Rain was drumming against the windowsill of our little rented flat in Camden. I could watch the drops trace odd patterns on the glass while the kitchen clinkedEmily was washing cups after dinner.
Tea? she asked.
Sure, I said.
I knew the way she moved around the place, every little step. Wed been together for nine years now, almost a third of our lives. Wed first met in our second year of the journalism course, living in the university hall.
Back then it was simple: lectures, latenight chats, the first flutter of romance without any grand gestures. We moved in earlyway too early, I later realised. There was never any formal courting, no proposaljust one day my things stopped going back to the hall.
Emily set a mug of mint tea in front of me and perched beside me.
Mom called. She asked about the project.
What did you tell her? I asked.
That youre, as always, a perfectionist and that everythings moving at a snails pace.
I smiled. Her mum, Margaret, had always been warm to me. She never brought up marriage or grandchildren. A lovely woman. Even our friends cant help asking, Why dont you two tie the knot? Today she ran into an old classmate, and he was doing the same
I was thinking about Alan Rickman today, I blurted out.
Emily raised an eyebrow.
Again? Hes your standardbearer.
No. Just hes a great example of how you can spend 47 years with someone without any clichés, or you could have a flash wedding and split a year later.
True, a cliché doesnt guarantee anything. The stats are on your side.
Exactly.
She sipped her tea, eyes on the rain.
Lucy from the office went through a divorceher third marriage. She swears each time itll be the last.
And we havent even started, I laughed. And were still together.
Exactly, still together.
I knew Emily sometimes thought about kids. She never said it outright, but Id notice her lingering by the babyclothes displays, smiling at toddlers in the park. I wanted that toojust not now, not in this cramped flat, not with my sketchy freelance design gigs. Maybe someday.
Im scared of ending up like my parents, I said suddenly. You know how they kept up the façade of a perfect family for neighbours and relatives. They never really talked to each other.
Emily laid her hand over mine.
Youre not your dad. And Im not my mum, even though shes brilliant. Were just us.
But if we got married I trailed off.
If we got married, nothing would change, James. Maybe my surname would change on the passport, but wed still argue over unwashed dishes, laugh at rubbish TV shows, youd fall asleep on the laptop and Id blanket 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.
Kids? I asked quietly.
She sighed.
Kids I dont know if I want them right now. Am I scared I wont have time? Sometimes. But if I do want them, it would only be with you, and only if you want that too. No ultimatums, James.
She stood, gathered the cups.
You know what Lucy told me at work today? Shes jealous because were realno masks, no games. Even without the official stamp.
We sat in silence, listening to the rain.
A week later Emily met her younger sister Sophie in a café. Sophie had married two years ago and was now six months pregnant.
Hows life treating you? Sophie asked, wolfing down a bite of cheesecake. Sorry, Im eating like a maniac. This little one runs my whole world.
Same old, Emily smiled. Work, flat, James.
Sophie put down her spoon, looked at her sister intently.
Emily Im not trying to pry, but have you two decided? Its been almost ten years. I and Simon are getting married in a year and everyone keeps saying were dragging our feet.
Were different, Sophie. Were not dragging. Were just living.
But you want a family? Kids? she placed a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready, but once you see those tiny kicks, that rush of love dont be scared. Motherly instincts wake up as soon as a baby becomes real.
Im not scared of kids, Emily said softly. And Im not scared of marriage. Im scared of doing it because its time or because everyone else does. James and I have our own story. It might not look like yours, but its ours. And its real.
What if he never gets ready? Sophie asked quietly. Sorry, I just worry about you.
Emily reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
The scariest thing isnt that hes not ready. It would be if he did it just to tick a box. Id feel that. But otherwise Im happy with him every day, even when we argue. Isnt that enough?
A tear glistened on Sophies lash.
Sorry, its probably hormones. I just want the best for you.
I already have it, Emily laughed. Cheesecake, a sister, and James waiting at home.
A few days later James had a chat with his dad, David, who had turned up unannounced. They hardly saw each other, only quick calls on holidays. David looked around the modest flat and took the offered chair.
Hows it going, son? Mum sends her love.
All good, busy with work.
And Emily?
Shes at the office. Should be home by seven.
An awkward pause fell. David fidgeted with the old set of keys to his vintage Mini.
Listen, James I might be out of line, but your mums been worried. We saw on social media that Sophies pregnant, lovely pictures.
James felt a knot tighten.
Dad, if youre talking about marriage and kids
No, no, Im not, David waved his hand, but it was clear he meant exactly that. Im just looking at you two. Nine years. Thats serious. Really serious. I I want to say youve done wellnot repeating our mistakes.
James lifted his eyes in surprise.
My parents married because it was convenient, then spent their lives blaming each otherI didnt go to university because of you, my career stalled because of you. Silly, of course. Its our own fault. A stamp on a passport cant glue whats cracked. Sometimes it even stops you from walking away cleanly.
David finally met James gaze, a weary honesty in his eyes.
Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a big responsibility, and thats right. Be honest rather than chase some perfect picture. Do you talk about this with Emily?
Constantly, James exhaled.
Good. Just make sure youre on the same wavelength. Everything else will fall into placeor not. Its your decision, not because parents are waiting.
They chatted a bit more about work; Dad declined dinner, citing commitments. As he left, James asked, Dad, do you regret?
David tightened his coat, thought a moment.
Regret marrying your mum? No. Regret how everything turned out? Yeah, every day. Look after what you have, son. A stamp isnt armour.
That evening James told Emily about his dads visit. She listened, hugging her pillow, then said, You know, Sophie dropped by too, with questions.
And?
And I told her Im happy, just as I am.
He pulled her close. Outside the rain started again.
Theres one thing I still miss, she whispered into his chest.
Whats that? he asked, his heart skipping.
That you stop mumbling at night when you lose at online chess.
James laughed. Emily lifted her head, kissed him. He realised their train wasnt stuck; it was moving, slowly but surely, on a route theyd drawn themselves, day by day, conversation by conversation. The station called Forever might not be a point on a map, but the journey itself.
In nine years theyd survived his bouts of depression after botched projects, her night shifts, three moves, and her mums illnesswithout breaking.
Emily, he said.
Mm?
Thank you. For being you.
She turned, flashing the smile he loved mostslightly tired but warm.
I love you too.
James walked to the window, watched the flickering streetlights. He didnt know what the next year, five years, ten years would bring. He didnt know if theyd ever hit that mythical station people expect. All he knew was that tomorrow morning hed wake up next to Emily.
