Page 95 of The Man I Love

She looked up, suddenly realizing that he’d missed her birth too. The nurse must have decided that they needed privacy because she was now gone from the room.

“Of course she did,” Sam whispered as tears rushed to her eyes. “She’s my daughter, isn’t she?”

He nodded. “She is.”

Tristan kissed her forehead, then went on to tell her what happened. The baby’s heart rate had dropped, and she wasin distress. They feared placental abruption, or that the umbilical cord was cutting off her airway. Sam was rushed to the operating room and put under anesthesia, but their daughter was perfectly fine. “She’s perfect,” Tristan said in reassurance.

Sam held her for a long while, allowing her heart to calm, as she memorized their daughter's perfect face. The baby began to squirm and root at her chest, and Sam reached behind her back to untie her hospital gown.

Tristan came to assist her, knowing exactly what she needed. Soon her shoulder was free, and the baby was skin against skin. Samantha took her baby’s hand, turning it backward and forward, examining each perfect wrinkle, as her daughter latched onto her breast.

She was in complete awe that this perfect human had grown inside of her. Samantha looked up at Tristan, who watched them both with amazement.

His eyes were red-rimmed and tired, and she could tell he’d been crying. He pulled a chair to the side of the bed, grabbing hold of her hand. “I thought for a moment that I was going to lose you,” he whispered, his voice so low she barely heard it.

“We’re here,” she whispered. “You don’t have to worry anymore.” But her face contorted with the pain she knew he’d experienced. Even though it was over, the memory of him falling to his knees in the hall was still one of the most terrifying moments of her life.

“I was so scared,” he began, his voice hoarse and shredded. “I was so scared you’d leave this world without knowing how much I love you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she squeezed his hand. “I know, Tristan. I do.”

But his eyes never left hers, and he shook his head. “I came to your apartment to tell you”—he shook his head again—“to explain to you that?—”

“Don’t.” She shook her head firmly, not wanting to bring up the argument again. That was in the past; it was over—none of it mattered now.

But he squeezed her hand harder, as though pleading with her to stop. His gaze shifted to their daughter and lingered there for a long moment, his emotions so close to the surface they trembled in his voice—raw and unguarded.

Finally, he turned back to her, his tone soft yet resolute. “For the past few months,” he began, “I’ve let you tell me what you wanted, what you needed. But I’ve never once told you how I feel. What I need.”

His words were hard for her to hear, and for a moment, she was defensive—but there were no accusations in his voice. No blame.

“Deep down I didn’t think it mattered what I wanted. All I needed was to make you happy. I realize now that my silence was part of the problem.”

His eyes lifted to hers. “Maybe if I would have told you then. Maybe if I wouldn’t have been such a coward...” He closed his eyes, and his breaths became deep. “When I watched you being wheeled away from me, I knew I’d been wrong. All I did while you were in that operating room was pray for one more chance. One more chance, and this time I wouldn’t fuck it up.”

An overwhelming pain filled her chest, but she forced herself to remain quiet.

He dug into his pocket and produced a small blue box. “I bought this over a year ago,” he began, “before you left for New York. I was so caught up in finding the perfect moment that I almost lost my opportunity to give it to you at all.”

He opened the box to reveal a square cut diamond solitaire. “I realize now that my idea of perfection was flawed. Because perfect doesn’t have to be rose petals and champagne. Perfect can be Styrofoam containers and eating dinner on the kitchen floor when I’m with you.”

Tristan pushed himself from his seat, moved the chair aside, and took one knee on the tile floor beside her. “This isn’t the romantic setting I’ve always planned for, but I can’t wait even one more second,” he whispered. “I love you Samantha Smiles, but I can’t love you only as my baby’s mother.” He paused for a moment, letting the words she’d told him weeks ago fill the air between them. “I want more than that, and I think you do too.” His face was raw, but he didn’t shield himself from her. “I want to wake up with you every morning,” he said. “I want our limbs so entwined that I don’t know where you begin and where I end. I want to go to work smelling like your shampoo and come home to find you wearing one of my T-shirts. I want to argue with you about silly things and eat dinners made of Bar-B-Q chips, frenchfries, and ice cream because neither of us had time to cook. “I want you to call me when you’re having a bad day and let me listen to every word.” He paused for a moment, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “I want you to tell me when I’m an idiot, so I can make it up to you over and over again”—he took a deep breath—“and I need you to forgive me.”

His last words made her breath catch, because she hadn’t been expecting them.

He was right. She’d been angry for a long time, and she’d been holding onto it for dear life. He’d run away, yes, leaving her alone when she was at her most vulnerable, but she realized now he’d been dealing with a lot, too. He wasn’t perfect, but neither was she.

“I know I’m asking a lot. I'm asking you to trust me with the rest of your life, but I’m learning, Samantha, I swear to God that I am.

“Tristan,” she cried, pulling him toward the bed.

“Hurting you,” he said in her ear, “has been theonlything I’ve ever regretted in my entire life.”

She sobbed, her heart almost exploding. “Coming from you, that’s saying a lot.” She laughed.

“I love you, Samantha. And while I can’t promise you perfection, I can promise that until my heart stops beating, I’ll keep choosing you. Overand over and over again. I can’t promise we won’t struggle, but I can promise that I’ll walk through fire to make sure you’re safe. I can’t promise that we won’t fightbecause we’re both too stubborn, and I know that we will.” His forehead came to rest upon hers. “But I look forward to making up with you, repeatedly, because it’s what we do. That’s us.” He was quiet for a long time, and she basked in the flawed perfection of this moment.

“Marry me, Samantha?” he asked quietly. “Make me the happiest man in the world.”

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