Chapter 38
The Logic Of Yes
THORNE
Six Months Later
The couch is too small for three people.
Lily doesn't care. She's wedged between us, Theodore in her lap, a piece of paper covered in numbers balanced on the dinosaur's head. The TV is on. Some animated show about a princess who solves problems with math, but she's not watching. She's explaining.
"And then seven goes into forty-nine exactly seven times, which is why seven is sneaky. It hides inside itself. Like a spy."
"It's a square." Julianna's voice is warm. Different from what it was six months ago. Softer. "Seven times seven equals forty-nine. And forty-nine divided by seven equals seven. The number comes back to itself."
"Exactly." Lily bounces. "That's what I've been saying."
I watch them. My daughter and the woman who saved her. The woman who took a bullet, finished an upload, stopped breathing, and came back.
The woman I'm going to marry.
She just doesn't know it yet.
The ring is in my sock drawer. Has been for three weeks. I keep waiting for the right moment, but there's never a right moment. There are only moments, one after another, each one better than the last.
Lily teaching Julianna about sneaky numbers.
Julianna teaching Lily about squares and recursive loops at six and a half years old.
The three of us on a couch that's too small, watching a cartoon neither of them is watching, being a family in a way I never imagined I'd have.
Julianna shifts, adjusting her position.
At six months along, the couch is getting harder to manage.
The curve of her belly is unmistakable now.
Round and firm beneath the soft fabric of her shirt.
She carries our child the way she carries everything: with precision, with purpose, with the quiet certainty that she can handle whatever comes.
We never used protection. Not once in all those nights in the safe room. I was too angry to think about consequences. She was too focused on penance to care about them.
Now the consequence kicks against my palm when I rest my hand on her stomach.
Lily's appointed herself "Official Big Sister Coordinator." A role that involves making lists of things she'll teach the baby (math, Theodore's rules, how to identify sneaky numbers) and things she'll protect the baby from, loud noises, and bad men.
"Daddy." Lily's voice pulls me back. "You're not paying attention."
"I'm always paying attention."
"Then what did Julianna just say?"
I look at Julianna. She's smiling. That small, private smile she only uses with us. With her family.
"She said seven times seven equals forty-nine."
"Lucky guess." But Lily is grinning.
Then her face shifts. The grin fades into something more serious. More calculating. She's looking at me the way she looks at a math problem that doesn't make sense.
"Daddy."
"What, Lily-bug?"
"I have a question."
"Okay."
"When are you going to ask Julianna to marry you?"
The room goes still.
Julianna's head turns. Her eyes find mine. Wide, startled, questioning.
"Lily," I start.
"Because I found the ring." Lily barrels forward, oblivious to the grenade she's just thrown. "In your sock drawer. Three weeks ago. I was looking for Theodore's backup bow, you know, the purple one, and I found the box. And I opened it. And there's a ring inside. A really pretty one."
"Lily."
"And I've been waiting and waiting for you to ask her, but you keep not asking, and I don't understand why.
" Her voice is getting louder now, indignant.
"Because Julianna is having our baby and she lives here and she's my math teacher and you love her.
I know you love her because of the way you look at her when you think nobody's watching. "
"Lily …"
"So why haven't you asked?" She crosses her arms. Theodore mimics the gesture, his stuffed arms folded across his purple belly. "It's not logical, Daddy. The math doesn't work."
I stare at my daughter. At the six-year-old who just blew up the romantic proposal I've been planning for three weeks.
Julianna makes a sound. I can't tell if it's a laugh or a sob.
"The math doesn't work," I repeat.
"No." Lily is firm. "You have a ring. You have a Julianna. You're supposed to put the ring on the Julianna. That's how it works. I watched it on TV."
"She has a point." Julianna's voice is thick. She's definitely crying now. But she's smiling too. "The math is pretty straightforward."
I look at her. At the tears on her face. At the belly that holds our child. At the woman who built empires and burned them down and walked through fire to save my daughter.
"I had a plan." My voice comes out rough. "Dinner. Candles. Something that wasn't a couch in front of a cartoon with our six-year-old as the master of ceremonies."
"But?"
"But apparently the math doesn't work."
I get off the couch. Go to the bedroom. Find the sock drawer, the box, the ring I've been carrying in my head for three weeks.
When I come back, Lily is bouncing on the cushions.
"Is he getting it? Is he getting the ring? Theodore, he's getting the ring."
I kneel in front of the couch. In front of Julianna. Her hand finds my face. Cups my cheek, her thumb brushing across my jaw.
"I was going to do this differently." I hold out the ring. Simple. Elegant. The kind of architecture she'd appreciate. "But my daughter apparently has no patience for dramatic timing."
"I have excellent patience," Lily protests. "I waited three whole weeks."
"You taught her she wasn't broken." I ignore Lily, keep my eyes on Julianna.
"You took a bullet for her. You died saving me.
You're carrying our child." My jaw works.
"I've spent my whole life not needing anyone.
Not letting anyone in. And then you walked into my life with your spreadsheets and your guilt and your ridiculous compulsion to fix everything, and—"
"Colt."
"And I need you. I need you in a way I've never needed anyone. So I'm asking." I hold her gaze. "Will you marry me?"
"Say yes." Lily leans in, whispering loudly. "Theodore says you should say yes."
Julianna laughs. The sound is wet, broken, beautiful.
"Yes."
"Yeah?"
"Yes." She's crying freely now. "Yes, I'll marry you."
Lily explodes off the couch.
"SHE SAID YES. I TOLD YOU THE MATH WOULD WORK!" She's dancing around the living room; Theodore clutched in her arms. "We're going to be a real family. With a ring and a baby and sneaky numbers."
I slide the ring onto Julianna's finger. It fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be there.
"I love you."
"I love you too." Her voice is a low, steady vow. No calculation. No containment. Just the truth.
Lily crashes back onto the couch between us, Theodore raised triumphantly over her head.
"I'm going to be the best big sister and the best flower girl. I already made a list." She looks at Julianna's belly, then at me, then back at the belly. "Can the baby be in the wedding? It's going to be there anyway. Inside Julianna. It should count."
"The baby can count." Julianna smiles, her hand finding mine across Lily's shoulders, our fingers lacing together over our daughter.
"Good." Lily nods, satisfied. "Theodore says that's only fair."
On the TV, the princess solves another problem with math.
In my arms, the woman who solved Phoenix holds on like she's never letting go.
And between us, Lily is already planning the wedding: the flowers, the math-themed decorations, the role Theodore will play as ring bearer.
We're going to be okay.
More than okay.
We're going to be a family.