight that my back is pressed all along the length of his chest. His arm slants over me waist. I don’t wriggle until my ass is touching his groin. It’s crazy how you can want someone in so many different ways all at once. I want him inside of me. I want him to turn me over and fuck an indent of me into this mattress, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve even thought that word before. I want his skin pressed against my own. I want to fall asleep that way and greet the start of each new day with nothing between us. I want him branded inside of me and all over my skin like tattoos. I want his leashed power, his brutal energy, his transcendence, and his base violence. I want to be the only language he speaks, a private dance in a world entirely of our making.
But there’s time.
After over a decade of knowing him, I can say that.
For the first time, I get to fall asleep with him and wake up with him. I get to have breakfast with him and Ellie, and spend an entire day, just the three of us.
I can wait to give him my body, because this intimacy is so much more important.
Dom tucks his nose into the crook of my neck, brushing my hair away with his chin to make space for himself. His arm bands around my hips. We’re not on either side of the bed. We’re right in the middle. I’m so wired that there’s no way I’m going to sleep, but his voice is already deep and heavy.
“You’re not the love of my life, Bronte. You’re the love of myexistence. Since the dawn of whenever we’re created, wherever we originate, until wherever it is we go.”
I’ve always known that my chest was barely big enough to contain my heart and all its swellings, but the boundaries are definitely getting tested tonight, especially after Dom’s breathing evens and I know that he’s sleeping.
For all my extensive vocabulary, I can’t find words that match what it is that I feel right now, but if I had to pick one, I’d go with honor.
I’m honored to be in this man’s life, to be a part of him, to have his child, to share in his growth and dreams, to watch him change. I’m honored to be loyal to him, to have faith in him- even when he can’t. I’m honored to be the one he holds, to listen to his breaths, to count the beats of his heart echoed against my ribcage. I’m honored to decide. I’m honored the universe picked us for each other.
Chapter 11
Carver
Iwake up disoriented for half a second before my brain registers bright sunlight, a good quality mattress that doesn’t sag, feather pillows, a soft duvet, smooth sheets, and the uproarious giggles of my daughter as she closes her tiny fist around my big toe.
“Sorry, did we wake you up?”
Bronte first thing in the morning is a vision. I’ve seen her in every way a person can be seen, but her most private moments where she’s a little tousled and not so put together are always my favorite.
Her shit-eating grin tells me that this is my not so early morning wakeup call.
Bronte’s still in my t-shirt, but she’s added some pajama bottoms. She hasn’t done more than finger comb her hair, and the side she’s slept on has more volume at the roots from being pushed up against the pillow all night. A deep inhale brings the warm scent of chai tea with it, and I don’t have to look far to spot the mug on the nightstand.
Bronte pulled back the blankets and exposed my feet, and Elowen is utterly fascinated by the shape of my toes. She likes closing her hand around each one and yanking, but even still, it just tickles.
I wriggle them, which gives her pause. She turns into a little statue before her eyes shoot to my face. They’re hazel likeBronte’s, but the way she does it is a gesture I recognize in myself, and now I’m a statue too. We both stare at each other until I wriggle my toes again and Ellie’s face creases with a huge grin. She claps her hands and does that extreme baby rocking thing that they do where they’re in danger of flinging themselves totally one way or the other in their pure happiness. She grasps my big toe with both hands before I can tug it away, but it’s not like I’m really trying.
I love how something this simple could make someone so delighted, and when I watch Bronte watching Ellie, my chest squeezes in around the edges.
“Curl your legs up.”
I do, and Bronte repositions Ellie in the middle of the bed. She crawls up alongside her, but surges forward. Her lips meet mine in a graze that’s little more than a flutter, but I still taste the cinnamon and vanilla cream of her. This is our first kiss like this. It’s amazing that after knowing each other for so long, we can still have firsts at all.
