They don't come sappier than this, my friends. In an ongoing effect to rid my hard drive of dust bunnies, I've shaken off the moth balls on this bit of dripping romance...


Consulting in the Gray

The days of fretting had led to her first gray hair. This was greeted with the dagger-gaze of a trained officer, but it maintained its unwelcome position to the left of her face until a savage yanking ended its tyranny. It wouldn't be the last and perhaps worry lines would follow. No doubt this sallow pallor was stunningly unattractive and no amount of moisturizer seemed sufficient to improve tear-stained cheeks.

It was embarrassing.

Corpses looked better.

Fretting was for other people, the purposeless masses for whom what-ifs are oxygen. Her father would be ashamed of this impending hysteria. Crying in a sudden hiccupping shamble was better suite for toddlers and the grieving. Thus her unappetizing what-ifs are swallowed with breakfast but by lunch they were trying to swim upstream. And curses in two languages clanged inside her aching head. Three days of berating her reaction and three nights of huffing about her reaction to her reaction brought her to his door.

…..

It was easier not to look at him. After all, her game of avoidance had been carried out for nearly half a week and he'd clearly consumed a vat of Zen in order to withstand it. The words had been locked in a prison of her fear and once released, they flew like delinquent doves. There was something pure about confession and his eyes were absolution.

He sank to his knees.

Pressed a kiss to her stomach.

When he looked up at her, there was more than astonishment playing on his face. There was awe. And she put it there. Later, she'd remember how gently his lips coaxed kiss after kiss from hers. Much later, she'd recall how his hand never strayed from her belly, even as he pushed himself close to her womb. So carefully and still so intensely. No need for protection now. The worst had happened and yet. And yet…

…..

Those who can, do. And those who can't, consult. It always sounded like the job title of a quitter but she now had business cards bearing the colossal change in her career path. Impossibly difficult, this decision and he'd given her no advice on the matter. It was her call. Making said call was, when completed, strangely freeing. Her partner would be missed but he'd never be far. A shared dwelling saw to that. She doesn't mind the stray gray now, as it proves survival to reach this place.

An altered belly.

An altered existence.

She'd need new cards now, he told her one night as a box made its sneaking way into her hand. Because he didn't just want her to have his child. She should have the name he went through so much trouble clearing. Though it went against every implanted instinct, the alternative to yes had nothing to recommend it. A piece of paper making them official could do no more to cement them than the screaming new life in his arms but she still spent a week practicing the signature for her new name.