El woke to the first snow of the year. She caught a glimpse of the white flurries drifting past her window and sat bolt-upright. She swung her legs off the side of the bed and tossed the blankets away, rushing out of her room and down the stairs. She opened the back door and went out onto the patio, which had been covered in a thin layer of snow. The cold stung her bare toes, but she didn't care. She loved the way the flurries kissed her cheeks and clung to her lashes. She opened her mouth and caught flakes on her tongue, just as she remembers doing when she was younger. She looked up and down at the street, at the powder-white pavement and frosty rooftops and the cars and mailboxes coated in snow. El caught a glimpse of their neighbor, Mrs. Dorsey, across the street. The woman wore a fluffy, purple bathrobe. A cat stood by her, rubbing against her ankles. She waved. El waved back.
When she could no longer feel her toes, she went back inside, closing the door with a shiver. She heard voices in the kitchen. She found Mike and Hopper at the table, coffee mugs in hand. She wrapped her arms around Mike's neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"G'morning." She said, squeezing his shoulders. Mike smiled. His Thanksgiving break was an entire week long, and so she got to enjoy his company a little longer, before he returned for the final few weeks of his first semester. Dustin, Max, and Lucas had already caught flights out of Indiana. Will's flight left tomorrow, and Mike was planning to stay until the following Monday. He spent most of his time at her house, but he hadn't spent the night, so she guessed he'd just shown up earlier this morning. It was almost ten, after all. She'd slept in.
She sauntered over to the stove and poured herself a mug of hot water, grabbing a tea bag. She opened the cabinet, searching for sliced bread, and popped a couple pieces in the toaster.
"It's snowing." She announced.
"Mmmhmm." Hop said, not looking up from his morning paper. He raised his mug to his lips.
El dropped into the chair beside Mike. He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She ducked out of his reach, blowing morning breath in his face.
"You up for a bit of shopping?" He asked.
She quirked an eyebrow.
"Always." She said.
"I was thinking we could go down to the bookstore to buy a book on pregnancy, like your doctor recommended."
"Okay." She nodded, standing up to retrieve her toast. She grabbed butter from the fridge and sat down, again, nibbling on the crust. "I guess I'll be in the second trimester by Christmas. I think I've reached the extent of information that pamphlet can give me. It'll be nice to get some insight."
Mike nodded.
El finished her breakfast and hurried up the stairs to change. She pulled on a warm sweater and a pair of jeans, then put on a windbreaker and a beanie, to add an extra layer. She found Mike waiting for her on the landing. She stepped down to his level, gazing up at him, and he rested his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. She buried her nose in his sweater, closing her eyes, grateful for IU's semester schedule, which allowed for stolen moments like this one. Moments where she was free to lose herself in him, if for a moment, or spend the whole day with him, like she planned on doing. They'd probably go to the bookstore, then stop for a bite to eat. And then they'd come back to her place and watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind, which Mike rented from the video store, down the street. And they'd probably talk about school and the baby and everything in between, and they'd be alright, because they were together and that was all that mattered. And all these thoughts floated through her head in the space of a second, and then he pressed a kiss to her lips and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the door and into the snow.
The bookstore smelled of coffee and ink. El let the atmosphere surround her like a blanket, warm and content as she perused the aisles. She traced her hand down the rows and rows of books, thumbnail running over the spines, finally locating a book titled 280 Days: An In-Depth Guide to Your Pregnancy.
She flipped through some of the pages, then tucked it under her arm. She found Mike in the science fiction section, where he picked up a novel by Stephen King. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the cashier. While El dug around in her purse for her wallet, Mike insisted on paying. She shot him a look.
"It's an early Christmas present." He said, and kissed her cheek.
Once they'd finished, they made their way down the street, side by side, watching their foggy breath in the cold air. The midday sun had burned away the clouds, beginning to melt the new snowfall, turning it to slush. Occasionally, El encountered a patch of slick ice on the asphalt. Once, her feet slipped out from under her, and Mike's hand closed around her bicep, catching her fall.
"You okay?"
She nodded.
"Yeah." She said. "Slippery."
They escaped the cold and slush at the coffee shop on the corner. They sat at a table, and El sipped her still-steaming mug, and Mike reached across the table and took her hand, holding fast.
"El?"
"Hmmm?"
"I love you."
