Rain drummed against the sill of my little twobed flat in Birmingham. I watched the droplets etch bizarre patterns on the glass while Emily was at the sink, rinsing the cups after dinner.
Tea? she asked.
Sure, I replied.
I knew the rhythm of her footsteps through every room; nine years together, almost a third of my life. Wed first met in our second year of the journalism course, sharing a dormitory block.
Back then life was simple: lectures, latenight chats, the first flutter of romance spoken without words. We moved in together far too early, as Id later realise. There was no grand courting, no proposaljust the day my belongings stopped returning to the dorm.
Emily set a mug of mint tea before me and settled beside me.
Your mother called. She asked about the project.
What did you tell her?
That youre, as always, a perfectionist and that progress is slow.
I smiled. Her mother, Margaret, had always treated me kindly, never prying about marriage or grandchildren. A wonderful woman. Even our friends cant help but ask, Why arent you two married yet? Today I ran into an old classmate, and the same question resurfaced.
Do you know, I said suddenly, I was thinking about AlanRickman today.
Emily raised an eyebrow.
Again? Youre still using him as a benchmark.
Its not that, I said. Hes a perfect example of a couple who spent 47 years together without any of the usual clichés, yet could also have a glittering wedding and an early divorce.
Clichés dont guarantee anything, she replied. The statistics are on your side.
Exactly.
She sipped her tea, eyes on the rain.
Helen from HR is getting a divorcethird time around, she murmured. She always thought this one would be the last.
We havent even started, I said, smiling. And were still together.
Yes, still together.
I knew Emily sometimes lingered longer at the childrens clothing displays, smiled at toddlers in the park. I, too, occasionally imagined a familynot here, not in this cramped rental, not while Im juggling freelance design gigs. Maybe someday.
Im scared of ending up like my parents, I blurted. You know how they spent their whole lives putting on a façade of a proper family for neighbours, relatives, for mewhile they never spoke to each other.
She placed her hand over mine.
Youre not your father. And Im not my mother, though shes decent. Were just us.
But if we got married I trailed off.
If we married, nothing would change, Andrew. Except Id have a new surname on my passport. Wed still argue over the dishes, still laugh at bad sitcoms, youd fall asleep on the laptop and Id drape a blanket over you.
I looked at herat the fine lines around her eyes that had appeared over nine years, the familiar freckles on her neck, the hands I knew better than my own.
Children? I asked quietly.
Emily sighed.
Children I dont know if I want them right now. Am I afraid I wont have time? Sometimes. But if I ever did want them, it would only be with you, and only if you wanted that too. No ultimatums, Andrew.
She rose, gathered the cups.
You know what Helen said at work today? Shes jealous because were genuineno masks, no games. Even without a wedding stamp.
We sat in silence, listening to the rain.
A week later Emily met her younger sister Lucy at a café. Lucy had married two years ago and was now six months pregnant.
Hows life? Lucy asked, biting into a slice of cheesecake. Sorry, Im eating like a child. This little one is running my life.
Same as always, Emily smiled. Work, home, you know, Andrew.
Lucy set her spoon down, looked intently at Emily.
Emily Im not prying, but Im curious. Have you two decided? Its been almost ten years. I and Simon signed the register a year and a half ago, and everyone kept saying we were dragging our feet.
Were different, Lucy. Were not dragging anything. Were simply living.
But dont you want a family? Kids? Lucy rested a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready, but now I feel that surge of love, that happiness Dont be scared. The maternal instinct wakes the moment a child becomes real.
Im not scared of children, Emily said softly. Nor of marriage. Im scared of doing it because its time or because everyone else does. Andrew and I have our own story. It may not look like yours, but its ours, and its real.
What if he never feels ready? Lucy whispered. Sorry, I just worry about you.
Emily reached across the table and squeezed Lucys hand.
The scariest thing isnt that hes not ready, she said. It would be if he went through with it just to tick a box. I would feel that. But Im happy with him every day, even when we argue. Isnt that enough?
A tear glistened on Lucys lashes.
Sorry, its probably hormones. I just want the best for you.
I already have it, Emily laughed. Cheesecake, a sister, and Andrew waiting at home.
A few days later Andrews father, Victor, turned up unexpectedly. They hardly saw each other, their contact reduced to occasional holiday phone calls. Victor looked around the modest flat and took the offered chair.
Hows it going, son? Mum sends her regards.
Fine, just working.
And Emily?
Shell be home by seven from the office.
An awkward pause settled. Victor fiddled with the keys to his old Lada.
Listen, Andrew I might be out of line, but your mothers worried. We saw on social media that Lucys expecting. Lovely pictures.
A knot tightened in Andrews chest.
Dad, about marriage and kids
No, no, Victor waved his hand, though his eyes betrayed the subject. I justlook at you two. Nine years. Thats serious, by any standard. I He hesitated, searching for words. I want you to know I think youve done well, that you havent repeated our mistakes.
Andrew stared, surprised.
My parents married because I was already settled, and then spent life blaming each otheryou stopped me from studying, you ruined my career. Silly, of course. Were both at fault. A marriage certificate doesnt glue the cracks; sometimes it even keeps you from parting amicably.
Victors gaze softened, unusual honesty in his eyes.
Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a weight of responsibility, and thats right. Honesty beats pretending everythings pictureperfect. Do you talk about this with Emily?
Constantly, Andrew exhaled.
Thats good. Just make sure youre on the same page. Everything else will fall into placeor not. But the decision must be yours, not because parents are getting on.
They chatted a bit more about work; Victor declined dinner, citing commitments. As he left, Andrew asked, Dad, do you ever regret?
Victor adjusted his coat, thoughtful.
Regret marrying your mother? No. Regret the mess we left behind? Yes, every day. Treasure what you have, son. A stamp isnt a shield.
That evening Andrew recounted his fathers visit to Emily, who listened, hugging her pillows, then said, You know, Lucy also stopped by with her questions.
And?
I told her Im happy, just as I am.
He pulled her close, feeling the rain start again outside.
Theres still something Im missing, she whispered into his chest.
What is it? he asked, his heart briefly pausing.
For you to stop muttering when you lose at online chess at night.
He laughed; Emily lifted her head, planted a kiss on him, and he realised their journey wasnt stalled. It was moving forward, step by step, on a route they were charting together. Day after day, conversation after conversation. The station called Forever might not be a point on any map; its the path itself.
In nine years theyd navigated his bouts of depression after failed projects, her night shifts, three moves, her mothers illnessalways intact.
Emily, he said.
Yes?
Thank you. For being you.
She turned, smiling that familiar smile he loved mostslightly weary but warm.
I love you too.
He walked to the window, watching the sparse city lights. He didnt know what the next year, five years, ten years would bring, or whether theyd ever reach that imagined station everyone else expects. All he knew was that morning would find him waking beside Emily.
