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Chapter 202 by ArthurBalfour ArthurBalfour

How does the 'date' go?

It feels like starting over.

It felt like starting over. At first, we set up a regular weekly date. We talked about work, mine and hers. Amy had only a few more friends in the area than I did, so she got to vent to me about all the weird changes her body was going through.

More than once I had to remind myself that Amy was carrying our child. My brain wouldn't take the information in, somehow. I volunteered to accompany her on appointments to her doctor. On the first visit, when we were alone in the waiting room, her hand found mine. "How fucking weird is this?" She tightened her grip.

Sooner than I expected, I got a call at work. Amy was on the other line. "I'm... having contractions. Can you come get me?" I left work and sped across town, helped her into the car. Before I knew it, we were in a cozy delivery room, and Amy was holding our son. Adam.

There weren't too many nights alone at my apartment after that. Amy protested at first, "I can do this, really. You're doing too much! I'm not helpless, you know?" But I kept on fetching, lifting, cooking, and cleaning, and eventually she relented. After the first few nights, Amy, exhausted, asked me to tuck her in. We fell asleep next to each other, and after that I didn't go back to the couch.

A few months later, the internship blossomed into a good job, and I floated the idea of a house in the suburbs. "If we took my signing bonus, and some of your savings..."

"I don't want to raise Adam in the city... but I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." I took her hands, and we looked at our son, helpless and small.

Amy got really excited about house hunting, and she found the perfect place. We talked about getting married, but decided against it. Instead, we became friends with benefits: a beautiful son, a comfortable house, and a good life together.

Also, later, when she felt up to it, we went at it like jackrabbits. Amy was still Amy, after all.

By the time we bought the house, Elizabeth had moved out of the city. We'd quickly lost touch with our precious high school group, though we talked about them often. The wonder of Facebook allowed us to catch up with them all, though.

Does he get any more mail from England?

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