36. Marley
36
MARLEY
B eau strides out of the guest bedroom into the living room, totally shirtless. He has his hair up in a half ponytail bun, and I swear to all that is holy, my mouth actually waters. Fucking hell, why is he doing this to me? Doesn’t he know how attractive he is?
I squeeze my thighs together as I sit on the couch, growing irritated rather than more turned on. Beau grabs a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink. He drinks long gulps of it until it’s empty, then sets it in the sink. He glances over at me, and gives me a look of total innocence.
“What?” he asks. He steps toward me, into the living room. When I don’t say anything, he climbs onto the couch next to me. Though, I’m currently laying across the length of the couch resting my book on my baby bump. He lifts my legs in order to sit down, then plops my swollen ankles down on his lap.
“Nothing,” I grumble. To be honest, I really don’t know why I’m irritated with him. I flip the page of my book, realizing that I didn’t actually read anything on the previous page. Well, it’s not like I’m going to turn back the page. He’d notice.
Beau, clearly having a death wish, starts to massage my sock covered feet. He raises his brows. “Marley. I know you. What’s wrong?”
I slap my book shut, resting it against my stomach. “You’re shirtless.” I use the book to point out my words.
“And?” he questions. “I was hot.”
Jesus Christ . I clear my throat. “It’s ten degrees out. It’s March, in Minnesota, Beau.”
He gestures for me to continue, and when I don’t, he repeats, “And?”
I drop my head onto my throw pillow. “It’s cold, Beau!” I’m completely exasperated now, and I myself don’t even know why. “You—” I stutter over the word. “You’re going to get sick or get hypothermia!”
Beau looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Marley, we’re inside. It’s like seventy seven degrees inside, because you’ve been cold this week. Next week, I’m sure you’ll be hot all the time, so I’ll be lucky if the heat is on.”
He’s got a point. My internal thermometer has been all over the place, though that is not what I’m mad about right now. “You can’t just walk around shirtless.”
“Why not?”
“Cause, I can’t, so therefore you can’t. It’s only fair.”
“I never said you couldn’t.”
My cheeks burn. My heart pounds. And my vagina clenches around nothing. I barely register the fact that he’s still massaging my aching feet.
Beau winks. He winks.
I yank my feet from his grip, setting them solidly on the ground as I attempt to move myself to a sitting position. It’s quite fumbled though, since I have a volleyball attached to my gut. “Stop it,” I groan.
“What?” he mumbles, feigning innocence. “I’m telling the truth.”
Exasperated, I groan, deciding to give up on the subject. “Nevermind. I'm crazy.”
“Marley,” Beau says slowly. “I was teasing. If you want, I will go put a shirt on right now.”
“No,” I reply. And then I feel my throat tightening, and my eyes sting. “Don’t.”
He stills. “I… I don’t know what to do. Will you cry if I put a shirt on?”
I attempt to scoff, but it comes out a choked sound. “No. I won’t cry.”
Beau sinks back into the couch, but not before leaning forward to grab my legs. I follow his movements, slowly laying back down onto the couch. He scoots closer to me so that his hip is against my butt, my thighs covering his. Reaching out, he grabs the hand I just rested against my belly. Squeezing gently, he says, “I’ll wear a shirt from now on.”
Shaking my head, I feel overwhelmed. “No,” I reply. “Don’t. I’m just being silly. I don’t even know why I did that. I’m so all over the place. I like…” I trail off, because I don’t know if I want to admit that I thoroughly enjoy him being shirtless.
“You like?” Beau says teasingly.
I groan, shutting my eyes. “I like being able to see your tattoos.” I can’t see his reaction, but he squeezes my palm again.
Neither Beau, nor I have brought up his new tattoo again. It’s not like it’s a taboo subject, but to be honest, I’m a little scared to do it. Scared to confront the emotions that I’m sure will come with it. When I got my own butterfly tattoo, I was at a low. I got it because butterflies have always signified change for me. A metamorphosis. I was ready to let go and start over, morph into something new, and let the flowers of my life bloom. I felt like I’d lost Beau, the one person I could always lean on. I knew my life was going to change, it just changed in a way I never would have expected.
But Beau’s tattoo… it has to mean something. He’s called me butterfly off and on since we were kids, and more frequently since I’ve gotten pregnant. And now, he has a beautiful antique clock, with three butterflies flying out of it. I can’t think about it or I’ll get choked up. I can’t think about the fact that maybe those three butterflies signify me and the twins. Our babies and the life we’ve made.
“I like seeing your tattoos, too.” He uses the hand he had on my leg, to rest on the swell of my stomach. “Do you think you will get a tattoo for the babies?” he asks, rubbing soft circles over my sweatshirt.
Opening my eyes, I shrug. Beau is glancing down at his hand. The babies aren’t super active right now, probably sleeping. I’ve been able to feel them pretty frequently, but Beau hasn’t been able to catch it yet.
“I’m not sure. Probably. I don’t know what, though.” I hesitate, then ask, “Will you?”
Beau’s hand stills on my belly. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “I…” he starts speaking slowly. “I already did.”
My heart clenches tightly in my chest at the subtle confirmation of what I already knew. “You did?”
Beau shifts, angling his arm so I can see his shoulder clearly. He lifts his palm from my stomach, and gently traces the three butterflies. “This one,” he says, pointing to the one closest to the clock, “is you. The other two are the babies.”
As I process his words, confirming what I already suspected, he keeps speaking. “The clock… The clock is obviously a symbol of time, but the hands point up, toward you. To me, it means that there is never going to be enough time with you. With the family we are making.”
“Beau…” His name cracks as I speak, every wall I’ve built crumbles down into rubble at our feet. I sit forward, doing my best so I don’t look like a beached whale in this pivotal moment. Reaching, I brush my fingertips over the tattoo. It’s so detailed, the butterflies so perfectly symmetrical. If I look close enough, I can make out the shape of an M in the wings of the butterfly that represents me. “I… thank you.”
Beau shrugs. “You mean more to me than anyone in this world, and now the babies will be the center of ours.”
I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to really understand, but he’s in this. He’s really in this, really there for me. For our family and this life that we’ve created. Without a second thought, I lean forward, cupping his cheek in my palm, and press my lips to his.