Chapter Twenty-Two Five More Minutes
Miu woke to warmth.
It was the first thing she noticed-the weight beside her, solid and real, pressing into the mattress.
The second thing was the arm draped across her waist, heavy and warm, fingers resting against her hip.
The third thing was the breathing, slow and steady, close enough that she could feel it against her hair.
She didn't open her eyes. Not yet. She wanted to hold onto this moment, this feeling, this strange and unfamiliar peace.
The night before was a blur of tears and tea and being held.
She remembered Lena's hands in her hair.
Lena's voice saying I've got you. Lena's lips on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose.
The way she had been tucked into bed like something precious.
She remembered holding Lena's hand. Not letting go. Refusing to let go.
She opened her eyes.
Lena was beside her. Asleep. Her face was relaxed, softer than Miu had ever seen it. Her hair was spread across the pillow, dark against the white. Her mouth was slightly open. Her arm was still around Miu's waist, holding her close.
Miu's face went warm. Her heart did something complicated in her chest.
She watched Lena sleep. Watched the way her eyelashes rested against her cheeks. Watched the way her breathing moved through her body. Watched the way her hand, even in sleep, was holding Miu like she was afraid she might disappear.
I'm in love with you, Miu thought. I'm in love with you, and you're in my bed, and you tied my shoes last night, and I'm not going to let you go.
She shifted. Just a little. Lena stirred.
"Mm." Lena's eyes didn't open. Her arm tightened around Miu's waist. "You're awake."
"You're in my bed."
"You wouldn't let go of my hand last night."
Miu's face went redder. "I was tired."
"You were holding on like I was going to disappear."
"Maybe I thought you would."
Lena's eyes opened. They were soft, unfocused, still heavy with sleep. She looked at Miu for a long moment. "I'm not going to disappear."
"I know. Now."
Lena's hand moved on Miu's waist. A small movement, a stroke of her thumb against the fabric of Miu's hoodie. "I applied for your leave. One week. Gerald approved it."
Miu blinked. "One week?"
"You need to rest. You need to sleep. You need to not think about that office for seven days."
Miu opened her mouth to argue. Then she closed it. She was tired. She was so tired. The thought of not having to go back, not having to sit at her desk and pretend she wasn't waiting for the next comment, the next whisper, the next small cruelty-it felt like being allowed to breathe.
"Oh," she said. "Thanks for being here last night."
Lena's thumb kept moving. Slow. Steady. "I'll always be here."
Miu looked at her. The morning light was coming through the window, pale and gray, the usual Vancouver light. It caught in Lena's hair, softened her features, made her look like someone from a dream.
"I guess this isn't a bad way to wake up," Miu said.
Lena's mouth twitched. "You guess?"
"I'm not fully awake yet. My judgment is compromised."
"Your judgment is always compromised. You eat pickles with peanut butter."
"That's the baby."
"The baby is a tyrant."
Miu laughed. It was small, quiet, still thick with sleep. But it was real. It was the first real laugh she had let out in days.
She looked at Lena. Lena was looking at her. The room was quiet. The cat was somewhere, probably judging them from the foot of the bed.
"Can we stay like this?" Miu asked. "For five more minutes?"
Lena's arm tightened around her waist. She pulled Miu closer, until there was no space between them, until Miu's face was pressed against Lena's chest, until she could feel Lena's heartbeat against her cheek.
"Is that the baby talking?" Lena asked. "Or the mom?"
Miu closed her eyes. The warmth was everywhere. Lena's arms around her. Lena's heartbeat under her ear. Lena's breath in her hair.
"Both," Miu whispered.
She was asleep before she finished the word.
---
Lena didn't move.
She lay there, holding Miu, feeling her breathing slow, feeling her body relax, feeling the weight of her settle. Miu's face was pressed against her chest. Her hands were tucked between them. Her hair was soft against Lena's chin.
Ten minutes. She had said five. She gave herself ten.
She watched the light move across the room. Watched the dust motes drift in the pale morning air. Watched Miu's face, peaceful and young, the lines of worry smoothed away.
She thought about the night before. The way Miu had cried in her arms. The way she had held on, refusing to let go. The way she had said you're the only person who's ever made me feel like I don't have to earn it.
Lena kissed her forehead. Soft. Gentle. A promise.
Then she carefully, slowly, extracted herself from Miu's arms. Miu stirred, made a sound of protest, reached for her.
"I'm here," Lena whispered. "I'm just making breakfast. I'll be back."
Miu's hand fell back to the bed. She settled into the pillow, her face relaxed, her breathing steady.
Lena stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her. Then she walked to the kitchen.
---
Her phone was on the counter. She had left it there last night, forgotten. There were seventeen messages.
