It was beautiful.
We even went to church for a Sunday Mass. We sat on the pew, holding hands, and listening to the priest talk about a topic close to our heart: forgiveness. I was angry at God, too. But I realized you get mad at the higher power when you don’t believe in yourself and the people around you. I had found faith again and on that day, I chose to let my anger at God go.
Besides, He gave me the strength to choose my path. That’s the biggest miracle to ask for: strength. So I can be my own miracle.
Now, it’s time to tell the man I love, the man I trust with my heart and soul, that I want to be his forever. In this life and the next, and the one after that. In all my lives, I want to be Abel’s Pixie.
I want us to be Abel and Evie again.
I walk to the dresser in one corner and open the first drawer. I bought something for Abel. Months ago, I wrote this piece about society and how it influences us. My boss at the bookstore where I used to work before things got really difficult with my pregnancy, Betty, read it and told me she had a friend who worked for a magazine. She insisted that I let her friend read it, and after some revisions, they printed my article in this month’s issue.
Isn’t that great? I’m a writer now. The money I made out of it isn’t too much but it was enough to buy this: a camera.
And today, I’m going to give this camera to Abel.
The baby kicks in approval. We still don’t know if it’s a girl — we’re choosing to be surprised — but I have faith that it is a girl.
I hear the jangle of keys and I know Abel’s home. He dusts snow off his black coat and looks at me. A smile overcomes his face. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He shuts the door, toes off his boots because he knows I hate it when he brings wet, snowy shoes any further into the apartment. “How was your day? Did you eat?”
“A little.”
“Threw up?”
“A little.”
“Damn it. I think I’m gonna try something else tonight.” He takes off his black-leather gloves and coat, and throws them on the kitchen counter. He sticks his head in the fridge, but is still talking, “So I talked to Frankie, you know the guy from work? Believe it or not, his wife is pregnant again. For the fifth time. Anyway, he told me about this soup he makes for her. She loves it and she can keep it down. Which is basically, what we want right now. So, I am gonna try that.”
Frankie is a nice guy, who loves to cook and Abel has been learning from him. Who knew my husband would learn to love cooking? It’s not as surprising, though. He loves doing things with his hands.
Putting the camera back in the drawer, I walk toward him. “Abel?”
From inside the fridge, he asks, “Yeah?”
I reach the kitchen counter and admire his butt. My husband has grown even more muscular in the past few months. It’s all the construction work, I think. He’s bigger, broader, tanner, even. I don’t know how I managed to stay away from him for so long. How I went without kissing him, touching him. Well, mostly, I’ve been sick because of the pregnancy, and we were taking things slow, but still.
“What would you feel if I told you that I wanna live here with you, forever?” I say it fast, like I want to get the words out but I also, don’t want him to really hear them.
I’m feeling vulnerable, all of a sudden. I mean, we’re married, and I know things have been undecided between us. But my mandatory bed rest has been over for a while, and I still haven’t moved out and he hasn’t asked me to, either.
Slowly, he comes out of the fridge and faces me. His golden hair is slightly wet from the snow, sticking to his forehead and his black shirt is faded and hole-ridden. His silver cross is moving with his heaving chest. With the way his body is shuddering, he’s either breathing all the air around him or he isn’t getting the oxygen he needs.
“Abel?”
He gulps. “You aren’t kidding.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to. I’ve been wanting to for some time now.”
He gulps again and his eyes go wide. God, how is it possible for any man to be this strong and this vulnerable, at the same time.
“I...” He shakes his head, placing his palms on top of the counter, like he needs support to keep standing. “Does it mean… that I can tell you, now?”
“Tell me what?”
“How much I love you.”
Biting my lip, I nod. “Yes.”