He kisses my jaw, nibbles my ear. “To be with you. Tonight, something cracked open in me. Something I’ve been suppressing, stuffing. This helpless anger at the world. At how shitty so many things are, how unjust. Usually it drives me into the booth, but this time was different. I haven’t been able to write at all.”
He squeezes me, rubs my belly again. “Until tonight. I woke up and my brain was flooded with ideas and words.”
I turn my head to look at him. “So what you’re saying is I have a magic pussy.”
We both laugh at that, and he tickles me, making me squirm in his arms. And then we both go still, feeling the movement beneath my t-shirt at the same time. Like little synchronized swimmers, one baby moves on my left and the other on the right.
“What the—” Grip’s wide eyes meet mine. “Both of them are moving in there. That’s . . .that’s fantastic, Bris.”
“It is.” I sniff, tears rising in and burning my throat. “It really is. I wanted you to feel that so badly. I feel them do that all the time, but I wanted . . . I’m so glad . . .”
I falter, emotionally drained by nothing I can name. I’ll blame hormones for the tear that slides down my cheek.
“What you wrote,” I say haltingly, toying with the string on his sleep pants. “What you wrote about drinking from love and—”
“From your love,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “What about it?”
“I’m not good with words like you, or a poet. Not a writer or anything, but . . .” I reach up to touch the little flecks of gray in his stubble. “I’m so glad we met when we were young. That we get to grow old together. That I’ll have a life with you.”
“Neruda called it a splendid happiness,” Grip says softly. “Said it required a burning patience.”
My laugh cracks in the quiet intimacy of the bedroom. “You definitely had that with me.”
“We were both patient, but this life, our marriage, those kids.” He rubs my belly. “These kids, all worth the wait.”
“And no matter what comes, we’ll face it together.” I brush the back of my hand over his soft lips and rugged jaw, caressing the few silver threads. I kiss him and whisper against his mouth, “And we’ll be splendidly happy.”
* * *