She scrolled through them. Adrian, mostly. Updates about the leave of absence, the conversations with Richard Patterson, the arrangements for Miu's time off. A message from Rosana: I heard there was an incident. Is she okay?
Lena typed back: She will be.
She called Adrian.
He answered on the first ring. "You're awake."
"I'm awake. I'm at her apartment."
"I assumed." A pause. "I've arranged the leave. One week, approved, no questions. Gerald signed off on it this morning. Richard Patterson has taken a leave of absence as well. Two weeks. He's agreed to a conversation when he returns."
Lena leaned against the counter. The kitchen was small. The counter was cluttered. Miu's dishes were in the sink, the ones she had been too tired to wash. Her tea mugs were lined up by the stove. The gummy bears were on the counter, the bag open, the green ones picked out.
"Good," Lena said.
"There's more." Adrian's voice shifted. "The Phoenix Group conference. I canceled your attendance."
Lena was quiet for a moment. "Good."
"You're sure? This was-"
"I'm sure." She looked at the bedroom door. Miu was still asleep. The cat was curled at her feet. "I don't need to go to the Phoenix Group. I just need to be here."
Adrian was quiet for a moment. Then: "I've rearranged everything. Your meetings, your calls, your appointments. You can stay home for as long as you need."
"Thank you, Adrian."
"You're welcome." Another pause. "She's lucky. To have you."
Lena looked at the bedroom door. "I'm the lucky one."
She hung up. Put the phone on the counter. Looked at the kitchen. The dishes needed washing. The counter needed clearing. The refrigerator needed restocking.
She started with the soup.
She found vegetables in the crisper-carrots, celery, onions. They were slightly wilted, but usable. She found chicken broth in the cupboard, rice in the pantry, ginger in the drawer. She had bought it last week, when Miu's nausea had been bad.
She moved through the kitchen the way she moved through boardrooms: efficiently, deliberately, with purpose. But her movements were slower here. Softer. She washed the vegetables carefully. She chopped them small, the way Miu liked. She set the pot on the stove, added the broth, added the ginger.
The kitchen warmed. The smell of soup filled the apartment.
She was stirring when she heard movement from the bedroom. Soft footsteps. The cat meowing. Then Miu appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket, her hair a mess, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
"You're cooking," Miu said.
"I'm cooking."
"You never stop cooking."
"You never stop needing to eat."
Miu walked to the couch. Sat down. The cat followed her, jumped into her lap, started purring. "Adrian called?"
"He called."
"You're not going to work?"
Lena looked at her. Miu was wrapped in the blanket, the one Lena had left weeks ago, the cream-colored one that didn't match anything in her apartment. Her face was soft, open, unguarded. She looked like she had been sleeping for a year.
"I'm staying here," Lena said.
Miu's face did something complicated. "For how long?"
"For as long as you need me."
Miu looked at her. The soup simmered. The cat purred. The morning light was pale and gray through the window.
"What if I need you forever?" Miu asked. Her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper.
Lena's hands stilled on the spoon.
She turned. Looked at Miu. At the woman in the cat hoodie, wrapped in a blanket, with a cat in her lap and sleep still in her eyes. The woman who had never asked for anything. The woman who had tried to fight her battles alone. The woman who had held her hand in the night and not let go.
"Then I'm here forever," Lena said.
Miu's eyes went bright. "You can't promise that."
"I can. I am."
"That's-" Miu's voice cracked. "That's a long time."
Lena crossed the room. Knelt in front of the couch. The same way she had knelt last night, to tie Miu's shoes. The same way she would kneel a hundred times, a thousand times, for the rest of her life.
"I know," Lena said. "I'm counting on it."
Miu stared at her. The tears were coming, but they weren't sad tears. They were something else. Something Miu had never felt before. Something she didn't have words for.
"You're going to make me cry," Miu said.
"Then cry. I'll be here."
"You're always saying that."
"Because it's always true."
Miu leaned forward. Her forehead touched Lena's. Their noses brushed. Their breath mingled.
"I love you," Miu said. "I love you, and I'm scared, and I don't know what I'm doing, and I've never done this before, and I'm probably going to mess it up, but I love you. I love you."
Lena's hands came up. Cradled Miu's face. Her thumbs brushed away the tears that were falling, slow and warm.
"I love you too," Lena said. "I love you, and I'm not going anywhere, and you're not going to mess it up, because there's no right way to do this. There's just us. There's just today. There's just right now."
Miu laughed. It was watery, choked, but it was real. "That's very philosophical for someone who wears sweatpants."
"I'm expanding my horizons."
"You're impossible."
"I've been told."
