Rain pattered against the sill of the cramped twobed flat in Battersea. Andrew watched the droplets sketch odd little patterns on the glass while, in the kitchen, clinked the dishes Emily was washing cups after dinner.
Tea? she asked.
Sure.
He knew the sound of her feet on the linoleum, every habit shed picked up over the nine years theyd been together almost a third of their lives. Theyd first met in the second year of their journalism degree, sharing a dormitory block at the University of Leeds.
Back then it was simple: lectures, latenight chats, the first flutter of romance with no extra fluff. They moved in together far too early, as Andrew would later admit. There were no grand gestures, no proposals just the day his suitcase stopped returning to the dorm.
Emily placed a mug of mint tea before him and sat down opposite.
Your mum called. She asked about the project.
Whatd you say?
That youre, as always, a perfectionist and that everythings moving at a snails pace.
Andrew chuckled. Her mother, Irene Parker, had always been warm to him. Shed never hinted at weddings or grandchildren. A lovely lady, really even their friends couldnt resist asking, Why arent you two married yet? That question seemed to follow them like a stray cat.
Did I tell you, Andrew said suddenly, I was thinking about Alan Rix today.
Emily raised an eyebrow.
Again? Your benchmark.
No. Just hes a decent example of a couple who managed to stay together for 47 years without any of the usual clichés, while others throw a lavish wedding and split a year later.
True, clichés dont guarantee anything. Statistics are on your side.
Exactly.
Emily sipped her tea, eyes on the rain.
Lucy from HR is getting divorced third times the charm, she says. She always thought this would be the one that stuck.
And we havent even started, Andrew smiled. And were still together.
Indeed, still together.
He knew Emily sometimes daydreamed about kids. She never said it outright, but hed noticed her lingering by the childrens clothing displays, smiling at toddlers in the park. He, too, occasionally fancied a family just not now, not in this cramped flat, not with his erratic freelance design gigs. Maybe someday.
Im scared Ill end up like my parents, he blurted. You know how they spent their whole lives putting on a façade of a family for neighbours, relatives, everyone yet they barely spoke to each other.
Emily laid her hand on his palm.
Youre not your dad. And Im not my mum, though shes a right decent woman. Were just us.
But if we got married he trailed off.
If we got married, nothing would really change, Andrew. Maybe Id have a new surname on my passport. Wed still argue over the dishes, still laugh at rubbish telly, youd still doze off over your laptop and Id still swaddle you in a blanket.
He looked at her the fine lines that had crept around her eyes over nine years, the familiar birthmarks on her neck, the hands he knew better than his own.
What about kids? he asked softly.
Emily sighed.
Kids I dont know if I want them right now. Am I afraid I wont have time? Sometimes. But if I ever do, it would only be with you. And only if you want that too. No ultimatums, Andrew.
She stood, gathered the cups.
You know what Lucy told me at work today? Shes jealous because were real. No masks, no games. Even without a wedding stamp.
Silence settled as the rain kept its rhythm.
A week later Emily met her younger sister, Anna, at a café in Camden. Anna had married two years ago and was now six months pregnant.
Howre you? Anna asked, halfmouthful of cheesecake. Sorry, Im eating like a maniac. This little one runs the show.
Same old, same old, Emily laughed. Work, flat, you know, Andrew.
Anna set her spoon down, eyes serious.
Emily Im not trying to pry, but Im curious. Have you two decided? Its almost ten years. I signed the papers with Simon a year and a half ago, and everyone kept saying we were dragging our feet.
Were not dragging, Annie. We just live.
But you want a family? Kids? Anna placed a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready. Then I felt the first kicks its like a tidal wave of love, pure happiness. Dont be scared. The maternal instinct kicks in the moment the baby becomes real.
Im not scared of kids, Emily said gently. Nor of marriage. Im scared of doing it just because its time or because everyone else does. Andrew and I have our own story. It might not look like yours, but its ours. And its real.
What if he never feels ready? Anna whispered. Sorry, I just worry about you.
Emily reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
The scariest thing isnt that he might not be ready. It would be if he did it just for the sake of ticking a box. Id feel that. Otherwise Im happy with him every day, even when we argue. Isnt that enough?
A tear glistened on Annas lashes.
Sorry, maybe its just hormones. I just want the best for you.
Ive already got the best cheesecake, a sister, and Andrew waiting at home.
A few days later Andrew faced his father, Victor Sinclair, who had turned up unannounced. They barely spoke except for brief holiday calls. Victor surveyed the modest flat, took a seat on the offered chair.
Hows it going, son? Mum sends her love.
Doing fine, busy as ever.
And Emily?
Shes at work. Should be home by seven.
An awkward pause settled. Victor fiddled with the keys to his old Mini.
Listen, lad I might be out of line, but mums been fretting. We saw on social media that your sisters pregnant lovely pictures.
Andrew felt a tight knot in his chest.
Dad, if youre thinking about wedding and kids
No, no, I mean Im just looking at you two. Nine years. Thats serious, by any measure. I I want to say youve done well. You havent repeated our mistakes.
Andrew stared, surprised.
We married because we felt the pressure to settle, then spent our lives reminding each other how wed missed out If only you hadnt taken that job, If only youd stayed home. Silly, really. The stamp in a passport doesnt glue whats cracked; sometimes it even keeps you from parting nicely before you truly hate each other.
Victor finally met his sons eyes, a weary honesty there:
Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a weight of responsibility, and thats proper. Better to be honest than to paint a perfect picture. Do you talk about this?
All the time, Andrew exhaled.
Good. Just make sure youre on the same wavelength. Everything else will fall into place, or not. Its your call, not parents finally gave up waiting.
They chatted a bit more about work; Victor declined dinner, citing errands. As he left, Andrew asked:
Dad do you ever regret?
Victor tugged at his coat, thinking.
Regret marrying your mum? No. Regret how we all ended up broken yes, every day. Treasure what you have, son. The stamp isnt a shield.
That night Andrew relayed the visit to Emily, who was tucked under the cushions.
You know, Anna dropped by too. Full of questions.
And?
And I told her Im happy, just as I am.
He pulled her close, the rain beginning again outside.
Theres still something missing, she murmured into his chest.
Whats that? he asked, his heart skipping.
That you stop growling at me when you lose at online chess at night.
Andrew laughed. Emily lifted her head, kissed him, and he realized their train wasnt stalled. It was chugging along a route theyd drawn themselves, day by day, conversation by conversation. The station called Forever might not be a dot on a map so much as the journey itself.
In nine years theyd survived his depressive spells after botched projects, her night shifts, three moves, her mothers illness all without breaking.
Emily, he said.
Yeah?
Thanks for being you.
She turned, flashing that smile he loved most a little tired but warm.
I love you too.
Andrew walked to the window, watching the occasional streetlight flicker. He had no clue what the next year, five, ten would bring. He didnt know if theyd ever reach the fabled station everyone seemed to expect. He only knew that tomorrow morning hed wake up next to Emily, and that was enough.