Monday came too soon for El's liking. Mike left for school, and El returned to her regular schedule at the police station, and life remained busy as ever. She spent the weeks leading up to Christmas working at the station, answering phone calls and working her way through stacks of case files, typing up old, handwritten notes and sorting through decades of useless information, organizing files alphabetically and by importance. It was boring, tedious work, but it payed well, and El knew she needed the paycheck if she wanted to support the child she was carrying. Babies were expensive.
Of course, there were the holiday preparations. She spent an entire shift decorating the windows and walls of the station with Christmas lights and several feet of red tinsel. She spent an afternoon in the attic, at home, digging around until she found the Christmas decorations. Hop found her struggling down the ladder with a cardboard box full of ornaments and rushed to tug it out of her arms. He lectured her about the risks of climbing ladders and lifting heavy things in her condition, and she just made a face and brushed him off. She wasn't helpless. The people in her life, Hop and Mike included, had started treating her like she was glass, like she couldn't do things for herself. It was beginning to irritate her. She wasn't going to sit around on her ass and let people do everything for her just because of the baby.
Of course, it didn't help her case that she'd been extremely weepy in the week or two following Thanksgiving. She cried all the time, with the littlest provocation. Once, she'd discovered they'd run out of blueberry yogurt and started to cry, breaking down into these awful, hiccupping sobs punctuated by fits of giggling. She knew it was absurd to cry over yogurt, but she was helpless to stop the tears. Hop came home and found her on the kitchen floor, eyes wet, face all red and blotchy, and sent her to run a bath in hopes it would calm her down. El called Mike, later that night, and they had a good laugh over the look on Hop's face, after he'd found out why she was crying. He looked a bit concerned and a bit amused and a bit scared, and a lot like he couldn't figure out which one he wanted to be. After her bath, she'd come downstairs to find a brand-new pack of blueberry yogurt cups sitting on the top shelf of the fridge, and that prompted a fresh wave of tears.
That wasn't the only instance. A couple days ago, while she and Hop decorated the Christmas tree, she dropped an antique ornament, one that belonged to Hop's grandmother, and it shattered on the floor. She'd sobbed, despite Hop's attempts to console her.
"Don't worry, El. It's just an ornament. Accidents happen, it's not your fault." He tried to tell her, but she couldn't stop crying.
Soft, piano music, sad movies, and commercials featuring puppies were enough to set her off.
The weepiness faded, somewhat, as El hit the second trimester. As Christmas grew nearer her tendency to fall to tears at the drop of a hat faded, somewhat. Although she was still pregnant and therefore still prone to mood swings and emotional instability, she no longer felt like this hormonal gorilla with tear ducts that felt more like running faucets.
Maybe it was the holiday festivities, or getting to see her friends again, or the fact that Mike would be home for winter break for three weeks, but she found herself enjoying a burst of energy she hadn't felt since, well, since she got pregnant. She almost felt like her old self again, with less of an urge to fall asleep on the couch amidst piles of empty pudding cups and orange peels, but to head to work at the station and tackle that unruly stack of papers she'd been avoiding for months, or to take a trip to the shopping mall in Roane City to buy Christmas gifts for her friends and family. Morning sickness didn't assault her as much as it used to. The terrible case of acne she'd been battling had cleared, somewhat. She just felt . . . good. Comfortable in her own skin, excited for the months to come, and inexplicably, undeniably connected to the tiny life inside her. She was more attuned to her body, more aware of what was going on inside her uterus. The mental link between them had never been so strong, and she reveled in it.
She told Mike all this when he asked her "how's the baby?" as they talked over the phone. She sat in bed with her back propped against the headboard, phone sandwiched between her shoulder and her ear. She lifted her shirt, revealing the curve of her lower abdomen. She'd begun to show.
"I swear, Mike, it happened overnight." She'd explained, over the phone, recalling the night she'd gone to bed with a flat(ish) stomach and woken up to a definite baby bump, modest but visible. A little pregnancy pouch that lined her waistline, like a crescent moon. It stuck out a little, and when she pressed on it, it was solid and hard. It took some getting used to, and she'd spent the morning in search of a shirt loose enough to conceal it. She wasn't quite ready for the world to see her. Not yet, at least.
"Other than that, nothing much has changed. I have another prenatal appointment tomorrow, but my doctor said it's just a routine checkup, and it won't take that long. I know you have a class tomorrow, and finals coming up. I don't want you to miss it."
