Chapter 16:
A Bouquet of Bluestars
AFTER SAYING GOODBYE TO ROSETTE, the pair strolled to the parlor to wait until supper. “Strolled” was a misnomer; Violette walked, and Yulan followed closely behind like a bodyguard.
Ever since Violette’s pregnancy had been discovered, Yulan had become even more overprotective of her. If he had his way, Violette would’ve been in bed from “good morning” until “good night,” and he’d have done everything for her, from changing her clothes to feeding her meals. The look in his eyes when he told her that revealed that he was anything but joking. He only gave up the idea because it was physically impossible; in his heart, that was what he wanted.
That said, he only reined himself in about ten percent. Sixty percent of him was still committed to following through on his plans. He finished work earlier, stuck to Violette like glue the minute he got home, and unleashed the full power of the protective eye on Violette that he’d nurtured since his youth. Before Violette realized it, she scarcely had to lift a finger when he was around.
“You’re tired, Yulan. Why don’t you lie down in our room?”
“Hm? Are you worn out, Vio? Want me to carry you to bed?”
“I said you, not we.”
“Oh, I’m just fine, Vio.”
“Liar. I know you went back to work last night after I went to sleep.”
“Ack. Sorry. Did I wake you…?”
“No, I noticed when I got up to use the restroom. Even when you’re exhausted, you never let it show in your face, Yulan.”
Violette puffed her cheeks to signify anger, but Yulan just smiled softly, thinking that the sight was adorable. From their long association, Violette already knew that Yulan wasn’t the sort to heed advice. She also knew that he didn’t look after his own health because he didn’t think that was necessary.
That hurt her sometimes—she even told him so, once or twice—but however much she pleaded with him to care, he only made efforts to correct himself “because Violette was unhappy.” And she was aware that Yulan bettering himself for that reason alone meant that, in the end, he’d never change on a fundamental level.
She decided to give up thinking about it. If Yulan wouldn’t cherish himself, then Violette would cherish him instead. Luckily, she had many years’ experience in indulging him as his childhood friend, his lover, and his wife. Emotions weighed heavily upon them both, and if they each comforted each other with their entire beings, they completed each other.
“Oh, you… Hey. Come here,” she said.
“Huh? Agh!”
As she tugged his arm gently, he pitched easily forward. Flustered, Yulan threw his arms around Violette. They sank into the large sofa together, until both had completely settled in. Even though she’d caused him to push her down into the couch, Violette knew he’d never crush her. Yulan answered her trust by rolling onto the edge opposite the backrest, so that Violette couldn’t roll off, even by mistake. They gazed into each other’s eyes at the same height, which was a refreshingly new feeling. Even when they slept together, Yulan usually drew her into his arms, so she always looked up at him.
“What brought this on?” he asked.
“Somebody gets lonely sleeping alone. Let’s take a nap together.”
She stroked his back in an even rhythm, and Yulan emitted a pouty yet sleepy grunt in return. Their shared body heat was quite warm, and he surely was sleep-deprived. As his heavy eyelids drooped shut, the sun sank lower and lower in the sky.
Violette giggled. “Sweet dreams, Yulan.”
“Mm…”
Yulan’s long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks as his breathing became soft and even. Leaning against his chest as it rose and fell gently with each sleeping breath, Violette felt his heartbeat where her body touched his. A heart just like the one inside Yulan’s chest was forming right now in her own body. Everything that gave a person life—a heart, blood, bones, skin—was doing so. Every component had Yulan’s genes mixed in, and inside Violette’s belly, fragments of her and Yulan would come together over time to create one life. They said life was a miracle, and that was absolutely right. Even if Violette had ripped herself open and seen with her own eyes, she still could never have comprehended what was happening inside of her.
She took her hand off Yulan’s back and pressed it to her still-flexible midsection. She’d done that many times since learning that she was pregnant. But there was no definite sensation in her abdomen; the action merely confirmed the slight rounding of her stomach and the transformation of her body.
Even now, knowing she was pregnant, she still couldn’t picture the face of the baby’s mother. The family in her imagination would probably stay faceless forever, and she’d remain unclear about whether this was something she desired or not.
One thing was clear to her, though—that she wanted to see the baby.
To call that impersonal interest “love” would’ve been irresponsible. She wanted to see what the baby she had would look like—that was why she’d decided to do this. Rather than relying on a love she was unsure would ever bud, she’d decided to embrace the definite curiosity she felt in that moment.
How will its face look? How will its voice sound? What color will its eyes be? Its hair will probably be silvery. Which of us will it take after? What sex will it be?
“I can’t wait to meet you, little one.”
As she gently caressed her belly, she could’ve sworn she felt a tiny heartbeat against her palm.