Page 149 of Such Sharp Teeth

He chokes a little midswallow. He reaches for his water. He takes a sip, then adjusts his glasses.

“Um,” he says, “I don’t know. You?”

“No. I don’t think it’s”—How the fuck do I phrase this?—“uh, conducive to my lifestyle. But I wasn’t sure if it was important to you. Having kids, I mean. If it was, I didn’t want to spring this on you at a later date.”

I feel my face go flush.

He looks at me for a moment, then starts to laugh.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me. Don’t be mean! You asked for communication.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just surreal to be here with you having this conversation about the future. To be with you at all, actually. Surreal.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m fucking lucky, is what I mean.”

I hope he always feels this way. I hope he always looks at me this way.

“Can I be honest?” he asks.

“Please.”

“Babies freak me out,” he says. “They’re so small.”

“They are really small. I didn’t know they came that small.”

“I’m not saying I don’t like babies.”

“Right. You’re saying that you hate them. You hate babies.”

“If you tell your sister—”

“If I tell her what?”

“Never mind,” he says. “Never mind.”

“That you hate babies?”

He sighs.

“You chose this,” I say, leaning across the table to kiss him. “You chose me.”

“I did,” he says. “I do.”

—

We get in the car and start driving back to Ian’s. It’s dusk, the sun sinks behind the trees, and the snow-coated branches glitter in lingering daylight. The sky is a vibrant pink.

I notice my reflection in the side-view mirror. I’m smiling. I reach up to feel my face, to hold the smile in my hands.

We pull up to a stop sign. There’s no one coming, but he doesn’t roll through like I would. He follows the rules. He’s good. He’s so good.

He turns.