Chapter 122: The Art of Slow
Lisa's POV
We've been lying in bed for hours.
Not sleeping, just lying here in the nest of sheets and limbs in the soft haze of a late afternoon sun, chatting about nothing in particular and everything in general.
He laughs."you're telling me that you've never seen Star Wars?"
"I've watched bits of it. Does that count?"
"Parts? Lisa, that’s worse than not watching it.
"How is that worse?"
He smiles. "This is a crisis."
"A crisis," I say, smiling in spite of myself. "You’re being dramatic."
“I am being precise.” His other hand finds mine, fingers twining. "We've gotta run a marathon. All of them. In order.”
"All of them? Aren’t there, like, twelve now? "
"Nine main films, plus series, but we'll begin with the originals." He's getting more and more carried away,"We'll spend the whole day getting ourselves a day. Popcorn, blankets, the full experience.”
I reach up, tucking a strand of hair back from his forehead. "You really care about this."
"I'm representing the things I love to the person I love," he says, then halts himself. "That was smooth, right? I'm sorry if that comes out too smooth.”
“It was very smooth,” I tell him as I yank him down for a peck. “And space movies of yours we can watch, yes.”
“Our space movies,” he corrects. “’ll be ours once you get a good look at ’em.”
Everything becomes ours now. Movies, inside jokes, this bed, this life.
I got it.
"Your turn," Leo says as he plops back down next to me, pulling me close so my head is on his chest. "Tell me something I don't know about you.”
"You have all the secrets of my life."
“Unbelievable. It’s not like we don’t have at least sixty more years together. I need to pace my discoveries.”
Sixty more years. It’s the offhanded way he says it, like’s just assumed that makes my heart skip a beat.
"All right," I say to myself. "I used to collect rocks when I was a kid."
"Rocks?"
“Uh-huh. Not any fancy ones—just normal rocks that I’d come across. But each had to be special in some way. Interesting shape, unusual color, smooth texture.” I smile at the memory. “I had a whole shoebox full of them under my bed.”
His hand begins its leisurely wandering over my skin again. “What happened to them?”
“My mom threw them out when we moved,” said they were taking up space.I shrug."I was devastated for about a week, then forgot about them."
Leo suddenly says, “We should start a new collection.”
I raise my head to look at him. “What?”
"A new rock collection. Every time we go somewhere – the beach, hiking, whatever – we pick up a rock. Something that reminds us of that moment in time.” His eyes are soft, sincere. “Make new memories. Better ones.”
My throat tightens. "Leo that's… you don't have to—"
"I want to be," he interrupts softly. "I want to give you all the things you lost. "In any that I can."
But then I have to kiss him.
When we separate, we are both grinning.
"Your turn," I say. "Tell me something."
He pauses, his fingers still moving across those mesmerizing patterns. “I’m afraid of birds.”
I blink. “Birds ?”
"Not all birds. Only the violent ones. Geese, seagulls,those pigeons that run after you to eat.”
He sounds really embarrassed. “They have dead eyes and no fear.”
I am trying so hard not to laugh. "Leo. You're six-foot-two and you are afraid of geese?"
"Did you look at their teeth? They actually do have teeth, Lisa. They have teeth. In their tongues.”
I lose it then, and burst into laughter that rattles the bed. He tries to look affronted but ends up laughing too, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath my ear.
He protests, “It’s not funny,” but he’s grinning.
“It’s a little funny.” I dry my eyes. “Big, scary CEO, rendered powerless by waterfowl.”
“That’s the point. They’re waterfowl. That’s an intimidating word.”
"It just isn't."
Abruptly, he rolls over, pinning me beneath him, his fingers located on my sides. “Take it back.”
“Never!” I writhe as he tickles me, giggling uncontrollably. “Leo! Stop!”
"Say geese are terrifying!"
“They’re – they’re ridiculous!” I sob between gasps.
He presses his fingers in more aggressively, and I am laughing so hard I can’t breathe. "Say it!"
“Okay! Okay!” Now I’m crying, tears are rolling down my face. “Geese are frightening!”
He halts at once, appearing unbelievably too delighted with himself. “Thank you.”
“You’re a menace,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.
“You love it." He leans down, kissing away tears of laughter from my cheeks. “You love me.”
“Uh, not so fortunate,” I say, but my smile stretches all the way to the back of my head.
