“It’s taking so much from me,” I say, swallowing hard, my words feeling thick and slow. “I wasn’t going to let it take that. I don’t need them, especially when I’m not doing chemo, which I haven’t since I was in Boston. It just helps things…last longer. Helps me out, when my body is using all its resources elsewhere. Doesn’t leave a lot left over for sustaining erections, or sexual stamina.”

“Coulda fooled me,” she whispers. “Did fool me.”

A long pause.

“I have another question,” she whispers.

“’Kay.”

“Is this why we haven’t been able to conceive?”

“Didn’t help,” I admit. “Chemo kills everything—it doesn’t discriminate. So yeah, it killed all my swimmers. But I also think there was an issue there before, honestly. I remember when Mom was in the hospital she was kinda delirious for a while and was just rambling, and she said she and Dad tried for years before they had me, and were never able to conceive again, which makes me think I’m either sterile or I just have shitty sperm.” I take her hand again. “So, I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t…” My voice breaks. Fuck, this is hard. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you that.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t apologize.”

“I know you want a baby, more than just about anything.”

“Well, I did. Now I just want you to…to not fucking die.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that myself.” I cup her cheek. “Still. I’m sorry, Nadia.”

She sets her mug on the side table, roughly, the coffee sloshing over the rim and dribbling down the side, smearing in a ring around the base. Climbs onto me, stretching onto my body, curling her hands behind my head, breathing in my scent and clinging to me.

“Hold me,” she whispers.

I hold her.

i love you, for the millionth time

If I close my eyes and focus, some days I can almost pretend we’re just on an extension of our Paris vacation.

We sleep in late, stay up late watching movies and bingeing all the shows we used to talk about watching but never got around to. We just sit together in the living room and listen to entire movements of classical music. Sometimes just sit and breathe together. He cooks, when he can. Or we cook together. Or I cook. Some days, neither of us has the energy, so we just order a pizza.