Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

I don’t try to force my body to be something or deprive it of pleasantness. It just is. And I like it, enough, as is.

Once we arrive, I allow Sarah the honor of telling her husband my news. The moment Caleb walks into the kitchen to greet us, the words burst from her lips, immediately sending him into a state of shock. “He’s frozen.” I turn to my best friend, who’s giggling into her phone, taking photos of her dumbfounded husband. “You broke him,” I say. “No, you did.” She laughs again. “He’s just rebooting. He does this sometimes.” Sarah slides her phone into her back pocket. “Caleb,” she singsongs his name. “Come back to us, sweetie.” “Why is no one else

“Who’s the dad?” Caleb asks, ignoring his wife and turning to me as I shut their fridge with an armful of assorted snacks. “Tell him,” Sarah says smugly, moving to stand beside Caleb. I glare at her, dropping my haul onto their counter. “Bo,” I answer plainly. “Who the hell is—” “Robbie,” Sarah interrupts, bursting. “Robbie!” “Oh…shit,” Caleb says, grimacing.

Men are beyond strange.

Not that I’m sleeping on a couch—it’s a pull-out. Ha. Pull-out. Should’ve maybe tried that.

He takes a long sip of his coffee, his eyes darting to my bouncing knee at the side of the table. “Win, are you—” “I’m pregnant,” I interrupt loudly, all the breath leaving my lungs at the same time the words pass through my lips.

“I’m okay,” I answer honestly. “I’ve been sick a lot. Nauseous. But I’m okay. We, er, we’re okay.” I place a hand on my belly under the table and out of view from him. Meet your dad, kid.

“So…do we—do we get married?” “What?” I jump back. “No! What? Why would we get married? We don’t even know each other!” He sits straighter, blowing out a breath. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me just then.” “The ghost of your great-grandfather, evidently,” I say.

How well some men hide their ugly side and how quickly they can turn.

“What was that?” I ask, my tone half amusement and half confusion. Bo pouts disingenuously, as if to say Oh, you poor thing. “A cell phone, honey.” “Yes, thank you. I’m familiar. But why did you take our photo?” And you probably shouldn’t call me honey. It does things to my stomach. Like what I’d expect a cartwheel in space to feel like. “I’m documenting! We’re about to meet our kid. I don’t want to forget anything.”

But there, on the black and white screen, is a small, perfect, bean-like thing. My baby. Not the baby. But my baby.

“Move in with me,”

“Comic books,” Sarah says, snickering. “I’ve seen what you read on your Kindle. You’re in no place to judge.”

“You want a kept woman,” I tease. “I certainly want to keep you.”

Or the giant body pillow I found in my room after work yesterday with a note that said for the world’s best baby mama.

“If our goal is platonic…could you do me a favor?” “Sure?” I ask, obvious confusion overtaking my voice. “Could you keep it down? At night?”

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

“You’d choose this?” I ask, feeling the start of tears sting my eyes. I want to say, Me? You’d choose me? “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.

It’s so much easier to communicate insecurities when you don’t need to communicate them at all. Isn’t that all we ever want? To be seen and heard? Validated, even when we’re not able to ask for it.

“I’d do it all over again to be at that party,” he says. “To meet you. To get Gus.”

Because even though we aren’t together, I can no longer imagine a version of my life without Bo in it. Bo is simply lovely. Plain and true and all-encompassing.

“Are you in love with him?” “Yes!” Wait, what? “No!” I say, panic-stricken. “No, no, no—” But it’s too late. Sarah is up from her seat, slapping the desk with both palms like a drum. “Vindication!” she shouts, her hands like claws pointing at the ceiling. “Shut up,” I whisper, rubbing my forehead. “Please,” I beg pathetically. “Don’t.” “I was right,” she says, sitting back down. “Winnifred McNulty is in love.” “Sarah, I love him, but I’m not in love with him.” “Bullshit,” she spits, shaking her head.

Too bad Bo doesn’t have the accent. Though…I wonder if he’d speak French in bed if I asked nicely?

“Your friendship means a lot to me, Win.” He breathes out. “You mean a lot to me.”

“I love you,” I whisper once I’m absolutely sure he’s asleep—his steady breathing loud and throaty.