"El," Mike began, sounding reproachful.
"Mike." She retorted, cutting him off. "Don't worry. Hop's going with me. It'll be fine. It's literally gonna take like a half an hour."
"Fine. Let me know how it goes, though, alright? I want all the details."
"Okay." She said.
"Promise?"
"I promise." She crossed her heart with her finger, then realized he couldn't see her, since he was on the phone, so she said, "cross my heart, hope to die, I promise."
"Okay." He said, letting the subject drop. Instead, he launched into a story about his roommate, who fell in the shower last weekend and broke his arm. As he talked, El switched the phone to other ear and stretched out, so she was lying on her back, hands cupping her little bump, fingers stuffed beneath the waistband of her shorts.
"He stumbled in from some party at like two in the morning, and I had a paper to finish so I was up late. And he's all shit-faced and decides he's gonna take a shower, and I'm sitting there and I hear this big crash, and I rush into the bathroom and he's on the floor, his arm's already swelling and it's bent a weird way, and I'm like there's no way it's not broken. I managed to get some clothes on him, and I drove him to the Emergency Room. I've got him in the passenger seat, and he's incoherent at this point. Just groaning and mumbling stuff, and he turns his head and pukes on me!"
El laughed.
"Urgh, gross!"
"I know, right? It was legitimately disgusting. And I'm white-knuckling the steering wheel, swallowing my vomit. There's bits of half-digested french fries and God knows what else on my shirt, and it stinks to high-heaven. And I'm sitting there trying to think what on Earth I did to deserve this."
Mike laughed.
"I get him into the ER, and I have to sit with him until they find him a room, and there's puke on my shirt and I'm in a terrible mood, right? I mean, c'mon, this is a big inconvenience and I have this big assignment due in less than six hours and it's not finished, and the coffee at the hospital tastes like shit and there is fucking puke on my shirt, so I'm not having a great time. I mean, really, it can't get much worse."
"Is he okay?" El asked.
"He's fine. He fractured his radius, and I guess it was a significant break, because they had to set it. It wasn't pretty. He'll be in a cast for a few weeks."
They lapsed into a full, comfortable silence.
"Listen, there's this party on Saturday night. A lot of people from my classes will be there. Maybe, if you want, you can make the drive on Saturday morning and come with me?"
"Ooh, a college party." She said. "Sounds like fun."
"Yeah. It's supposed to be really great. A kind of last hurrah before finals start, next week. After that, I'll be home."
"Sure." She said. "I'll drive up on Saturday."
"It's a date." Mike said. She could hear the smile in his voice.
"It's a date." She echoed.
"Okay, Jane, if you'll step on the scale for me." Doctor Simmons asked, balancing the contraption so it read zero. El bent to untie her scuffed Chuck Taylors, then straightened and stepped on scale in her socks. She watched the number climb. Simmons nodded, making a mark on her clipboard.
"Looks like you've put on about six pounds since I saw you last."
El cocked an eyebrow, puffing out her cheeks.
"Ugh."
Simmons smiled.
"Don't worry. That's normal. You're almost sixteen weeks along, which means your baby is about the size of an avocado. Your uterus is stretching, making room. It's normal to gain some weight." Simmons assured her. "The normal net gain during pregnancy is somewhere between twenty and thirty-five pounds. Six is nothing to worry about."
"If you say so." El said, stepping down from the scale.
"Now that you're well into the second trimester, you'll want to be consuming a few extra calories."
"That won't be difficult." El said. "I'm hungry all the time."
"That's expected. But you also have to remember that you don't need to eat as much as you think you do. You're shooting for an extra three-hundred calories or so, per day, to meet your mark."
El made a face. Simmons laughed, touching her shoulder.
"C'mon, it's time to check your blood pressure."
After she finished, Simmons led El into the exam room, where she instructed her to lay down on the table.
"I'm just gonna feel your abdomen, alright? I'll take some measurements, and then we'll try to find the baby's heartbeat. Sound good?"
El nodded, laying back.
"Lift your shirt, for me." She did.
"I'm going to press down a bit, okay?" El nodded, steeling herself for the unfamiliar touch, something she still struggled to grow accustomed to after so many years in that lab, with so much unwanted, uninvited touch and hands that were rough and cold. Hand that poked and prodded. Unfriendly, unforgiving hands. Simons felt El's abdomen, where she'd begun to swell with new motherhood. It was tender and aching, but Simmons was gentle. Her fingers were warm, not cold, as El expected.
