Out On a Limb(97)

After I moved some of my things into the master bedroom—and some of Bo’s items elsewhere to make room—we found a happy medium with the rest of the house. Decorating to suit both of us and merging our styles into one. Afterward, we started on the nursery.

Bo built a crib we’d ordered offline that is made from sustainable bamboo, and I painted the walls a soft green. We put my trusted old lavender dresser in there and bought the comfiest grey rocking chair that we both now like to nap in. Plus, of course, some of my plants got moved in there too. Bo hung up shelves for books, and I’ve been thrifting little decor art pieces slowly over time. It’s really coming together.

Bo calls it a little Hobbit’s den, whereas I think of it as more of a nature-inspired cottage. Either way, we both win.

And I suppose, after today, we’ll have a lot more things to fill it with.

I trace one finger from the largest point of my belly to my chest, smiling to myself as I go. When I look up, I find Bo leaned against the doorway, holding a massive bouquet of wildflowers.

“I was supposed to give these to you later, but”—he plucks out a stem of baby’s breath, breaks off four small branches and then moves to stand behind me—“I think these would suit your hair.” One by one, he slots tiny bunches of white flowers between the strands of my braid, his eyes concentrated as he fixes them to be precisely right.

“Perfect,” he says, straightening and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I love it,” I say, twisting to admire it as best I can in the mirror, seeing Bo doing the same. “But you need something too.” I pick up a purple ranunculus flower from the bunch, break its stem shorter, and reach up to tuck it over Bo’s ear. “There.” I kiss him, just once. “Now we match.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling down at me. “Ready to go?”

“Ready.”

We make our way outside, hand in hand, out into a beautiful May day. The birds are singing, the sky is blue with the perfect splattering of clouds and the breeze smells fresh. Like newly cut grass and sunshine filtered through blossoming trees. After what has felt like a long winter, I’m so grateful to see spring every time we step outside.

Still, I’m so grateful for what this winter brought me.

Bo drives with the radio on, but we talk above it like always. Everyday we seem to talk about nothing and everything all at once. Every thought, every feeling, every memory recounted until we run dry. We continue to pour all of ourselves out to each other. Until our histories and stories started becoming more of a woven tapestry than a blank slate. And the nothing too. The insignificant observations and the silly anecdotes that no one else would care to hear. Those are just as important.

When we pull up into the driveway of Sarah and Caleb’s home, I brush my hand over Bo’s hair and onto his cheek. Revelling in the simple notion that he is real. That someone could love me this much. Choose to fill me up instead of pour me out. Build a fire to keep me warm instead of burn me out.

Sometimes, it feels like saying I love you isn’t enough. Not when my whole life has changed because of this man.

Bo loves me for free.

No expectations. No demands. Not a single ounce of selfishness.

I love you, I think, rubbing my thumb across his cheek as he smiles shyly at me.

I love you too, he says, silently, when he winks back at me before pushing open his door and rushing to open mine before I get the chance.

“Sarah doesn’t know that I know, right?” I whisper as we walk up their driveway.

“No, she really did want it to be a surprise.”

“Okay,” I say, stopping just short of their porch steps. “How’s this then?” I ask before putting on my best shocked face, a hand gently in front of my parted lips.

Bo laughs, his throat bobbing as he takes the front steps two at a time. “Great. Very convincing.” He presses the doorbell, and we wait for what feels like a long while before it eventually opens.

But it’s not Sarah on the other side.

“Mom?” I choke out, covering my parted lips with a shaky hand.

“Yep, looked just like that,” Bo whispers to himself.

My mother, who recently told me she couldn’t come down until Christmas, stands in front of me. With her bleached-blond hair in long barrel curls, orange tan, and lacey, tight off-white dress. With the same familiar warmth in her smile that I wonder if I’ll ever not miss.

“Hi, baby,” she says, opening her arms as I rush into them.

“What—how—when?”

“Ask your man!” she laughs out, tightening her hold around me and swaying us from side to side. I look over her shoulder to see a very smug, proud Bo taking our photo before placing his phone back into his pocket.

“When?” I ask him.

“Remember that purchase I told you about the day we had the new bathtub put in? The one that I said I couldn’t return prior to our agreement about surprises?”

I step back, my hands stuck on my mother’s shoulders. She’s a little shorter than me, but her heels make it so we’re almost the same height. I find myself glancing over her from head to toe. “You look beautiful, Mom,” I say, admiring her.

“Ah, well, I had to make a good first impression.” She tilts her head towards Bo.

“Oh, right, I’m so sorry! Bo, this is my mother, June. Mom…” I say, sidestepping to wrap my arm around Bo’s back. This is… my Bo.”