( Jane wakes up at 11am. It's Sunday. )

I used to draw the X's bright and red on the calendar, keeping the countdown in my head: this many months, this many weeks, this many days. But now they come a little slower, the lines a little thinner, because maybe, maybe this is it ( Read more... )

She's taken to calling her dad every other day, sometimes more often ( Read more... )

He likes to do this thing where he put his hand on her stomach and pretends to feel the baby kick ( Read more... )

In our simpler life, I fall asleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning. We rise at the same time, eat the same breakfast, and take the same train. I get off two stops before you, and I kiss you goodbye with my body half out the door. I think about you at lunch, wondering what we'll do for dinner. I meet you at the stop in ( Read more... )

We are sitting on a foreign bed, in a foreign city. There is a bag of luggage between us, spilling onto the comforter, and there is wine on my tongue, heavy and sweet, and there is no one else, our silence hovering between us. My left hand is tracing careless circles on my thigh, and you are resolutely not looking ( Read more... )