Two and a Half Months Later on Thanksgiving

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I’m close to five months pregnant. I’m huge.

Knox and I are over at my Mom and Dad’s place for Thanksgiving weekend. I dragged him here and joked that he was my pawn this time—payback from Independence Day weekend.

He doesn’t mind the reference too much anymore. His grandfather passed away about a month ago. Right after it happened, Knox was so broken up, and deeply sensitive about a lot of things. From the outside looking in, some would think that losing his grandfather was heartbreaking, another blow to his loss and grief. But from where I was standing, the loss healed a part of Knox.

Near the end, when Knox and I stood at his grandfather’s side, the sweet old man took the last of his strength, reached out to us both, and joined Knox’s and my hands together. I didn’t understand what he whispered, but Knox explained later that his last wish was for us to hold on to each other’s hand, right to the very end. I’ve never heard of a sweeter, kinder last wish.

For a while after his passing, Knox would become silent and distant a lot. But one thing made him shake out of his mood. Seeing me. And the reminder that there’s three of us now in the equation. Now, with some time passed and my growing belly, he thinks of that weekend more fondly.

The four of us sit at the dinner table, three of them drinking coffee, and I’m sipping on water after having had dessert. Mom and Dad are on one side of the large mahogany table, Knox and I on the other. The turkey was a little overdone, but overall, we had a lovely meal.

I’m bombarded by the usual question about my pregnancy, my eating habits, on whether I need help with the nursery, and of course, Dad brings up the question of whether his grandbaby will be born to married parents. Marriage makes me uneasy. It’s only been a few months since Knox and I patched things up. We need time to get used to the idea. Heck, we need time to adjust to the fact that in less than five months, we’re going to be parents.

But a few things between us are rock solid.

We’re close.

We’re open and honest.

We’re insanely attracted to each other.

The L word has not come up, but I know he loves me and his unborn child deeply. His devotion to us is as clear as day, and although he’s not a big talker, he makes it his mission to show that to me every chance he gets. And shutting me out, it’s off the table. After teasing him that both Bethany and I will show up unannounced on his ass if he ever does that again, he promised it’s a moot point now. So far, he’s been true to his word, and I prefer to focus on the next ten years, not the past.

After dinner, we take a walk around the block to get some air. I enjoy the crisp cool late autumn. It’s one of my favorite times of year, and beats carrying a baby during the heat of summer.

Taking a deep, long inhale, I walk beside him, and smile when he puts an arm around my waist, cradling the side of my belly protectively with his widened palm, and takes my gloved hand with the other.

I rest my head on his shoulder and enjoy the comfortable silence between us.

“When’s your next ultrasound?” he asks.

“In a few weeks. Want to join me?”

“I’d like that. Do you plan to ask if the kid is a girl or boy?”

“I hadn’t thought of it, but yes, that’s fine with me. It’d be nice to shop for more than just neutral yellows and greens and white.”

“Good. If it’s a boy, I’d like his first or middle name to be Morris,” he says, and the statement causes my eyes to well up.

“That’d be lovely. And if it’s a girl?”

“Let me think on that. Maybe my mother’s name can be somewhere in there.”

“I like the name Anne. It’s timeless, straightforward, and has a softness to it.”

“Sounds just like my mom.”

“About what your father mentioned...” he starts and trails off.

“Don’t even spend a minute thinking about what he said,” I told him. “However we move ahead, I want our decisions to be yours and mine, on our timelines and no one else’s. I know they mean well, but at the end of the day, it’s our lives. Our baby won’t give a damn about whether we have a piece of paper making what we have legitimate. He or she will care about how much love we give him, how we care for him, and how we treat each other. Don’t you think?”

“You’re right on all points, but...”

“But what?”

“I didn’t knock up some random girl I hardly know,” he says, grinning.

“True. What are you getting at?”

“Well, earlier this week I was at Pops’ place sorting through his things, and some stuff from my parents that were up in the attic.” He reaches into his pocket. “I found these,” he tells me, revealing a set of three white gold rings. Two are his-and-hers wedding bands, and the third is a dazzling diamond solitaire engagement ring. I cup my hand over my mouth and shake my head. “Please don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.”

“I’m not. Not the way you think.”

“I don’t get it.”

“These were my grandfather and grandmother’s rings. Pops gave them to me a few weeks after my parents’ plane crash. They were more to hold onto than anything. He told me they were symbols, that even though my grandmother was gone, and her son... my dad... was gone too, the rings would keep every memory of them going, in me. I can’t tell you how many times I fell asleep with those three rings hanging off my index finger. They didn’t bring my parents back, but they kept them close, kept me going.” He stops short and turns to face me. “I’m not asking you to marry me yet. Just so we’re clear, it’s not because I don’t want to ask or have any misgivings. I’d get on my knees right now if I believed you’d say yes. So instead, I want you to have these rings. Keep them with you. And when you feel you’re ready, just tell me to get on my knees, and I will. Deal?”

My heart is full and my eyes are filled with tears now. I so love this man. I want to throw out everything I’ve ever said about waiting and tell him yes right this second.

“Deal,” I say through a whimper, taking the rings in my hand. “What if I want you to get on your knees for another reason?”

He groans out a laugh. “Good point, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it crystal clear which reason you’re asking for.”

“Unless you ask me right now.”

“What?”

I lift my left hand toward him. “What if I said yes? Like right now?”

“Don’t joke around with something this important, gorgeous. I’ll put you over my knee if you’re messing with my head.”

“Are you going to grow a pair and ask me, or are you just gonna stand there promising to spank me?”

“Does it have to be one or the other?”

I open my mouth to give him hell and he holds the engagement ring out toward me. My laughter turns to happy, happy tears when he gets down on one knee. “Isabelle, you’re my best friend. You’ve already been there for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. You celebrated me at my best and forgave me when I was at my worst. To me, that’s the true test of love. Yes, I love you, beautiful girl. I fucking love you. I want our baby to grow up knowing how much his or her old man cherishes their mother. I want them to know that we’ll be there to hold each other’s hand right to the end. Belle Harrison, will you marry me?”

I’m so overcome that all I can do is nod as he slides the ring onto my ring finger. He stands and pulls me into his arms.

“Yes, Knox,” I sob into his chest. “I love you so much. I’ll marry you.”

We stand there, my head buried in his chest, his arms wrapped around me, and our baby tucked in between us. Just like it should be.

No matter what tomorrow brings us, we’re going to be in it together.