They stayed like that for a moment. Foreheads together. Hands on faces. Breath mingling.
The soup simmered. The cat purred. The morning light moved across the floor.
Then Miu pulled back. Wiped her face. Looked at Lena with eyes that were red-rimmed but steady.
"Kiss me," Miu said.
Lena's breath caught. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
Lena leaned forward. Her lips brushed Miu's. Soft. Gentle. A question.
Miu answered.
The kiss was not a first kiss. It was too familiar for that.
It was the kiss of two people who had been falling in love for weeks, who had been holding back, who had been waiting for the right moment.
It was soft and slow and warm, like the morning light, like the soup simmering on the stove, like the weight of Lena's hand on Miu's cheek.
When they pulled apart, Miu was crying again.
"I'm sorry," she said, laughing, wiping her face. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm happy. I'm so happy."
"Hormones," Lena said.
"It's not hormones."
"It's a little hormones."
"It's not-" Miu laughed. It was a real laugh, full and warm. "Okay. It's a little hormones."
Lena smiled. The real smile. The one she kept for Miu. "Good. I'll take it."
She stood. Held out her hand. "Come on. The soup is ready."
Miu took her hand. Let Lena pull her up. Let Lena lead her to the kitchen. Let Lena pour the soup into bowls, set them on the table, pull out a chair.
She sat. Ate. Watched Lena across the table, her hair messy, her face soft, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea.
"What are you thinking?" Miu asked.
Lena looked at her. "That I want to do this every day. Make you soup. Sit across from you. Watch you eat."
"That's very domestic."
"I'm becoming domestic."
"You're becoming soft."
"I've been told."
Miu smiled. "I like it. The softness. The soup. The way you leave cabinet doors open."
"I do not leave cabinet doors open."
"You left the one above the stove open this morning. I saw it when I walked in."
Lena's ears went red. "I was distracted."
"By what?"
"By you. Sleeping in my shirt."
Miu looked down. She was wearing Lena's shirt. The one Lena had been wearing yesterday. The one she had put on Miu when she tucked her into bed.
"Oh," Miu said. "This is yours."
"It was mine. It's yours now."
Miu touched the collar. It was soft. It smelled like Lena. "I'm keeping it."
"I assumed."
They finished their soup. The cat jumped onto the table. Lena didn't scold him. Miu watched her scratch behind his ears, the way she always did, the way that made him purr.
"You're good with him," Miu said.
"He's a good cat."
"He's a terrible cat. He eats hair ties and throws up on my pillow."
"He has character."
"He has problems."
Lena almost smiled. Almost. "He's yours. That makes him good."
Miu's heart did something complicated again. "You're very smooth for someone who doesn't know how to lie."
"I don't lie. I just... omit."
"You just told me you don't leave cabinet doors open."
"I was wrong. I leave cabinet doors open."
Miu laughed. "You do."
"I do." Lena stood. Collected the bowls. Brought them to the sink. Started washing.
Miu watched her. The way her hands moved. The way her shoulders relaxed. The way she stood in the small kitchen like she had always been there, like she had always been washing dishes in this apartment, like she had always belonged.
"I'm glad you're here," Miu said.
Lena looked over her shoulder. "I'm glad I'm here too."
"Even with the cabinet doors?"
"Even with the cabinet doors."
Miu stood. Walked to the kitchen. Stood beside Lena. Picked up a towel. Started drying.
They worked in silence. The water ran. The dishes clinked. The cat supervised from the counter.
When the last dish was put away, Lena turned. Miu was leaning against the counter, watching her.
"What?" Lena asked.
"Nothing. I'm just looking at you."
"Why?"
"Because I can. Because you're here. Because I spent three days convincing myself I didn't need you, and then you showed up and tied my shoes and made me soup and told me you loved me, and now I can't stop looking at you."
Lena's face softened. "You never needed to convince yourself of anything."
"I know. Now."
She reached out. Took Lena's hand. Pulled her close.
"Five more minutes," Miu said.
Lena wrapped her arms around her. "You said that this morning."
"I'm saying it again."
"You're going to say it every morning."
"Probably."
Lena kissed her forehead. "I'm counting on it."
They stood in the kitchen. The morning light was brighter now, the gray lifting, the pale sun breaking through. The apartment was warm. The cat was asleep on the couch. The dishes were done.
Miu closed her eyes. Leaned into Lena. Let herself be held.
"Lena."
"Mm."
"I'm not going to let you go."
Lena's arms tightened. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
Miu smiled. Her face pressed against Lena's shoulder. Her hands tucked between them. Her heart beating slow and steady and sure.
She was home. She had been home for weeks. She just hadn't known it.
Now she did.
And she was never letting go.