"Yes, there's definitely some swelling. Sometimes it's just gas, but I don't think that's the case. I can feel the top of your uterus, right here." She pressed her index finger under El's belly button. "It's a muscle, so it's hard."
"I didn't have a bump a week ago. It happened so fast!"
"That's normal. A lot of mothers 'pop' quite suddenly. At that point, the uterus is beginning to rise above the pubic symphysis. It's stretching and growing. It can't hide behind those bones anymore."
Simmons continued to press and prod.
"Have you felt any movement?"
"No. Should I?"
"Not necessarily. Every pregnancy is different. I think you should expect to feel movements any day now. They'll be small, at first. And most first-time moms don't feel movements until later on, between twenty and twenty-five weeks. I wouldn't worry."
El nodded.
"Your bump will continue to grow, over the next month or two and beyond. It's probably time to start shopping for maternity clothes, if you haven't already."
El sighed, overwhelmed.
"This is happening." She said, blowing out a breath.
"This is happening." Simmons confirmed, nodding. "Congratulations, Momma-To-Be."
El smiled. Simmons made a note on her clipboard, then began to measure El's fundal height, whatever that meant, making notes along the way. When she finished, she set her clipboard aside.
"Okay, stay put. I'll be right back." She left, and returned a few minutes later with a little contraption in her hand. She handed it to El.
"This is a fetal doppler. It's gonna allow you to hear your baby's heartbeat. You place this over your abdomen, here," she said, pressing the end on El's bare skin. She moved it around, testing the different places, and El held her breath.
"There it is." Simmons said, smiling.
A rhythmic whooshing sound came out of the machine, and El laughed, a smile stretching across her face. At ten weeks, it was too early to hear the heartbeat. Now, though, it was clear as day, steady and strong. Tears gathered at the corners of El's eyes as she listened to that sound, gooseflesh crawling over her arm. Simmons noted the BPM on her clipboard.
"Isn't that amazing?"
El nodded.
"It's an incredible experience. I've been doing this for fifteen years and I still think there are few things in the world that beat hearing a baby's heartbeat for the first time."
El laid a hand over her bump, feeling a rush of adoration for her unborn child.
"You can buy one of these to use at home, too." Simmons said, brandishing the doppler. She set it aside, then picked up her clipboard, ruffling through the pages.
"Well, Jane, everything's looking good. Your tests are normal, your blood pressure is normal, your baby's got a good, strong heartbeat. I'd say that's something to celebrate." She said, smiling. "Let's schedule your next appointment in about four weeks, say, second week of January? By then, you'll hit twenty weeks, and we can do the mid-pregnancy ultrasound. That's when you can find out the sex of the baby, if you're dying to know."
El nodded, sitting up. She scooted off the exam table and stooped to collect her belongings.
"If you have any concerns, call me. In the meantime, stay active. Keep up a nutritious diet and buy some maternity clothes. You've got a bump, now. It's only gonna get bigger."
"Everything's getting bigger." El said, with a frown, glancing at her swelling breasts and fingers and toes.
Simmons laughed and put a hand on her shoulder, showing her toward the door.
Loud music, smoke, and laughter assaulted El as Mike led her over the threshold and through the throng of people crowded in the entryway. People were packed into every corner, talking and dancing, clutching plastic cups in their hands. As they entered, some people greeted Mike, waving or clapping him on the back. Someone pushed a plastic cup into his hand, then offered one to El. She took it, to be polite. Mike, still clutching El's hand tightly, pulled her through the living room and into the kitchen, where he joined a group of people gathered around the sofa. She recognized Nick and Matt, some of Mike's friends he'd introduced her to during her last visit to the campus. She greeted them, and they seemed glad to see her. Nick put an arm around her shoulders, and the circle effortlessly expanded to include her, making her feel welcome and safe, and she decided she could get along with these people—these people, who were Mike's friends even if they weren't the Party. She took in their faces. Most she didn't recognize. A tall boy with dark hair and light eyes, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. His name, she would later learn, was Collin. A tall, brunette girl wearing heavy makeup introduced herself as Cassidy.
"Just call me Cass." She said. "Everyone does."
