Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

I just know they’d all love to put a face to the name.” He talks about you! Of course he does—you’re having his baby and living in his house.

Let me have peace, Win.”

“Sarah only referred to me as Darth Loser for a month. A month.”

LMFAO

ME: Come to Bo’s now! Caleb is here. Lying NERDS.

“Bo said you were, lass, but I dinna believe him.”

“Sorry,” he says in a not-Scottish but entirely Canadian accent. “I like to test out my characters on new people. Did I have you fooled?”

“Me too, oddly enough," Bo says, his eyes tracing me from head to toe. The way he says it is so sincere and raw, you’d think that he’d choose to have me here rather than be forced by our circumstance.

Professor Bo? I could be into it. Yep—I checked with downstairs management. I am.

“He definitely did,” Walter says. “And I had cancer.”

Caleb mouths did you tell her? and I sharply turn away from him.

“It’s not the pizza, is it?” Kevin whispers to me, a giddy smile overtaking his face. He does love the drama. I like Kevin, I decide.

“Caleb?” Sarah calls out from behind me, storming in. “Caleb Andrew Linwell, this is not a kickboxing class.”

“Let’s not think about it too hard,” she said, blowing a kiss to Caleb—who was clearly no longer sleeping on the couch.

Bo tilts his chin up, winking at me

“You, uh, you blushed on Halloween.”

“When you… came,” he adds, his jaw tight and eyes definitely on my neck, where there’s no doubt a lingering pink hue. Oh.

“No?” Bo says reactively. No? Fucking No? What the fuck does No? mean? Does he disagree? What arrangement did he foresee us having?

He notices, his lips twitching up just a little. “Old house, thin walls. Beautiful moaning coming from down the hall that makes me want to pull my hair out.”

“I can’t let you do that, honey.” “Do not call me that,” I snap. “Sorry,” Bo recoils, removing his hand from on top of mine and taking a step back.

“Enough to know you think about Halloween too.” Shit, fuck, shit.

face falls, then hardens into a scowl. It’s an expression I’ve yet to see from him. I don’t like it. It doesn’t suit him at all. “That would make you feel better? Me having sex with someone else down the hall?” he asks harshly.

He stops me with a firm grasp around my forearm, dropping the pencil onto the floor as he does. I had only just gotten those thoughts out of my head… “Hey, Odette? I’m so sorry to interrupt, but my colleague, Fred, just reminded me of a meeting that’s already started without me. So I’ll have to let you go.” He nods, his eyes stuck on his computer screen and his hand still clasped around me.

“No. Sorry, just—I’m glad you’d come to me for help. I like that.”

Bo bends at the waist, a lopsided grin in full effect. “Kid, tell your mom you want ice cream or pineapple juice, or hell, pickles. Ketchup is a weird choice.”

Bo holds up my jacket for me, and I slip my arms inside.

“The first time you talk to them, and you decide to food-shame them?” “It’s not the first time,” Bo says, grabbing his keys from the wall and throwing open the front door.

“When you fell asleep watching Lord of the Rings. I had to tell all my fun facts and trivia to someone.

“How do you think you got to your bed?” he asks, his eyes narrowed. “I assumed I just half sleepwalked.” “No, you were out cold,” Bo says, turning the car on. “You carried me to bed?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says, putting his arm behind my headrest to look over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway.

“Celebratory?” I ask. “What are we celebrating?” “Your new plan. The kid you’re growing. You, in general.” I blush immediately.

“Good Q…” he says dryly. “Solid. Not at all what we’re trying to avoid.” “Perfect timing, really.”

“Me either,” Bo says decidedly, even though I didn’t ask. “I wouldn’t go back.”

“Yeah, I think I would. I know the timing isn’t exactly ideal, but if you lined up every other person in the world who I could’ve had a baby with, I’d choose you again. You’re going to be a fantastic mom, Win.” I’d choose you again. Every other person in the world.

“I’m starving,” I whisper, tilting my head toward the restaurant. “Yeah, me too,” Bo says, his stoic eyes held on me.

“If that’s okay.” “Of course. Whatever you want.”

“August,” Bo repeats, pressing his lips together as he nods, a smile overtaking his face. “Did we…” Bo sits straighter, his expression beyond smug. “Did we just name our kid?”

“I’m worried they’ll be embarrassed, though. That their dad is different.”

“No, they’ll be our kid. They’ll have empathy and kindness and—” I stop myself, noticing Bo’s proud smile. “Go on…” he says teasingly.

“How did—how could you tell? I—” “You frowned when she picked up her fork the second time,” he interrupts.

“Maybe what we lack in limbs, we make up for in enthusiasm and wits. Who else do you know that could go swimming, launch a business plan, and name a baby all before lunch?”

“What would you prefer? Aug? That’s not a name. It sounds like the sound someone would make after stubbing their toe.”

“If our food doesn’t arrive soon, I’m going to eat my other hand,” I say, unfolding my napkin.

I’m pretty hopelessly in love with Bo at this point.

Usually when he gives me foot rubs while we watch movies, or when his eyes dip down to my cleavage when they probably shouldn’t, or when he… you know… breathes near me.

“Are you crazy? As if I’d miss an ultrasound. This is when they look like a baby, right? Not a little bean anymore?”

“Not now, if that’s okay.” He smiles wistfully, turning toward me as he pats my ankle, signalling that he’s done.

He turns to face me, his eyes sparkling but his lips tightly sealed. Then he holds out a hand. “Come dance with me.”

The scary truth of the matter is that Bo could get me to say yes to just about any request by adding a please that sweet and sincere at the end of it.

I reach up to shove his shoulder before resting my cheek against his chest next to my free hand. “Like this?” I ask. “Perfect,” he says, curling his other arm around my back.

Bo may slip up and check me out every once in a while, with his eyes held on me and his jaw taught, but he hasn’t once tried anything since we agreed to remain platonic. He’s too respectful for that.

So when he presses me even closer, dips his chin to the top of my head, and curls his arms around me in more of an embrace than a dance, I let him, with zero hesitation, as I relax into the warm, solid comfort of his hold. “One more?” he asks, his voice broken. I nod against him.