Page 62 of Blueline Baby

He pulls me inside and tips his head toward a hallway, where the petals keep going, trailing down the hall and around the corner. I follow them, because at this point there’s nothing else in the world I could possibly do.

The last door on the left is open, with a lamp turned on inside.

I walk into the room. It’s a nursery.

There’s a white crib against the far wall. There’s a rocking chair in the corner with a folded blanket draped over the arm, and a changing table. The walls have framed pictures of vintage hockey equipment: leather skates, a wooden stick, an old goalie mask. There’s a plush rug on the floor that looks soft enough to lie down on.

And every single thing in the room is blue.

The rocking chair is blue. The folded blanket is navy. The rug is blue with a little bit of cream woven through it.

“Jack,” I say, staring at the crib, “just because you agreed not to use the name Russell doesn’t suddenly mean that⁠—”

I turn around to face him.

He’s on one knee in the doorway. He has a small velvet box open in his hand.

“Okay,” he says. “I wrote the whole speech down. And then I forgot to bring the paper with me. So you’re just going to get whatever comes out of my mouth right now.”

I slap my hand over my mouth because I’m going to start crying.

“The last time I did this, I did it wrong. I know that. I did it in your living room two hours after you told me you were pregnant, with zero plan, and you were right to say no to me. I’ve thought about that night a thousand times since.” He takes a breath. “So here’s the part I couldn’t prove to you then.”

I finally look down at the box in his hand. The ring inside is antique, a delicate diamond surrounded by intricate metalwork, and it’s so beautiful my breath catches. “Jack. This ring.”

“It was my grandmother’s.”

“Did you ask your mom for this?”

“No,” he says. “She cornered me on our last morning at the lake. I tried to tell her it was too soon, and she made me take it anyway. They loved you, Chloe. They loved you way before there was ever a baby. I’ve had it hidden in a drawer ever since.”

I take a step forward and grip the edge of the dresser, because it feels like all the blood is leaving my head at once.

“I’ve known since January,” he says, and his voice is thick now. “I told Jude you were it for me the morning after I fell through your front door, and he laughed at me for a week. I’m not doing this because of the baby.”

He holds the box up a little higher and I realize his hand is shaking.

“Chloe. I’m completely in love with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And that’s what finally does it. I’ve watched this man take brutal, crushing hits on the ice and get up laughing, and right now he’s kneeling on the floor of a nursery with shaking hands because he’s terrified I’m going to say no again.

Whatever’s been locked up in my chest since March breaks open.

“I love you, too,” I say. The words tear out of me. “I love you. I’ve loved you since before the lake, and I couldn’t say it, and I don’t know why, and I’m so sorry, but I love you.”

Jack’s up off the floor so fast I don’t even see him move. He drops the box on the carpet, puts both hands on my face, and kisses me, and now I’m crying for real. He’s saying something frantic against my mouth that I can’t understand.

He finally pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “So,” he says. “Is that a yes this time?”

“Yes.”

“Say it again.”

“It’s a yes, Jack.”

He scrambles to get the ring out of the box on the floor and slides it onto my finger. Then he lays his hand flat on my stomach.

And the baby kicks.