"I'm Jane." El said, shaking the girl's hand.
"I like your dress." Cass said. El smiled, glancing down. She was wearing a black slip, patterned with purple flowers. The fabric gathered at the waist, effectively hiding her bump.
"Thank you." El said. "I like yours, too. Where'd you get it?"
"Oh, I think it was a birthday gift." She said, waving her hand, as if the subject was beneath her. El couldn't agree more. She never understood the kind of discussion that the other girls at school engaged in, over clothing and hair and makeup. She knew it fell under the category of acceptable conversation topics, though she didn't understand the attraction. Clothes and makeup were of no interest to her. Usually, El just wore a sweater and a pair of jeans. As far as makeup went, she preferred a modest hint of black eyeliner, nothing more.
Cass mumbled something about needing a drink and stalked off in the direction of the punch bowl. El's cup reeked of liquor, so she set it down.
El followed the flow of conversation with interest, interjecting only when addressed directly. She'd never been a conversationalist. The subject traveled from finals to plans for winter break to second semester classes, and El was content to listen. Mike took her hand, and they communicated silently through squeezes. She was unreasonably at ease, with the music so loud and so many strangers crowded in such close proximity. A couple years ago, she would've broken down in a panic attack. But Mike was by her side, grounding her. The music reverberated through her very bones and set her entire being on fire. She loved the way she could feel it in her body, the beat keeping time with her heart. She liked Mike's friends, and she liked the energy, the excitement. And the secret she hid behind a swath of black fabric stirred up a kind of euphoria, within her.
Eventually, the group wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room, where a game of beer pong had been going on for the last hour, or so. She watched, a little nauseated, as a bigger guy with long hair chugged two consecutive drinks and belched. Someone bumped into her, and she stumbled forward. The boy who'd knocked her didn't seem to notice. He was yelling, cheeks flushed, clutching his drink in one hand, his other arm in bright, neon cast. She glared at him.
"Danny!" Mike yelled. The kid turned, then caught sight of Mike.
"Mikey, my man!" He yelled, grinning. Mike put an arm around El's shoulders.
"This is Jane, my girlfriend." He said. "Jane, this is—"
"Your roommate." El interjected, the corner of her mouth twitching. Danny offered his hand, and El took it. "Nice to meet you."
Someone rushed up, tapped Danny on the shoulder, and said something in a voice so low El didn't catch it. Danny turned, yelled something, and shuffled off, nearly spilling his drink on El's dress. Mike pulled her aside, rolling his eyes.
"He's an insensitive little shit, but he means well." He said. El laughed.
"Wanna dance?" He asked. El nodded. He pulled her into the corner, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. They began to sway, moving fast to match the upbeat tempo of some Tears for Fears song. The song ended, and the silence left a buzzing in her ears, and Mike leaned forward and started kissing her neck, making her laugh. He laughed, too, and his breath tickled her skin. He lifted his head, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. Long and deep, drawing her in like a tide, robbing her lungs of oxygen. The warmth in her chest grew, spreading throughout her body. He smelled like beer and laundry detergent, and she breathed him in. He broke the kiss, and she leaned forward, pulling him closer. His hands found her hips, the growing bump beneath her dress. (He'd been so excited when she showed up at his door and he saw her bump for the first time. They hadn't seen each other in almost three weeks, and in that time her belly had swelled from a little bit of a baby pouch to an unmistakable, graceful curve.) He rested his chin on the top of her head, and she closed her eyes. They swayed. Slower, now, ignoring the music. El sighed.
Content.
It was a good word. A word to describe peace and happiness. It matched exactly what she felt, right now, wrapped in his embrace.
Yes. Content was just the right word.
Eventually, Mike excused himself to use the bathroom, and El ventured into the kitchen. She snacked on the assortment of chips and dip. Two guys stumbled into the kitchen, obviously drunk. They caught sight of her, and she heard one of them whisper under his breath. He straightened, approaching her.
"Hey, beautiful." He said, leaning close. His breath reeked of liquor. "You look lonely."
"I'm waiting for someone." She said, coolly, taking a step back. He took a step forward, smirking an ugly sort of smirk.
"Are you a freshman?"
"I'm visiting." She said, shortly, feeling a kind of panic tug at the roots of her stomach. He was standing awfully close, and there was a hunger in his eyes she didn't like.
