Page 19 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

My mother approaches us, her cheeks flushed with unusual color, and her eyes bright with an energy I haven’t seen in years. “An interesting concept,” she says to Atlas, “Though your initial explanation of magical-physical integration could use refinement.”

“I would welcome your input,” he says. “Perhaps you might consider co-teaching the next session?”

My mother looks startled, then thoughtful. “Perhaps,” she says noncommittally, though I detect a hint of interest in her tone. “I’m not convinced that those enchanted dumbbells serve any practical purpose.”

“The magical resistance they provide strengthens both physical muscles and magical channels,” he says, “But I agree, the enchantment needs fine-tuning. Currently, they’re a bit too responsive to ambient magical fluctuations.”

“Obviously,” my mother says dryly, glancing at the ceiling, where a pair of dumbbells still hover stubbornly out of reach. “A simple modification to the binding spell should resolve that issue. I could show you, if you’re interested?”

“I would be most grateful,” he says, and I marvel at his ability to accept criticism and suggestions with such genuine grace.

As my mother launches into a technical explanation of magical binding principles, I try to pay attention, but my mind wanders. Another week past my due date, endless false contractions, and still no baby. The frustration builds like pressure in a cauldron.

"Perhaps we should head home." Atlas clearly notices my distraction. "It's been a long day."

My mother looks between us, then nods. "Yes, Grizelda looks tired. We can discuss the binding modifications another time."

The walk home is quiet. Even the May evening air, usually so refreshing, feels heavy with my disappointment. Atlas keeps a supportive hand on my lower back as we navigate the familiar streets.

Once home, my mother excuses herself to her room. "I'll be working on my notes for your class, Atlas. Call if you need anything. Or you, Grizelda," she adds, like I’m an afterthought.

Atlas helps me upstairs to our bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind us, I sink onto the edge of our bed with a frustrated groan. "Still nothing. Not a single real contraction all day. Just another one of those weird ones that causes everything around me to go haywire." I rub my enormous belly. "I'm beginning to think this baby is never coming out."

Atlas sits beside me, covering my hand with his larger one. "He or she will come when they are ready."

"What if it’s never ready?" My voice cracks. "What if I have to be pregnant forever? I can barely tie my own shoes, I haven't seen my feet in months, and I'm so tired of waiting."

"As Lao Tzu said—"

"If you quote one more philosopher at me right now, I swear I'll scream." But there's no real heat in my words, just exhaustion.

He chuckles softly and pulls me against his side. "No philosophy then. Just us."

I lean into his solid warmth, breathing in his familiar scent of stone and moss with a hint of earth magic. "I miss us. I miss feeling like myself. I miss..." I trail off, heat creeping into my cheeks.

"What do you miss?" His voice has dropped lower, and I feel the rumble of it through his chest.

"I miss being close to you. Really close." I turn to face him, noting how his amber eyes darken with understanding. "It's been weeks since we've been intimate, and I know you're being careful with me, but..."

"But?" He reaches up to stroke my cheek, his touch lingering.

"Maybe that's exactly what we need." I catch his hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss his palm. "I've heard it can help induce labor."

His eyebrows rise. "Is that so?"

"Mmhmm. Something about oxytocin and prostaglandins." I shift closer, running my hand up his chest. "Very scientific."

"If it's for science..." He cups my face with both hands, studying me intently. "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You never do." I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his.

The kiss starts gently, almost tentatively, but quickly deepens as weeks of pent-up desire surface. Atlas makes a low sound in his throat, sliding one hand into my hair, and the purple strands wrap around his arm independently, while the other traces down my spine.

I break away just long enough to straddle his lap, my swollen belly between us. "I need you," I whisper against his mouth. "I need to feel like a woman again, not just an overdue incubator."

He grips my hips, pulling me closer despite the awkward angle. "You're always a woman to me. My woman. Beautiful, powerful, and carrying our child." He kisses along my jaw, finding that sensitive spot below my ear that makes me shiver. "Let me show you."

I melt against him as he continues his exploration, his stone lips surprisingly soft against my heated skin. When he reaches the neckline, I help him ease the fabric over my head, leaving me in just my undergarments.

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