Bo holds my little hand by the wrist and stares at it. He brushes his thumb across my palm, his eyes held in concentration. “I lied,” he says, breathing out a bitter laugh. His face softens as his eyes trace the pattern of his thumb as he swipes it again. “I think I might be a bit disappointed.” I sniffle, shaking myself as a smile breaks through. “C’mon, you don’t mean that.” “You’re perfect, Win,” Bo says, as easily as breathing. “Of course I’d want them to have every part of you.”

I looked at the photo for way too long, even among the chaos that was throwing this party together. I love that dork.

“I’m very lucky,” Bo says softly—eyes held on mine.

The realization as to why every step of this pregnancy has held such weight to Bo. My feelings, my housing, my finances, my health. All because of what happened to his mother. Because of that guilt he feels.

Let me in, I want to say amidst the silence. Love me. Trust me. I won’t let you down. I swear it.

“You’ve given me so much, Win.” “No…” “Ever since I met you, it’s like every part of me has healed a little bit. Do you know that? Do you know that you do that for people?”

“I’ve been talking about you to pretty much anyone who will listen for months,” he laughs out softly. “I thought you knew, Win. I thought it was so painfully obvious how I feel about you. What I want here. I thought that’s why you set such clear boundaries. I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

I long to be loved by a man like Bo. I long to love him, the way he deserves. Our souls were tied a long time ago, I think. We’re just finally admitting it to each other.

“Ah, but love, you’re thirty now.” He tilts his head slowly, his hair flopping to one side. “I like that,” he says, smiling. “What?” “My dream girl is in bed with me, calling me love.”

“I love you,” I say, squeezing his fingers again. “I’m fully, madly, deeply, and unquestionably in love with you.”

“I love you, Win. I love you so much it makes me feel like I’ve hated everything else in my life up until now. Nothing compares to what I feel for you. Not even close.”

“You. Said. No. More. Gifts,” I say, announcing every word with a poke of my finger against his muscle. He swipes my hand away, keeping it tightly in his grasp, and kisses my palm, smiling into it. “I never said that. You said that.” “Robert!” I snap my hand back, momentarily falling into his soft, lulling trap of tender kisses. “Winnifred!” he says, laughing, his eyes creasing on either side.

“Tell me how to spoil you back,” I say, pouting. “And do not say blow jobs—” Bo shuts his mouth as quickly as he opened it, smiling coyly as he scratches above his eyebrow.

He swipes his thumb back and forth, bunching and stretching my T-shirt in its path. Well, actually, his T-shirt. Most of my clothes don’t fit comfortably ever since my bump popped. I refuse to buy anything new. I like wearing Bo’s clothes because he gets all worked up over it. I think it’s because it’s almost like announcing to the world that I’m his. His woman carrying his baby in his clothing. And I like that they smell like him.

“They’ll hear us…” I say, panting as Bo brings one hand up to palm my breast and licks his way around my nipple on the other, wetting the material with his tongue. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to subdue the overwhelming urge to have him right now. “Well, then, make sure you say my name clearly, honey. I want them to know who makes all those pretty noises come out of your mouth.”

I kiss him because I’m grateful, even though I’m often terrible at showing it. I kiss him because he truly does want to take care of me. I kiss him because I think I’m going to let him. I kiss him because I love him. More and more each day.

“You look beautiful, Fred.” “You had to ruin that compliment, huh?” I say, letting my hands roam over his forearms. “I will start calling you Bob.” “You look beautiful, stunning, and downright ethereal…Fred.”

Actually, I’m very pregnant and very in love with the guy, so I do cry.

I love you, I think, rubbing my thumb across his cheek as he smiles shyly at me.

“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.”

“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 cover my mouth, looking down at his hand, clasped tightly around the bandanna as my brain catches up with my soaring heart. “I think I knew that I needed a piece of you to hold on to. I was walking out of that room and I saw this on the chair next to the door and…I don’t know. I just needed to take a part of that night with me.” “But…but you left.”

“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.”

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

“It was my mom’s,” Bo says, bringing my right hand between us, twiddling it with his thumb. “I hope that’s okay.” “Absolutely,” I say, punctuated by a kiss. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

August Durand was born at 11:56 p.m. on July thirty-first, only four minutes shy of her namesake.