102. October 23, 2014
The plan wasn’t to have move in day and ovulation day be the same day.
That just happened to be the way it worked out.
After Abby’s temp dropped in August, three weeks after her last Depo shot, they were both pretty pleased at the idea this might be easy. But all of September came and went and nothing happened. And okay, yeah, that’s not wildly unusual. It can take a while for all the artificial hormones to work their way out and for a woman’s body to get back on a regular cycle.
But Tim would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least starting to get concerned about the fact that Abby’s forty now, and this is probably just the Depo wearing off, but it might not be, and if it’s not then they’ve got some big things to talk about.
But he wasn’t thinking about that as he brushed his teeth that morning.
Mostly, he was thinking about how the moving truck was going to be there in less than an hour, and that he’s really hoping this is their last move for a good long time because he’s not a huge fan of moving, while trying to remember if they had already packed up the coffee maker, hoping they hadn’t because some coffee would be good, and then Abby skipped in, thermometer in hand and said, “Ninety-seven four.”
And that killed all thoughts about coffee and moving. (Okay, almost all thoughts, he’s still aware of the fact that the movers are going to get there at eight, so there’s something of a hard deadline here.)
The rational part of his mind knew that sperm can live in a woman’s body for up to seven days, so the rational part knew that, since they’ve had sex every day this week, they they’ve got this covered. That it was entirely possible one of them had already hooked up with the egg and baby McSciuto could already be in the works.
But the rational part of his mind also ran off about two, maybe three tenths of a second after what she said registered. And the Yes-Sex-Now-Make-Baby-NOW! part took over.
He was already wearing his boxers and jeans, but before he’d even gotten his toothbrush put back he was unbuttoning them, and the look of pure sex Abby was shooting him as she carefully put the thermometer down confirmed that she was on the same page he was with this.
And like their first time? Second first time? Like after their 80’s cover band date, he doesn’t have any very clear memories of the sex. No good chronology, he couldn’t tell you how many times they kissed, or if she took his jeans off or if he did, but the way it felt, that burning sense of all-consuming NOW; the overwhelming importance of each thrust, and the immense awareness of life, of her heart beating and his and both of them possibly making another heartbeat with this; the vivid feeling that this was love made real, a verb sliding into a noun, and that sex had never, ever mattered more to him than it does now; that he remembers.
And he remembers after, sitting on the bathroom floor, her in his lap, his face pressed against her shoulder and throat, her chin against his temple as they both rested quietly, breath slowing, calming down. She was holding his hand, and he had his other hand on the small of her back. He traced his fingers up her spine, settling his index, middle, and ring finger on her throat against where her pulse throbbed, and felt each exhale of her breath against his ear, and he just felt lost in how very alive they both are, and how important and amazing that is.
Sure, a quickie in the bathroom wasn’t the most “romantic” sex ever. But he’s not going to complain, because that was definitely some of the most intense sex they’ve ever had.
After a few more minutes they broke apart, cleaned up, and got ready for the day, because in ten minutes the movers were going to be there and the real world doesn’t stop existing, and there’s always stuff you’ve got to do. Like loading boxes into your car, and making sure all your furniture ended up in the right rooms, and packing up the last-minute items. No matter what else you’re doing, that doesn’t go away.
Granted, every time he saw her over the course of the day, he’d look at her and grin, and she’d grin back, and a few times they both just broke into happy giggles, causing the movers to look at them like they were crazy. Which made both of them giggle even more.
Sometimes happy is too big to stay inside. Sometimes it has to burst out, and right now, watching Abby unpacking the plates, looking up at him with a big happy grin, it came out in giggles instead of tears.
They would have liked to have been able to move in a bit before October 23rd. By that point, the wedding was barely a week away and moving in and getting ready for all of that was more than they’d been hoping to do all at once.
But between the late closing, and the fact that the inside of the house had needed some work the first week they had it was spent painting, refinishing the floors, and installing new carpets, so the 23rd was the earliest they could move in.
It’s true that having real movers mean that this time it was a lot faster than the last time they moved. But faster and fast aren’t the same thing, and it was a very full day.
So they were both pretty tired at the end of that day. But not so tired that, when he spooned up behind her, she didn’t rub up against him, and not so tired that he didn’t take advantage of it. And yeah, it was pretty relaxed and lazy, slow burn sex, not firework sex.
It wasn’t as intense as the first round, but that extra edge of life and the idea of real sex was still there, still setting his blood on fire, pulling extra depth and pleasure out of each touch, each move.
And after, as they spooned together, ready to spend their first night in what would hopefully be the home they shared for the rest of their lives, instead of his hand settling against her chest, it pressed gently against her belly. She squeezed it. Neither of them said anything, but they were both thinking, wondering.
Her breathing was slowing down, edging toward the easy in out of sleep, and some sort of niggly little thing was chewing on the back of his mind, not letting him rest. It took a minute, but he finally got it.
She laughed a little, kissed his hand, and snuggled in closer to him. “Best two years of my life.”
“Yeah, mine too.”
She pressed his hand back to her belly. “Next one’ll be better.”
He kissed her shoulder. “Yeah.”