He doesn’t look up as he says, “Your theory about donuts sustaining the population of Mars was so senseless that I’ve been stunned to silence.” I feel confined, like sitting in a sterile box.Ĭonnor is seated on one of two chairs, texting. I dislike doctor’s offices, the walls bland and space cramped. I squirm on the hospital bed, paper crinkling beneath my ass.

Which doesn’t involve pretty looking donuts or the thrill of water sports. No one took the bait in those conversations, staying quiet regarding my true intentions. I’ve tried to fill it with digressions about sprinkled donuts and wake boarding. “Someone say something.” I can’t take the tense silence anymore. It’s painfully clear by where we’re headed. The sad realization: it’s not going to be as easy for us. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling my back into his chest, and he says, “Then let’s fucking start it, sweetheart.” “That having babies with you would be an awfully big adventure.” Then I put on my helmet and flip up the visor, winking before I head to my red bike. He shakes his head once, listening closely. “True,” I say, “but do you know what I believe?” I nod to her and then turn back to Ryke with a growing smile. Rose taps her watch like we’re going to be late. Before I can reply, the Escalade’s windows roll down. I think through all of his support and encouragement, Ryke is more worried about this unknown. “You can’t do fucking cartwheels, Calloway.” “You know what you’re giving up?” he asks. I’ve regained enough in the past couple of years with Ryke that I’m ready to move forward with him. My life has always been set on fast-forward, and while it seems idyllic to go backwards and experience a childhood I missed-I can’t have that entirely. “I know what I want.” These are magic words. And if you need to wait fucking longer, I’ll be happy with that too.

I would’ve been okay to have kids at twenty-five. He’s said this before: I could have kids tomorrow. You’re only twenty, and I’d fucking understand if you want to wait-” “Because,” he says, “I’m going to be twenty-seven. Each time we came to the same conclusion. We’ve had two serious conversations in the past month about having babies.

When I do say those words, blood rushes to every one of my limbs, as though reminding me of life. “I want to marry you.” Have I acted differently to where he’d think otherwise? “I love you,” I remind him, knowing I don’t say it as often as him.

Long way down book calloway sisters