"Wanna come back to my place?" He asked, in a low, soft voice. He touched her arm. "I'll give you a tour."
His hand moved from her arm to the collar of her dress and slipped under the fabric, and she wanted to move but she couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Then his friend said something, something she didn't quite catch for the pounding of blood in her ears, but somehow it broke the spell, and her fight-or-flight response kicked in. She grabbed his arm, wrenching herself away from him. With a flick of her chin, the drink he was holding in his other hand spilled down his front. He swore under his breath, preoccupied with his drink, and El seized the opportunity to dart away, fleeing the kitchen.
She nearly collided with Mike as he crossed the room on his way back from the bathroom. By then, tears were beginning to burn her eyes. He caught a glimpse of her face, and his smile disappeared.
"El, what's wrong?" He said. He reached for her face, dabbing at the blood on her upper lip with his thumb. His frown deepened.
"What happened?"
She shook her head, biting back the tears. She felt all breathy and out of control, and everything was moving so fast around her. She swayed on her feet, unbalanced, and Mike's arm looped around her shoulders, protectively. She clung to him.
"Nothing, it's . . . I'm fine, it's stupid . . ." She babbled.
"El, you're shaking." Mike said, brows knit with concern. "C'mon, let's find someplace less crowded."
They ended up on the porch, and El turned her back to him, glancing up the street, covered in snow. She shivered. Her breath rose in white clouds, then dissipated in the black sky. She started to tell him what happened, and her words tumbled in a rush.
"Did he touch you?" Mike said, sharply. Fire flashed behind his eyes. "I'll kill him."
"It's fine, Mike." She said. She pressed her fingers over her eyelids, drawing several, deep breaths. "I don't need you to fight my battles."
"It's not fine." He said, taking a stride toward her, catching her elbows.
"I should've moved sooner, I just . . . I panicked." El said.
Mike touched her cheek, and the hard edges fell away from his face.
"Let's go home." He said. She'd never been gladder for that suggestion in her life. She suddenly couldn't stand being here, in this house, in such close proximity with a mouth breather who'd treated her like a piece of meat.
Mike bid his friends a hasty goodbye, and they set off down the street. El shivered, rubbing her bare arms. Mike peeled off his jacket, wordlessly, and draped it over her shoulders.
"Thanks." She said.
Mike's dorm was a few blocks down, so they'd decided to walk. It was a good idea, considering Mike definitely had a few drinks in him and the walk wasn't bad. El's back ached, and so Mike offered to give her a piggyback ride. She accepted the offer, and he hauled her the rest of the way back to the dorms. He climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and deposited her on the bed like she was a sack of potatoes. She laughed, squirming under his weight as he leaned over and kissed her, but lost his balance and fell forward. Their mouths crashed together, painfully. She groaned.
"Ow."
"Sorry." Mike muttered, and she laughed. He laughed, too. She grinned up at him, plucking at the buttons on his sweater. She loved him this way, so bubbly and warm, not drunk but getting there. Some of the worry lines that occupied his face, lines he was too young for, disappeared. He wore a mischievous smirk.
"Scoot over."
She did, and he climbed into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her middle and pinning her against him, ensnaring her. She wriggled, trying to wrestle out of his grasp, but he just tightened his grip, breath tickling the back of her neck.
"Stay." He said, sleepily, so she stopped struggling. And they lay there, fully clothed, smelling like smoke and liquor, and El let herself fall into a kind of stupor that wasn't quite sleep. His breathing evened out. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, pressed against her back, and when she'd decided he was asleep she wriggled out of his embrace and crossed the room, digging around in her overnight bag for a toothbrush. When she turned around, he was kneeling in the center of the room on one knee. In his hands, he held a small, velvet box. He opened it. The diamond ring inside, simple and delicate, glinted.
"Mike." She blurted.
"I've been saving up." He said, shrugging. She sank to the floor, on her knees.
"It's beautiful." She breathed, vision blurring with tears. She gazed into his face, at the tears shining in his own eyes. And she thought this was just like him, to catch her off guard like this. To make her feel beautiful when she was sweaty and bloated and feeling decidedly unglamorous. To give her that grand proposal she'd dreamt of when she was a silly teenage girl with a crush, who watched one too many soap operas and had a knack for dramatics.
"I wanna do this right, so," He began, drawing a shaky breath. "El Hopper, will you marry me?"