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“I want kids.”
He looks surprised. “Kids? How many kids are we talking about here?”
“Four? Six? Eight if we can afford it.”
“Wow.” He blinks at me. “Tell that to my mother. She’ll disown me and keep you if I don’t say yes. Are you serious?”
“We can start small.”
“They’re kids. You don’t get them at the Real Canadian Superstore fully grown and already with dental problems.”
He takes a deep breath, then another, and looks at my hand. “I love you too, Levi.” He swallows. “But…” He hesitates and closes his eyes. “I’m scared. I’ve never been so scared.”
“Talk to me.”
He stands abruptly and moves toward the fridge, where he takes the broom and starts sweeping up ceramic shards, dragging them across the wet floor. “Because you went through Army basic training and I cry at shelter-kitten commercials. And because one day you are going to realize that our age gap really does mean something.”
“You’re not old,” I tell him. “And I’ll have you know that when you were sitting in a library I had a man’s blood up to my elbows and he was somebody I ate breakfast with. So tell me again how young I am. I fucking went to war for you.”
“You fought for you! I’m not even from your country! You never met me!”
“No, Bastien. I fought exactly for you. Because when it was miserable and hot and scary, I thought of that man who cries at shelter-kitten commercials waiting for me back home. That I was making this world safe for him.” My voice cracks. “And you know who was actually waiting for me? Fucking nobody.”
“That’s bullshit. I’ll bet you had a nice boy lined up in your sights and a soldier you were dating while you were away.”
“I was not dating a soldier. I was fucking one. There’s a difference. If you don’t want to marry me, that’s fine, but if you don’t care about me at all, then at least break me now. Get it over with.”
“Of course I’ll fucking marry you!” He screams it. “You fucking idiot! Of course I’ll marry you!” He puts his hands to his forehead, breathing hard. “You’ll find me boring and pedantic and pathetic, and I’m never going to feel like I’m not on a tightrope trying to keep you, but I can’t…” He swallows and looks away. “I can’t not take that chance.”
“Bastien.” My voice is shaking. “Is that a yes? A real yes?”
He nods.
“No. I need to hear it. Is this because you feel trapped, or is this real?”
He looks at me. “It’s real. I’m really going to do this.”
“And your career?”
He looks at the mess and shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he says. “I’ll do something else. Maybe I’ll wind up being a househusband for a while.” He takes a deep breath in. The pain in his eyes is real, but then he straightens. “I sacrificed you on the altar of this fucking career once. I will be goddamned if they take you away from me again.”
I laugh—pure relief—and grab him by the waist and lift him and spin him around. Something crunches ominously against my bare foot. He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, and I set him down and pull him against me.
“I love you,” I say into his hair. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll make you the best husband in the world.”
“I love you too.” He pulls back and looks down. “Oh, fuck! Levi, you’re bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Sit down.” He pushes me toward the cabinets and I lower myself to the floor, avoiding the worst of the debris. He disappears upstairs and comes back with bandages and rubbing alcohol. He kneels beside me and lifts my foot.
“Good,” I say. “Rather than go to classes, I’ll stay in bed all day tomorrow and the day after until it heals up. You should thank me. Without me to make an honest man out of you, you could have lived a half-life, consumed by fear and self-doubt. I saved you.”
He rolls his eyes, but then lifts my foot and attaches gauze and a heavy bandage.
“Will that do?” he asks.
“I think it could.”
