chicating

he's the *best* one, so, who better to throw paint for?

A few days go by—maybe a week—my memory of that time might be understandably foggy—a lot happened. I was doing a bit of work for my most ride-or-die clients and stopped to have dinner with Jess when Ana came to the door, a cluster of papers clutched tightly in her hands, so hard that Jess told me her knuckles grew white.

A suspicious moisture glittered in her eyes, but since it didn’t spill over, she looked prettier than I had ever seen her.

“Hey…” It wasn’t like Ana not to come in with a full, deliberate greeting. “I thought about it and…”Ana dropped some paperwork on my kitchen counter. Jess came in drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Is that a flowchart? I’ve never wanted you less.” Jessica teased.

“I went over it from every angle, and, practically? For us to build a family right now is completely nuts.”

“Well, I guess I understand. I guess if you never got over…”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s crazy, doesn’t add up and I want to, no, need to, do it anyway..”
“Wow,” Jessica said. “Do you really mean it?”
“I’m going against the flowchart, so I guess so.”