Page 117 of Say My Name

I came here prepared to ask how we get her pregnant.

I leave knowing I want every appointment and every year after them with her.

Elena sets my notebook on her kitchen island like it contains evidence she may need against me later.

“You wrote down sleep consistency.”

“The doctor said it matters.”

“The doctor also said we don’t need to clear our calendars, and I saw the disappointment on your face.”

“I wasn’t disappointed.”

“You drew a line through that question hard enough to dent the next page.”

I loosen my tie and watch her fill two glasses with water. She does it without asking whether I’m staying, and the small assumption makes me want to stay more than I should.

Then again, everything about this afternoon feels different. We walked into the appointment with a plan and left with instructions that require more time together, more nights, and more chances for the thing between us to become impossible for Elena to classify as an arrangement.

“We should discuss the increased frequency,” I say.

Her hand pauses around the glass she’s sliding toward me. “You’ve been in my kitchen for less than two minutes.”

“I didn’t know there was a waiting period.”

“There should be when you say things in that tone.”

“What tone?”

“The one you use before suggesting something that will create twelve additional spreadsheets and ruin my week.”

I could build her a projection model for this, charts and all. But that’s not what she needs to hear. “I’m trying to simplify this.”

She takes a slow drink, eyes narrowed over the rim. “That is exactly what you say before complicating something.”

I set my glass down. All the carefully planned, logical arguments I prepared feel like lies. There’s only one truth. “Stay at my place.”

She nearly chokes.

I reach for her, but she lifts one hand, coughing, and levels a disbelieving stare at me.

“I’m sorry—what was that?”

“During the increased-frequency period,” I add, as though that makes the suggestion less loaded.

It doesn’t.

Elena places her glass on the island with exaggerated care. “You want me to move in with you.”

“Temporarily.”

“How temporarily?”

“We could start with the fertile window.”

“So I would move into your home for approximately one week every month.”

“You make it sound so transactional.”