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Mar. 23rd, 2006 09:24 pmPretty much nothing in his life compares to waking up with Beth at his side.
Except falling asleep with her at his side. Or watching her as she dresses or reads or showers or swims, or the way her eyes light up when he takes her somewhere new, or that little sound of satisfaction she makes after sex, or...
...well, hell, all of it compares. He rethinks.
Pretty much nothing in my life compares to the way I feel with you, Beth.
That's better. In the early morning light filtering through the curtains, he studies her sleepy profile, trying very hard not to wake her. By his calculations -- not that he spends time calculating it more than every couple seconds -- she's 13 or 14 weeks along. For more than three months of real outside-the-bar time, she's had this life growing inside her.
It's kind of amazing. And scary as hell. And nothing he knows shit about, nothing he ever thought he'd be privy to. He knows she thinks this isn't his kid and deep down inside he bets she's right. But like he told her before, that day they were out walking around the lake, ask him if he cares. Of course he cares. He's got his ego and his pride. But there are three simple truths that go along with believing this isn't his kid.
The first is that he loves Beth and he doesn't give a fuck about anything else.
The second is that whether or not this is his kid biologically, he'll still be there.
And the third is that when she's big as a horse and uncomfortable and miserable about every fucking thing, he can remind her it's not his fault.
(Not that he would.)
So here in the early morning light he moves as little as possible just so he can study her while she's sleeping. She takes his breath away, and always has.
Except falling asleep with her at his side. Or watching her as she dresses or reads or showers or swims, or the way her eyes light up when he takes her somewhere new, or that little sound of satisfaction she makes after sex, or...
...well, hell, all of it compares. He rethinks.
Pretty much nothing in my life compares to the way I feel with you, Beth.
That's better. In the early morning light filtering through the curtains, he studies her sleepy profile, trying very hard not to wake her. By his calculations -- not that he spends time calculating it more than every couple seconds -- she's 13 or 14 weeks along. For more than three months of real outside-the-bar time, she's had this life growing inside her.
It's kind of amazing. And scary as hell. And nothing he knows shit about, nothing he ever thought he'd be privy to. He knows she thinks this isn't his kid and deep down inside he bets she's right. But like he told her before, that day they were out walking around the lake, ask him if he cares. Of course he cares. He's got his ego and his pride. But there are three simple truths that go along with believing this isn't his kid.
The first is that he loves Beth and he doesn't give a fuck about anything else.
The second is that whether or not this is his kid biologically, he'll still be there.
And the third is that when she's big as a horse and uncomfortable and miserable about every fucking thing, he can remind her it's not his fault.
(Not that he would.)
So here in the early morning light he moves as little as possible just so he can study her while she's sleeping. She takes his breath away, and always has.
