I say, except now I’m suddenly wondering what our children would look like, and I’ve never wanted children, never ever, no, sir. But damn. Zenny and I would make cute babies. And I can picture her belly swollen and tight with my child, picture her sitting in a glider in some quiet room, nursing our baby while I sat by her feet and stared up at her adoringly. Happiness. That’s the feeling unfurling in my chest right now, fragile and easily blown apart, and the sensation of it is so strange that I’m rendered still, staring at Zenny as if she’s the only thing in the world. She misinterprets my
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