37. Katy
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
katy
THE TALK
When I get home, the apartment is suspiciously quiet.
Like… too quiet. And if Mini-Ben is around, it’s never this quiet. Unless he’s sleeping. Which is almost never.
I drop my keys slowly, already bracing myself, and tiptoe down the hallway. That’s when I see them.
Ella is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped protectively around the baby, who is very much asleep. And the baby is not just sleeping, he’s sleeping on top of Danny.
Danny, for his part, looks like he’s in a meditative state. His head is flat on the cushion, eyes half-closed, tail still. The baby’s tiny hand is curled into his fur like this is where it’s always been.
“Hey,” I whisper.
Ella cracks one eye open. “Hi.”
I hover, heart full and slightly panicked. “How did you… do that?”
She smiles softly. “He wouldn’t settle. Danny laid down next to us. And then it just… kinda happened.”
Danny’s ear twitches. The baby sighs in his sleep.
“I think they’re bonded,” Ella adds.
“It looks like Danny would die for him,” I marvel. I pull out my phone and quickly snap a photo.
Ella carefully shifts so I can kiss the baby’s head without waking him. I straighten and sink into the armchair across from them, suddenly exhausted in that good way.
“Thank you for babysitting,” I say quietly.
“Anytime,” she whispers. “I needed the snuggles.”
We sit there for a minute, just watching them breathe.
Then she glances at me. “You okay?”
I hesitate. Then nod. Then shake my head.
“I’m just excited,” I admit. “And terrified.”
She doesn’t rush me.
“I’m nervous about the draft,” I continue. “I know it’s his dream, and I really want that for him. I just—” I swallow. “I don’t want to leave you. Or Declan. Or Grandma Patty. Or… this.”
Ella’s expression softens. “Hey.” She reaches out and squeezes my knee. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily. I already told you. We’ll visit all the time.”
“But what if we have to move far away?” I ask. “What if it’s across the country?”
“I don’t care, we’ll still go.” She leans in. “And we’ll FaceTime. We’ll still show up for you.”
I smile weakly. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“Maybe it won’t be.” She meets my eyes. “But we won’t mind.”
I look at my son. At Danny’s chest rising and falling under him. At the life we’ve built in this little apartment.
“I just… finally feel like this is our home.”
Ella nods. “I know. But you can do it all over again. I promise we’ll all help you.”
Danny snores softly. The baby shifts but doesn’t wake.
Ella grins. “Also, for the record? Wherever you go, Danny will also have to visit.”
I laugh. “Obviously.”
The baby sighs again, completely content, and Danny’s tail gives a single, lazy thump.
Ella watches them for a beat longer, then slowly turns to me with that look—the one that means she’s about to ask something invasive.
“So…” She tilts her head. “What did the doctor say? Were you cleared?”
I blink. “Cleared?”
She raises an eyebrow. “To resume fun activities.”
I groan, already blushing. “Ella.”
“What?” She grins. “This is important medical information.”
I glance at her, at her judgement-free heart. “Yes,” I admit. “I was cleared.”
Ella’s face lights up. “Okay, good.” Then, without missing a beat, she asks, “Did they give you an IUD?”
I choke on absolutely nothing. “Ella.”
She grins. “That’s a yes.”
I press my lips together, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”
Ella sits up a little straighter. “Wow. Look at you. Very responsible.”
“I already have one child,” I say. “I’m learning.”
Her expression softens. “We all are.”
I nod, looking back at my son. “It felt like another step. Like we’re not just surviving anymore.”
Ella leans back against the couch. “You’re planning now.”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “That’s a big deal.”
Danny snores. The baby sighs, still asleep, tiny fingers gripping fur.
I look at the dog with the baby on top, at my sister-in-law, or cousin-in-law—or whatever, my sister in every way that matters—sitting beside me, and feel something settle.
“Thanks for caring enough to ask,” I say quietly.
Ella smiles. “Always. Someone has to have this talk with you, young lady.”
I laugh. “You enjoy it too much. Also, you got knocked up younger than me. So don’t even.”
“No judgement zone.” She winks. “But it is my responsibility to show you the way.”
Maybe we can move.
Maybe home isn’t a place.
Maybe it’s… this.
BEN
Our little apartment is finally the kind of late-night quiet that means we’ve won the battle against bedtime. Our hyper baby is finally asleep. And is not the fragile, maybe-sleeping kind. The real kind. I checked three times.
Katy’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her dark shiny hair loose down her back, with one of my old T-shirts slipping off one shoulder. She looks softer but somehow stronger.
I stop in the doorway.
“Kitten’s finally down. You tired?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not really. Just… thinking.”
I sit beside her.
She turns toward me, cheeks pink. “The doctor said it’s okay to, you know… so I want to try.”
I go still. “You sure?” My voice lowers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her mouth curves into a small, steady smile. “You won’t.”
I still don’t move.
She studies my face for a second, then her smile turns a little softer, a little teasing.
