Love on the Brain

When they’re just little dots on the street, he tells me, “That was excellent practice for when we’ll have teenage daughters.”

“Bee, I don’t—” He exhales hard. “Get in the truck.”
“Why?”
“I’m driving you back to the cemetery and feeding you to the coyotes.”

“I’m not taking you to the cemetery.” He’s not looking at me. “Fasten your seat belt.”
“What?”
“Fasten your seat belt,” he repeats.
I do, confused. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“Whose home?”
“My home.”
My jaw drops. I must have misheard. “What?”
“You need a place to stay, no?”

“There is no other neuroscientist I’d want to do this project with. Not a single one.”

“Not nearly as good as her, not when it comes to neurostimulation.”

“And one more thing,” I snarl into his stony face. “Vegan donuts are for vegans, you absolute walnut.”

I love you, I think. And you are my home.

“You’re not going to slow down your pace to match mine, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“I always knew you hated me.

“Can you do something for me, sweetheart?”