Her lips downturn. “Angels are pure. I’m more like a sex demon…ohmygod, I’m a succubus.” She cringes.
“Then you’re the most adorable goddamn succubus I’ve ever seen.” I fight not to climb on top of her.
Lily smiles and then crawls off the bed. She slowly searches for her clothes, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Her limbs are so awkward and thin. She looks breakable, but as our eyes meet, I see that resilience again.
I force my muscles to move. Out. Go out. I have to leave her for a bit. Just a bit. It’s not out of worry that I want to stay.
It’s just out of love.
*
Lily takes a quick shower while I descend the stairs to the living room, only in black track pants.
Maximoff sits on his yellow beanbag, entranced by Wolverine and the X-Men playing on the TV. Garrison is on the couch, wearing his bulky headphones. His laptop teeters on his leg while he eats a cold slice of pizza.
When he sees me pass the couch, he waves.
I nod back, happy to see that he’s taking it easy and isn’t already scrambling to be at work. He no longer looks like he could audition for Zombie #34 in The Walking Dead.
“Moffy. Pancakes.” I push open the door to the kitchen, but Moffy is glued to the television. “Maximoff Hale. You want to cook or watch superheroes defeat evil?” I can’t believe this is even a question.
“Superheroes,” he says in a daze.
Yeah, that’s definitely my kid.
I leave him be, and by the time I find the pancake batter and measuring cups, Lily enters the kitchen in gray leggings and black baggy shirt with the Superheroes & Scones logo. A giant bouquet of red roses dwarfs her small build.
I left them in the bathroom last night for her to find. I grab a vase and put it on the bar counter.
She sits on the stool, smiling this overwhelmed kind of smile. “You surprised me.”
She thought I forgot, which she has reason to. We used to forget what day of the week it was. “You think those are from me?” I quip. “My heart is black, love. I don’t do romance.” I spread my hands on the counter, leaning towards my wife.
Lily fits the roses in a vase and then procures the tiny white card from between the stems. “Only Loren Hale would write this.”
“What?”
She reads, “These are real.”
These are real.
I’m swept in the past, my intense, undeniable love for her all the same. In every time, in every place. “Guilty,” I breathe.
Her eyes flit to my lips.
Mine hone in on hers, but I force my feet back. I bend down to grab a mixing bowl. When I rise, Lily is off the stool and reading the directions on the back of the pancake mix.
She catches sight of the time on the oven clock. 8:04 a.m. “You can get ready for work, and I’ll make these for him.”
“I took today off.”
Frown-wrinkles crease her forehead. “You don’t need to do that, Lo.” She layers this cute sternness in her voice that doubles my attraction. I want to scoop her in my arms and kiss the fuck out of her. “I’m fine. I’m…okay. I won’t do anything—”
I put my finger to her lips. “Lily. It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ve been planning to take off work all week.”
She flushes. “Oh.”
I place my hand on my bare chest. “World’s Best Husband. I think Connor Cobalt would even agree with me on this.”
Lily sets the pancake box down. “He’d definitely fight you on that title.”
I feign hurt. “Connor would never fight me.”
She pauses in thought and then nods assuredly. “True, but he’d have words with you. He likes words.”
“I’m no genius, but I think ‘having words’ implies physical fighting.” I measure out some of the pancake mix and pour it into the bowl.
“Only in fantasy shows… or historical… mostly medieval…” she trails off, and I watch her smooth the wrinkles in her shirt and then stand a little straighter, shoulders pulled back. She’s adorable, even when she’s about to begin a “serious” conversation.
I rest against the counter, waiting for it.
She seems to nod to herself again as self-encouragement, and then her round green eyes meet my sharp amber ones. “I need to talk about something serious.”
There it is.
“Captain Marvel?” I ask. The new Marvel movie comes out soon, and we’ve both been looking forward to seeing it, especially Lil.
“No, I mean, yes, that’s serious. But no, that’s not what I need to tell you.” She takes a deeper breath, and I try to prepare for the news. Sex. I know this is about sex. “I think we should start limiting morning sex.”
I cross my arms, confused now. “We can just wake up earlier—”
“I don’t want to risk it. What if he walks in on us?”
“We can start locking the door—”
“Nonono. If he has a nightmare, I want him to be able to come get us. I don’t want my addiction to take anything away from him.”
“He can still come get us if the door is locked.”
Lily is stubborn about this. “I want to reach a place where I don’t need morning sex, Lo. I can do it.” It’d be easier if we could be spontaneous about sex, and occasionally, we can, but Lily feels better by boundaries and restrictions.
It doesn’t mean we’ll never have morning sex. It just means it won’t be part of our everyday norm.
“If you want to try, we can try.” I wouldn’t stop her from this challenge.
“I want to try.” Lily eyes my lips again, but they linger longer for a second and then drift to my cheekbones. She consciously tears her gaze away. Fantasizing and cravings—those come less frequent when she’s had morning sex, or so she’s told me.
It’ll be a hard test, but what isn’t?
“There’s something else…” Lily crosses her ankles and then uncrosses them.
“What’s that?” I abandon the pancake mix and edge closer, my hand sliding across her waist, but I don’t pull her to my body.
Her gaze completely drops to my dick.
“Lily Hale, are you staring at my cock?”
Her eyes widen like I’ve been caught. “Yes,” she admits, “yes, I was. You have a nice penis, even if it’s in your pants.”
“I know.”
She slugs my arm.
I rub the spot, which hardly hurts. “Have you been working out, love?”
“I’m trying to make a serious declaration here.”
“I thought it was about my nice penis.”
Her neck reddens, less from embarrassment and more from arousal. “It’s not…or it kind of is.” She raises her hands. “Take two steps back. I can’t think clearly when you’re this near me.”
I take two steps back like she asked. “Better?”
She nods more confidently.
I wave to her with two hands. “Lay it on me.”
With a big inhale she says, “I want us to try for another baby.” My lips part, and she speaks hastily before I can even process. “I know, in passing, we discussed the possibility of having another, but I’m talking about actually trying. Planning it and everything.”
I dazedly walk backwards, my hand catching the counter for support. I’m just confused. She’s right; we have talked about another kid, but like most things with us, we kind of put it off. We don’t plan. We’re not Rose and Connor. Things just happen to us.
We don’t make them happen.
That’s how we’ve lived our lives, and now that this fact is in clear focus, I only think, that’s fucking sad. That’s really sad that people have had to steer us our whole lives. That bad and good luck have dictated what happens next in our future.
“Why?” I ask. “Why now? It’s weird timing, Lil. With everything that’s happening as Moffy gets older.” As he grows, we keep pivoting when we’re so used to staying rooted in one place.
Lily comes closer on her own accord.
And then she reaches out for my hand. Slowly but carefully, she interlaces my fingers with hers, nothing sexual about the act. For a brief moment, I feel our teenage years—Lily and Lo, Lo and Lily—best friends instead of lovers. Where touch carries the depth and lifeline of every soulful and anguished emotion.
I stare at our clasped hands while she says, “We want more. We do, right?”