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I, like most women my age, have learned to hate myself just enough to appease others. If you’re too fond of how you look, you’re told you’ll be unlikeable. Labeled as self-involved, egotistical, or stuck-up. But it’s purposeful—pitting us against one another. Consumerism demands we remain unsatisfied with our appearance. If we all liked ourselves, dozens of industries would crumble like Babylon. We have to want a solution to whatever or however many problems plague us in order to keep those factories running. To keep money in men’s pockets.
It fucks you up, competing against low expectations. Nothing feels like a win.
“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.
She’s wearing leggings and a cute, oversized sweater with the word Velaris written across it. I think that’s from a favorite book of hers, but if I ask, we’ll never get out of here on time.
“Hey,” Caleb says, outstretching one arm. I walk to him, letting my head rest on his chest. He pats my shoulder a few times, then grabs hold of it and shakes me against him, laughing in a mocking yet gentle manner. “This is good, Win. This is a great place, and that’s a perfect room. Don’t be sad. Don’t cry.”
“Don’t do that,” Bo says sternly. “What?” I blink at double speed. “Dismiss yourself like that. That sounds really fucking cool and important to me. Don’t trivialize what you accomplished.”
If I had it my way, you’d quit your job, put your feet up, and relax for the next few months.” “You want a kept woman,” I tease. “I certainly want to keep you.”
I know it sounds ridiculous, because there is a dishwasher, but I decided to do the dishes by hand. I think part of me feels like it’s only right to do it the old-fashioned way, considering Bo just made soup like a pioneer woman.
Bo looks at me sympathetically with a crooked smile and a long, thoughtful breath that raises his chest. “C’mere.” He reaches out for my arm, tugging me toward him and away from the door. He wraps one arm around my shoulders, holding on to the top of my arm, and rests the other on the back of my head, pressing me to him. I grumble my annoyance, remaining stiff all over with my arms locked at my sides.
“Celebratory?” I ask. “What are we celebrating?” “Your new plan. The kid you’re growing. You, in general.”
“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.”
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.
There’s something so intimate about being held with zero expectations or reason beyond wanting to. Something so natural about Bo and me moving our bodies in sequence, in no rush to step away. Something so inherently safe about being in his arms.
“I’d do it all over again to be at that party,” he says. “To meet you. To get Gus.”
I feel my own tears come, slow and steady. To hide my face, I press myself back into his chest, and he meets me immediately, wrapping himself around me like a shield.
“Is he a good guy?” “Yes, obviously.” “And?” “Oh my god, what now?” “Do you feel safe with him?” “Yes.” “So?” “So what?” I yell. “Are you in love with him?” “Yes!”
“You’re perfect, Win,” Bo says, as easily as breathing. “Of course I’d want them to have every part of you.”
I take a trembling breath in and dive toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my head between his shoulder blades. “Hey,” he says gently, his neck turned as far as he can over his shoulder. “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” I answer, my voice muffled by his sweater. “I just needed to hug you.”
Let me in, I want to say amidst the silence. Love me. Trust me. I won’t let you down. I swear it.
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.
“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.”
“But it is my job to love you the way you deserve to be loved from now on.” He presses his forehead against mine, breathing out slowly. “Let me do that, honey.”
“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.”