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“I was thinking of many, many pieces spaced out in small increments,” I whisper. “Fuck,” he growls, pulling me back into his lap. “Yes.” “So you agree?” I ask. “No,” he replies. “I’m just not good at turning down pizza.”
“It’s not about us,” I gasp, sitting up. “It’s about the baby. In that dream I always have of us in the hospital? We’re there because I’m delivering, and that’s when she stops us. She doesn’t want us to have the baby.”
“No, it’s worked out fucking terribly. So I say if something you want scares the hell out of you, go for it. Because the other way isn’t working.”
“Well, my mother’s still alive and they never found your father’s mother after she disappeared, so I assume that means they didn’t find a ring either.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing. It’s a hard life.” “Time traveling?” He shakes his head, staring at the rope in his weathered hands. “No,” he says. “Being the one who has to stay behind.”
Which means my grandfather and I have had this conversation before.
It feels like whoever’s changing your life has stolen something from me. I should have taken you to Prom. I should have been your first kiss, your first everything, and I fucking hate that I wasn’t.”
I can’t. I won’t. If my desperation to stay alive is going to turn me into a monster, I don’t deserve to live in the first place.
Pregnancy is a miracle of life, blah blah blah. I’m still allowed to miss margaritas.
“Marry me,” Nick says. People around us are listening, so his voice drops to add, “in this lifetime and any others we find ourselves in.”
I push his hair back from his face. “We managed to overcome changing timelines and jealous exes and a brain tumor. I’m pretty confident we’ll be able to handle parenting.” “I wouldn’t be so certain. She was doing shots, Quinn,” he says, tugging at his hair. “With guys in a band.” I’m getting a glimpse of a whole new side of my fiancé—Nick as a father. It’s going to be interesting.
