Page 90 of Parker

I lean forward and kiss her. “Did you just say you’re crazy about me?”

Her expression relaxes a little. “Guilty.”

“And you’re having our baby.”

She pats her tummy. “I already love this little nugget.”

“Me, too,” I tell her, leaning forward to kiss her again.

I pull her into my arms, holding her tight, with our child safely nestled between us.

When the time is right, I silently promise myself and my child,I’ll ask her again. I’ll ask her right. And, god willing, she’ll say yes.

***

The rest of February, March, and April fly by in the blink of an eye, with snowy days occurring less and less, until the spring sun melts all the slush away. That same sun rises before six o’clock now, and sets after eight. Longer days means the first wave of seasonal workers arrive in Skagway. We’re all getting ready for the summer.

And Parker Stewart wakes up next to me every morning in my—wait! No.Ourapartment.

When we looked at her cabin and my apartment objectively, it wasn’t much of a contest about where we wanted to live with the baby. Heralmostfour-hundred square foot cabin had a living room-kitchen combination, one small bedroom and a bathroom. My over-the-garage apartment had eight hundred square feet on its own, including a real kitchen, a separate living room, and two bedrooms with a bathroom in between.

Not to mention, when we shared our news with my parents, who were overjoyed at the prospect of their first grandchild, they told us that they’d build a new garage on the other side of their house, giving us their blessing to renovate the lower eight hundred square feet of space into anything we wanted.

“It’s a house!” Parker had chirped, standing in the grimy, dank, uninsulated garage with a giant smile on her face. “I mean, that’s what this is! Two floors in one building, right? Sure, it needs work, but theygaveus a house!”

An architect down in Haines drew up some plans for relocating the kitchen and living room downstairs and making the current living room-kitchen into a master bedroom on theupper level. Ivy pulled the permits over at town hall in less time than it takes to tie your shoes, and my dad hired some guys out of Whitehorse to get started.

Our new house should be done by the beginning of July.

And thank God, because Parker’s due in late-September, and I want for summer to be a relaxing time for her, nesting in our new digs, baking our first baby.

“Does it bother you?” I asked her. “To live so close to my folks?”

She had shaken her head. “Nope. I’vealwaysliked your mom. She’s so chill. And our new place is a ten-minute walk from Harper’s house. I’m not going to know what I’m doing, Quinn. Your mom and Harper? They’re everything. I’m going to need their help.”

“You’ll also have me,” I’d reminded her.

“Yes. And I adore you. But I’llneedthem.”

At the time, I told myself not to be offended by her words. Sheadoresme,after all. And of course a young woman needs other women to help her with pregnancy and motherhood.

But worries lingered in my head. When you have hurt a woman, but somehow—by the sheer grace of a good and kind God—managed to win back her favor? You don’t fuck with it. You say ‘thank you,’ and stay vigilant.

Which is why I buy a ring—a big, beautiful diamond ring, set in yellow gold—from my friend Stan Renfro at Borealis Shine, right around the first of May. I keep it in my sock drawer, waiting for the moment to ask her to marry me.

And then, one day, the sun shines into the nursery you’re painting together…

“Are we sure mint green is the right way to go?” she asks, wearing a face mask to protect her lungs from fumes. Somehow—likely because I love her so much—it looks cute on her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to know the gender?”

“Wow!” she chirps. “Interesting segue.”

I’m carefully edging the border around his or her closet. “I mean…it’s not that Ineedto know. I’d justliketo know.”

“Don’t kill me,” she says, “but…”

“Spit it out,” I say, pausing in my work.

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