“Well,” she says lightly, “if you do, you can fix it after.”
A quiet laugh escapes me, some of the tension slipping away. “That’s not exactly medical advice.”
“Pretty sure it counts as aftercare.” She shrugs. “Doctor-adjacent.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “I love you.”
“I know.” She leans in, brushing her nose against mine. “Now, show me.”
“I want to,” I admit. Then, more serious, I add, “I just want you to feel good. If anything doesn’t feel right, you tell me. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods. “I promise. I wouldn’t be joking if I wasn’t sure.”
That settles something in me.
I kiss her, slow and careful, like we’re relearning each other on purpose.
She melts into me, warm and sure, her fingers curling into my shirt, tugging me closer like she’s done waiting. No rush. No pressure. Just us, finding our way back with our patience and laughter still intact.
Still, I hesitate. My hand rests on the mattress between us.
“I mean it,” I murmur. “We don’t have to do anything. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
She reaches for me first, fingers slipping under my shirt, warm and certain.
“I don’t,” she says quietly. “I just want you. I always want you. And it’s been too long.”
I feel that everywhere. I kiss her again, not as gently this time. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, and she makes this soft sound, barely there. Her breath catches against my mouth, and then again when my lips gently brush her neck, testing what she needs, and it’s enough to undo me.
We take our time. There’s no urgency, no rush. Just hands learning familiar shapes again, mouths lingering like the moment might break if we move too fast.
When I pull back, I look at her. Really look.
“You okay?”
She nods, eyes steady, dark and sure. “Yeah.”
I kiss her again, deeper. My hand settles at her waist, thumb brushing slow, like I need to memorize her all over again. Every movement deliberate. Chosen.
Later, when we’re tangled together beneath the sheets, her head resting on my chest, she traces lazy patterns over my ribs.
“I missed you,” she murmurs.
I press a kiss to her hair. “I never went anywhere.”
She hums, already drifting. I stay awake a little longer, listening to the quiet of the apartment, the baby’s soft breathing through the monitor.
Same love.
Still us.
The baby wakes before the alarm. He doesn’t cry. He just makes this small, offended sound, like he’s disappointed the world hasn’t noticed him yet.
I check the clock. Jesus, it’s way too early. Of course it is.
I slide out of bed carefully. Katy doesn’t stir, just shifts slightly, one hand resting over her stomach in that protective, unconscious way she’s had since the second trimester. She was up late writing. I know better than to wake her.
I go into Mini-Ben’s room to check on him. “Hey buddy,” I whisper.
That does it. His mouth puckers. Not screaming yet, but we’re heading there. I scoop him up, and he settles immediately for me.
It makes me feel ten feet tall.
The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the soft sounds drifting in through the window. Early morning near campus always feels suspended, like everyone’s holding their breath before the day starts.
I warm his bottle by muscle memory now. I measure, shake, test it on my wrist.
Perfect.
Mini-Ben grips my shirt while he eats, eyes half-closing, body relaxing against my chest.
“Big day, little guy,” I murmur, because talking to him feels natural now. “For me too.”
I notice Katy is watching us from the doorway. She’s wrapped in a blanket, her hair a mess, her eyes heavy with sleep. She just leans against the frame and looks at us like she’s trying to hold the moment still.
I lower my voice. “Go back to bed. I’ve got him.”
She nods, relief softening her face immediately. It’s subtle, but I see it. I always do.
There’s something about how Katy sees me. In a world where people always counted on me to make them laugh or to score a touchdown, she’s always seen me as more. As someone capable of hanging the moon.
And for her, I would.
“I have training in an hour,” I add quietly. “But I’ll put him back down first.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, already drifting.
I step closer and kiss her forehead. “I’ll text you when I’m done.” My thumb brushes her wrist before I pull away.
Her hand comes up, curls around my wrist, squeezes once. A thank-you. A grounding. Then she lets go and disappears back into bed.
He finishes his bottle, and then I pace the living room with him until his breathing evens out. When I lay him back in his crib he sighs, deeply offended by gravity, but doesn’t wake up.
That’s my guy.
I shower fast and put on my training gear. When I come back into the bedroom, Katy is awake again, sitting up against the pillows with her laptop already open on her knees.
Of course she is.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I say.
She smiles without looking up. “I just thought of something, so I had to write it down.”
I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “I’ll be back by noon.”
“Okay. Hopefully I’ll have made some progress by then.”
I grin. “I’m proud of you. I can take him if you want to keep writing.”
She finally looks up at me. “That won’t help. You’re very distracting when you’re being a good dad.”
“You didn’t seem to mind being distracted last night.”
Her cheeks flush that pretty pink immediately. “Ben.”
I grin. I love that she still gets flustered. Worth it.
I grab my bag and head for the door, pausing just long enough to look back at her, then at the crib down the hall, and something in me settles. Our home is quiet and full in a way I never knew it could be.
It’s my same life. But upgraded.