He again sits beside me, and the two of us revert back to that easy silence; I could almost go to sleep.
“Lisa?” Leo’s voice is now softer, more grave.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever think about the future? Our future?”
His face is open, vulnerable in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Sometimes. You?”
“Every day.” His hand finds mine again, intertwining our fingers. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. Coming home to you. Growing old with you.”
"Great," I breathed.
“Yeah?” His voice was cautious and soft with hope.
“Yeah.” I tightened my grip on his hand. “That’s what I want too.”
He is silent for a moment, then: “What about children?”
My heart skips. “Humans?”
“I know we haven’t really talked about it. And it’s not like we’re in a hurry—we can take our time. I just…” He breaks off, evidently weighing his words. “I think you’d be a fantastic mother. If that’s the sort of thing you want.”
I'm shocked at how much I actually like the idea. If I told you this a year ago I would have laughed at myself. But now with Leo, the image is so clear—lazy mornings with little bodies snuggled between us, helping someone pick up rocks, seeing Leo be kind and patient with a child who has his eyes and my smile.
“I think I’d like that,” I whisper. “One of these days. Not now, but... one of these days.”
His smile was radiant. “Someday sounds perfect.”
“You’d make a great dad,” I add. “Patient, kind, and a little bit ridiculous.”
A little?” He sounds mock-offended.
I add, "Way too absurd...'" in the same breath, nervous in how ridiculous our conversation has gotten. Our poor kids are going to be so embarrassed of you two.”
“All right, good, that’s my job.” He pulls me in closer. “Dad jokes, bad dancing at their weddings, the whole kit.”
I burst out laughing at the picture. “I’m so excited.”
“Well, I never would have guessed.”
Slowly, our previous silence begins to pick up pace, gaining complexity, as we begin to build a future one conversation at a time, silently dreaming, silently believing, silently creating….
His arm tightens around me. “These are my favorite days. When we don’t have to be anywhere, or do anything. Just the two of us, being us.”
“Mine too,” I confess.
He kisses the top of my head. “We should do this more. Just take a day, turn off our phones, stay in bed and talk.”
“I would like that.”
Then again, it’s a date. One day a month we spend the whole day not accomplishing anything productive.”
“Except chatting,” he says. “And a few other things.”
I pinch his side gently. “Of course.”
He yells, then counters by hauling me onto him, my legs astride his hips. His hands rest on my hips, thumbs caressing the unclad skin beneath.
“Hi,” he says, looking up at me with eyes that convey warmth and mischief.
“Hi,” I say as I lean down and our noses meet.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too. ”
‘But I just said that I’m terrified of geese?’
“Just because you’re scared of geese.” I bid him a soft goodbye kiss.
We remain in that position for some time, simply gazing at one another, at ease in the silence. The shift of light in the late afternoon colors the room amber and golden. Somewhere in the house, the tick tock of a clock. The world turns.
And here we are, in each other's arms, quite content just to let the hours slip by, uncounted.
“What are you thinking about?” Leo asks, sliding his hands up my back.
“How happy I am,” I reply truthfully. “How I never realized life could be this easy, this right.”
“I thought you were gonna say you loved me haha he's joking.” His smile is warm and sincere. “I feel like every day I spend with you is a gift I didn’t even know I was entitled to ask for.”
“You’re very poetic for someone who just made me utter the phrase geese are terrifying.”
He laughs. “I contain multitudes,” he quoted and then said this.
“You really do. I assure you.”
He cradles me, pulling me close.
“Lisa?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think soulmates are real?”
I hesitate with the query. “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”
“Because if they are,” he says quietly, “you're mine. You have to be. Nothing else makes sense. "
“You’re mine too, then. In whatever way that matters.”
“In every way that matters,” he says with correction.
We stop talking for the second time, but this is the kind of silence that is full, not empty. Full of love, full of all the knowingness you get from two people who have locked eyes in a brutal crazy world and made the decision to hang on tight.
Time flows on. Hours flow by—or minutes, who knows, time melts when you‘re this happy. Eventually, hunger will drive us from bed. Duties, one day or other, will summon us back to the world.
Not yet.
For now, we remain right where we are — bundled up with each other, talking, laughing, dreaming about futures that seem just within reach.
And honestly? I'd rather be in his arms.