I pushed the door open first, bracing myself for a rush toward my ankles. First came Norah, our sweet little calico. Always the first to greet, she trotted over and promptly laid on top of my feet, rolling back and forth in delight that her people were home. Only a few seconds later, in strolled Ella, long and lean and beautiful. She headed straight for Simon, as ever. She was a one-woman cat for sure. She tolerated me, but she adored Simon. Thumping down the stairs one at a time came Dinah, meowing and chirping at the top of her lungs, seeming to say “Hello hello, where have you been? Hello hello, why did you leave? Hello hello, why would anyone ever leave here?”
“Hi, sweet girls, how’ve you been? Did you miss us?” I cooed, scooping up both Norah and Dinah, while Ella languished in Simon’s arms like she was born to be placed there. And on the landing, just around the corner, sat Clive. Calmly licking his paws and staring at us all with bland disinterest.
When Clive ran away last year, we had been devastated. He was lost for weeks, and while we had kept up the search, over time I had to admit that the chances of him ever returning were growing slimmer by the day. Until one night when he surprised us both by just waltzing into the backyard and back into our lives. And he wasn’t traveling alone. No sir, my boy had been busy squiring half the town. He’d brought home not one girlfriend, but three. And as ridiculous at it seemed at the time, adopting three more cats into our household had proved to be a wonderful idea. Now Clive had his harem, and we had three more personalities to keep us entertained. And entertained we were, on the daily.
“Are you hungry? I can make you something,” I offered as we all headed into the kitchen. Clive in tow now as well, winding his way through my ankles in greeting.
“I don’t think so,” Simon replied, looking out the bay window, still holding Ella.
“Okay, I’m going to go run through the shower real quick then before bed.”
“Okay, babe,” he said, and before I went upstairs I went to him.
“Love you,” I whispered, planting a kiss on his neck.
“Love you,” he replied.
I left him standing by the window, thinking his thoughts, whatever they might be. In the time I’d been with Simon, I’d learned that sometimes he just went inside himself a little, needed a moment or two alone when something was particularly emotional. Like today had been. He’d talk when he was ready.
I dragged myself up the stairs, straightening a painting as I went. Living in Northern California, we might not feel every earthquake tremor, but I was constantly straightening frames. As I walked into our bedroom, I sighed as I always did at the sight of it. Soft area rugs laid over gorgeous deep-toned wood floors, puddles of linen hanging from the rods over the windows that looked out over the bay and, in the distance, San Francisco. I kicked off my shoes, stripped off my clothes, and headed into the bathroom, where I flipped on the steam shower and let the glass begin to cloud. I yawned as I dragged a brush through my hair, trying to get most of the snarls out before getting it wet. I might have to take a personal day today, stay in bed. I was beat. I could hear Simon walking up the stairs, and I called out to him.
“I’m getting in, babe, if you want to join me. You know, for conservation’s sake only. No ulterior motive at all.” I laughed silently to myself as I heard his steps quicken, and I slipped in before he got to the bathroom. I stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting the warm water sweep down over my tired muscles. I heard him enter the room, heard the sound of his shoes kicking off, heard the sound of his belt buckle jingling, heard the slide of denim moving down down down and then hitting the floor. I heard the shower door creak open on the other side of the steam and I smiled underneath the spray, raising my hands to my hair and arching backward in a very specific way. I was tired, sure. But I was never too tired for his hands and his mouth and his everything else he had to offer. So I arched. And waited. And arched some more. And still, waited. I peeked out from underneath the water, and he stood there. His eyes poured over my skin, his mouth set . . . and tense.
“Babe?” I asked, leaning forward to wrap my hands around the back of his neck, just as his hands slipped around my waist, fingers digging into my skin. “You okay?”
Water poured down over both of us, wetting his skin, sliding against mine as the steam created a little puffy cloud of our very own. The shower disappeared, the world disappeared, and in the middle of that world it was just me and my Simon. His lips parted, one stream of water trickling down, wetting his lips and making them irresistible to mine. But before I could bring my mouth to his, he spoke.
“Marry me.”
A statement. Not a question. It came again.
“Marry. Me.” His eyes burned into mine.