Call me Em

It’s not dramatic. Not a grand declaration. It sounds like he’s talking to himself more than you, like it slipped out without much thought.

You slowly push yourself up, resting on your elbows, looking at him. “What?”

He blinks like he didn’t realize he said it. “I mean it.”

“Jack…”

“I’m not saying we need to run off tonight or book a chapel in Vegas or something,” he says gently, following your posture. “I just… I’ve thought about it. About us.”

You don't respond. His words settling into your chest like the Titanic—sinking. Drowning. You’re naked but feel bare, vulnerable in every sense of the word. You lay back down, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it over your chest.

Jack watches your silence. He doesn’t know what it means, but it sure damn feels like a rejection. Marriage was not something you talked about yet—and now he’s cursing himself for bringing it up like this, at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way.

You’ve turned your back to him, pretending to sleep. But he knows you’re still awake by the way your body shifts, the way your breaths stutter every now and then.

So he plays your game, pretends to sleep, pretends he doesn’t want to hold you the way he always does before bed.

Jack wakes up a few hours after that. He feels your side of the bed is cold and his mind assumes the worst: You left. He feels a twinge in his chest and tries to swallow it away, but then he smells coffee. He gets up, reaches for his crutches, and limps into the kitchen—where he finds you standing against the counter, wearing his shirt, holding a mug.

Relief washes over him. You didn’t leave after all.

You glance up and offer a small smile, already pouring him a cup. “You want coffee?”

Jack walks over to you. He puts his crutches down and reaches out for you. If it were any other day, he’d crush you in a hug with no hesitation, but now he fears he might scare you away.

You feel his touch on your shoulder and look back, putting his mug down and embracing him, letting him lean his weight on you.

“I’m sorry.” You say, as if knowing his thoughts.

“I thought you left.” He whispers.

You break away from the hug and search for his eyes. “I’d never leave you, Jack. I just… I needed a second. To think.”

He nods in understanding. “You wanna talk?”

You nod back, giving his coffee mug and then sitting on the counter. You take a deep breath. “You know I was married before, right?”

Jack nods.

“It wasn’t good. I’ve said that before. But... the part I never really admitted is that it wasn’t just him. I wasn’t a great wife, either. I didn’t have dinner waiting every night, I barely made it home most days. I lived at the hospital. And I—I don’t want kids.”

You look up, expecting to see some flicker of concern, hesitation—something.

But Jack just watches you calmly.

“I know,” Jack says, stepping closer. Close enough that he’s between your knees, hands resting lightly on your thighs.

Your throat tightens. “You know?”

“You told me once,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Early on. We were talking about long shifts, and you said you couldn’t imagine adding a baby on top of that. I remembered.”

You blink, stunned. You hadn’t even remembered saying that.

“And for what it’s worth...” Jack says, “With my age and everything I’ve seen… no, I don’t want kids. The world has enough people in it. Having a child… couldn't guarantee it will make anything better.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “So you’re okay with not having the white-picket-fence life? Even if it was with someone you loved?”

“I am with someone I love,” he says. “And no—I’ll take a shitty apartment and the chaos of hospital life if it means I get to come home to you.”

You laugh, and it sounds a little like relief.

Jack leans in again, arms wrapping around you. His voice is quiet in your ear. “I meant it. I want to marry you. Maybe not now, we can plan for it, have any kind of wedding you want. Or not want. You can call me old-fashioned, but I really want to be able to call you my wife.”

You sniffle, trying not to cry.

“No pressure though.” He adds, and you laugh again.

You lean into his chest, the drowning feeling finally going away. “Ask me again,” you whisper. “Someday. When we’re both ready.”

Nothing more, nothing less.

Based on some dialogues from the event.

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