Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

sidestepping to wrap my arm around Bo’s back. This is… my Bo.”

“Before you say anything, you should know I wanted to go way bigger than this and dialled it back. So if you say it’s too much, I will pounce on you.”

Fred’s Flowers, Bo’s handwriting reads on a small white box. I turn it over in my hand. “You made these?” I ask him, actually surprised.

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean that it feels like my heart is on the outside of my body,” he says, his voice low. “And I miss you so much, even when you’re just a few feet away. I think about you every second of the day and struggle to think of much else. I meant what I said that first night. You are maddening.”

he says, his chin folding down and his voice wobbling. “If I got sick again and…” I put my hand on his cheek, brushing gently along the line of his beard with my thumb. “You’re not going anywhere,” I say adamantly, nodding my head so he does the same.

He smiles, tilting his lips toward my hand. “I know. I’m not allowed.” “Damn right,” I whisper, my voice wavering.

“It’s mostly just junk…” Bo says, rubbing the back of his neck as I pull out a receipt and read it over. “From… from the café on Cosgrove?” I ask. “The day you told me about them.”

I reach in, pulling out a mason jar of stones and turquoise sea glass. “From our walks to the beach,” Bo says.

I pull out the father-to-be book Sarah gave him, now annotated with notes in the margins and flagged pages with bright pink tabs. I flick through it, realising that he’s left notes to the baby amongst the pages. Telling them how excited he is for every stage. How much he can’t wait to meet them. Your mom is doing such a good job at growing you, I read. She’s going to be an incredible mom.

“This I can’t explain,” he says, holding out the red bandanna I lost on Halloween. “This I kept before I knew anything about the baby. Before I knew how much I was going to love you. Because, clearly, some part of me already did.”

I don’t know. I just needed to take a part of that night with me.”

that I wasn’t enough. That I wouldn’t be enough to get you from casual to more.”

“Then, on one random day in December, you texted me. I felt like I’d won the lottery.”

He turns, reaching into the couch again, smiling mischievously. “One more thing…” “I’m searching the couch from now on,” I say, wiping a tear off my cheek. “You’ll have to find a new hiding spot.”

“You are my soul’s purpose, Win. To know you, to love you, to build a family with you, to spend every day taking care of you, to watch you shine and get all the good things you deserve out of this life.”

“Yes,” I say involuntarily, looking up to him. “Yes,” I repeat. He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “Can I ask first?” “Oh, yes. Sorry.”

“Winnifred June McNulty, love of my life and mother of my child, will you please marry me?”

Bo settles, his chest falling. “Hi, honey. Sorry.” He bends down, kissing me again. “How was your trip? We missed you too. I missed you.”

“So, your trip?” he asks over his shoulder, dropping the bag onto the counter but snuggling Charlie closer. We don’t have favourites, of course. But Charlie is Bo’s twin in every way. While they share the same golden hair, hazel eyes, and freckles as August—Charlie’s temperament is all Bo. August has strong firstborn energy. Since birth, that girl has been ruling our house. Hell, she was ruling our lives before birth.

“and someone else failed to tell me about her math homework until the night before it was due.” “August Sarah Durand, you know it hurts your father when we keep math from him.”

She ran head-first into our coffee table a little after her first birthday. Bo broke it down into firewood the very next day.

“It’s definitely the last year it’s going to fit any of them.” I pout toward Bo, off screen. “I could barely do up the zipper.” “I guess we’ll just have to have another,” Bo says,

He hums, tucking his face against my neck and breathing me in. “I missed you.” “Don’t dodge the question,” I say as he trails kisses along my jaw. “And don’t distract me either.” I giggle.

“Maybe if I ask nicely…” he says, tugging my lip between his teeth. “Or not so nicely?”

“You know I do, honey.” He brushes his nose against mine, then his lips. “Want to play worst-case scenario?” he asks, his mouth gently brushing across mine. “Or… best case?”