Special Chapter Where We Belong #4
I wake to the sound of birds outside the window and the warmth of Leon still beside me. For a long moment, I just lie there, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of having slept through the night.
Then I hear it: the sound of my mother's voice, faint but clear, coming from somewhere down the hall. Singing. An old lullaby I remember from my own childhood.
"They're awake," I murmur.
Leon stirs beside me. "What time is it?"
"Early still. Maybe seven." I stretch, feeling pleasantly rested for the first time in months. "I want to go and say good morning."
"In a minute." He pulls me closer. "Let me enjoy this for a little longer."
"Enjoy what?"
"This. You. The quiet." He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "We don't get enough mornings like this."
"We'll get more. The baby will sleep through the night eventually."
"Is that a promise?"
"It's a hope." I turn in his arms to face him. "Good morning, husband."
"Good morning, wife." He's smiling, soft and unguarded. "You have a crease on your cheek."
"So do you."
"Mine is distinguished."
I kiss him lightly. "Yours is from my elbow."
We get up slowly, dressing in comfortable clothes, moving around each other with the easy familiarity of people who have shared a space for years. By the time we make our way down the hall to the nursery, my parents are both awake, my father bouncing the baby gently while my mother folds blankets.
"There you are," my mother says. "This one's been asking for you."
The baby makes an enthusiastic sound at the sight of us, arms waving. I cross the room and scoop my child into my arms, feeling the warm solid weight settle against my chest.
"Good morning," I say. "Did you have fun with your grandparents?"
"The rabbit was a big hit," my father reports. "Also the ceiling. Apparently the ceiling is fascinating."
"Everything is fascinating at this age."
"True." My mother crosses to give me a hug, careful of the baby between us. "You look rested."
"I feel rested. Thank you for last night."
"Any time." She pulls back and looks at me with that particular expression mothers have. "Truly. Any time."
We make our way downstairs together, all five of us, to the kitchen, where Papa sets about making the breakfast he promised.
Leon finds plates while I sit with the baby and my mother cuts bread.
By the time we carry everything onto the terrace, the coffee is ready too.
The morning light is warm on my face as I settle into a chair with the baby on my lap, Leon beside me, my parents across the table.
Papa starts telling us about a small disaster involving the coffee pot on the farm. Mamma corrects every third detail until he stops and asks whether she'd like to tell it herself.
"No, you're doing very well. Apart from the facts."
I nearly spill my coffee laughing. Leon takes the baby so I can finish breakfast with both hands free. Our child rests against him, studying the changing shapes of the leaves overhead.
When my parents go inside to collect their overnight bag, Leon stays beside me with the baby in his arms. I reach over to straighten a small sleeve and leave my hand on his wrist.
"I liked seeing your parents yesterday," he says. "Everyone together."
"So did I."
He turns his hand beneath mine.
"You were never beneath me, Ysabel. I was beneath the man I needed to be to deserve you."
I look at him. He doesn't reach for another explanation, and I don't need one. I have watched him keep his promises through ordinary mornings and difficult days, through the birth of our child and the months that followed.
I believe him.
"You're here now," I say.
"I'm here."
I lean over to kiss him. The baby makes an indignant sound between us, and we pull apart laughing.
Our child reaches toward me with an open hand. I offer a finger and feel the small, determined grip close around it.
Leon moves his chair nearer, keeping the baby settled against him. His free arm comes around my shoulders, and I lean into the familiar warmth of his side.
Inside, my mother laughs. My father says something I can't make out, and she laughs harder. Through the open doors I can see their bag beside the table, the cup Mamma has forgotten, the little blanket draped over a chair.
I used to be so careful about the traces I left in this house. A book put away. A chair pushed back. My voice lowered when someone passed the door.
The blanket can stay where it is. Mamma will come back for her cup.
"What?" Leon asks, catching my smile.
I turn toward him. "I like our home."
He looks through the doors, then back at me. "So do I."
The baby opens a hand against his cheek, interrupting whatever he means to say next. He kisses the little palm. I bend to kiss the soft hair beneath his chin, and our child laughs, a sudden, delighted sound that carries through the open doors.
Mamma calls to ask what she's missing.
"Come and see," I call back.
Leon kisses my temple and keeps his arm around me. I stay beside him, our child reaching for us both, while my parents come out to join us in the sun.
There is room for all of us here.
THE END