Page 56 of Missing Linc
“There’s a reason I haven’t done the hysterectomy yet, but I’m afraid telling you might scare you off,” he says.
I can barely hear him now, and I hate it. Whatever it is that’s going through his head, he needs to share it with me.
“Are you assuming again?” I ask.
He nods.
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Tell me. Why haven’t you done it yet?”
He sighs and his hand drops from my face. He leans his whole body against the fridge and looks me in the eyes.
“I didn’t want to get it because… well, I always wanted kids, so I didn’t want to take that option completely away from me.”
Again, he pauses for dramatic effect.
“Okay,” I tell him because, again, I don’t see anything wrong with his statement.
“So… I’m in two minds. On one hand I’m feeling dysphoric about my uterus. But on the other hand I still want kids. I just don’t think I could carry anymore. So I’ve been contemplating getting the operation,” he says.
I find his hands and take them in mine and put them up to my chest, holding them there for comfort and support.
“Babe, what’s going through that busy head of yours? Tell me?”
“Nothing. I-you’re my boyfriend, so before I do anything life changing, I feel like I need to ask you. To have the conversation with you.”
Oh.
Now I get it.
“So are you asking me if I want kids?”
He nods.
“Not now. In the future. You know. I know it’s early to talk about these things, but I like you. A lot. So…”
“I like you a lot, too,” I say. “And I don’t think it’s early. I… I think I do. Want kids, that is. But I want to be sure it’s for the right reasons. Not because I just want to raise a little me that will do everything I didn’t get a chance to.”
“Okay. Well, obviously I want kids, too, but I don’t think I want to carry anymore. So do you mind if I get the operation?” he asks, and if I could squeeze him any tighter onto my body I would.
Always thinking. Always worrying. Always assuming.
“What do you want to do? That’s the important question. Whatever I want is irrelevant if it’d make you unhappy,” I tell him.
His eyes get red the more I look at them, and I smile at him, trying to prevent any tears from falling.
“I want to get the operation,” he mumbles.
“Great. Then that’s what we’ll do.”
I kiss him. No tongue. Just lips. My lips. And his.
“You’re unreal, you know that?” he says when we pull away.
“So I’ve been told,” I tease him, and he punches my chest with a chuckle.
“You’re the perfect man,” he says, grabbing me by my henley and pulling me back on to him. “I’m so glad I found you. Because I’m warning you: I’m never letting you go.”
