Page 135 of Pregnant in Plaid
Six months ago, I was terrified I'd break her. Now I can't imagine life without her.
Patrice catches me staring at Brooklyn and smiles. "What?"
"Just thinking how lucky I am."
"We're both lucky."
"I'm more lucky."
"That's not a competition you can win."
"Watch me."
Tessa and Gage exchange a look—the kind marriedpeople share when they're watching their friends figure out what they already know.
"So," Tessa says, way too casual, "have you two talked about making this official?"
Patrice raises an eyebrow. "Making what official?"
"You know. Marriage. Wedding. That thing where you legally bind yourselves together and throw a party about it."
"Subtle," Gage mutters.
"I don't do subtle," Tessa says cheerfully. "Life's too short. And you two are clearly endgame, so why wait?"
Patrice looks at me. I look at Brooklyn, who's drooling on my shirt. Then I look back at Patrice.
"She's not wrong," I say.
"About which part?"
"The endgame part. The making it official part. The party part."
"Are you proposing?"
"I'm testing the waters."
"That's the worst proposal ever."
"Good thing it's not actually a proposal then." I shift Brooklyn slightly so I can reach for Patrice's hand. "But for the record, I've been thinking about it. A lot. Like, constantly."
"Constantly?" She's trying not to smile and failing.
"Every day. Sometimes multiple times per day. Usually when Brooklyn does something cute, or when you're working and biting your pencil because you'reconcentrating, or when we're grocery shopping and you reorganize the cart by food groups."
"That's efficient."
"That's adorable. And also slightly controlling, but I love that about you."
"This is the weirdest pre-proposal I've ever heard," Tessa whispers to Gage.
"Let him work," Gage whispers back.
"Patrice," I say, and my voice comes out more serious than I intended. "I want to marry you. I want Brooklyn to have two parents who are legally bound to each other and threw a party about it. I want to spend the rest of my life changing diapers and packing too many snacks and watching you color-code everything we own."
"That's romantic," she says, but her eyes are shiny.
"I want to wake up next to you every morning for the next sixty years. I want to fight about whose turn it is to take out the trash. I want to grow old and embarrass our kids and be the couple that still holds hands in the grocery store."
