Rain taps against the windowsill of their rented twobed flat. James watches the droplets trace fanciful patterns on the glass. In the kitchen the dishes clinkEmily is rinsing cups after dinner.
Tea? she asks.
Sure.
He hears the soft shuffle of her feet around the flat; he knows every step she takes. They have been together nine yearsalmost a third of their lives. They met in their second year of journalism at university, in the halls.
Back then everything felt simple: lectures, latenight talks, the first flutter of romance without any grand declarations. They moved in together far too early, James later realises. There was never a formal courtship, no proposaljust the day his belongings stopped returning to the dorm.
Emily places a mug of mint tea before him and sits down:
Mum called. She asked about your project.
What did you say?
That youre, as always, a perfectionist and that things are moving slowly.
James smiles. Her mum, Irene, always treats him kindly. She never brings up marriage or grandchildren. A wonderful woman. Even friends cant help but ask, Why arent you two married? Today she ran into a former classmate, and the same question resurfaced
You know, James suddenly says, I was thinking about Alan Rickman today.
Emily raises an eyebrow.
Again? Hes your benchmark.
No. Its just hes a good example of a couple who could live together for 47 years without any clichés, or you could have a lavish wedding and divorce a year later.
Of course, clichés guarantee nothing. The stats are on your side.
Exactly.
Emily sips her tea, eyes the window.
Lena from the office is getting divorcedthird marriage. She says she always thought this one would be forever.
We havent even started, James says with a grin. And were still together.
Exactly. Still together.
He knows Emily sometimes ponders children. She never says it outright, but he notices her lingering at babyclothes displays, smiling at toddlers in the park. He, too, sometimes wondersjust not now, not in this cramped flat, not with his unstable freelance design gigs. Maybe someday.
Im scared of ending up like my parents, he admits suddenly. You know they spent their whole lives pretending to be a familyfor neighbours, for relatives, for me. In truth they barely spoke to each other.
Emily rests her hand on his palm:
Youre not your dad. And Im not my mum, though shes lovely. Were just us.
But if we get married he trails off.
If we marry, nothing changes, James. Maybe my surname will switch in the passport. Otherwise well still argue over unwashed dishes, laugh at cheesy series, youll fall asleep on the laptop, and Ill drape a blanket over you.
He looks at the fine lines that have appeared around her eyes over nine years, the familiar freckles on her neck, the hands he knows better than his own.
What about kids? he asks quietly.
Emily sighs.
Kids I dont know if I want them right now. No. Am I afraid I wont have time? Sometimes. But if I ever want them, it would only be with you, and only if you want that too. No ultimatums, James.
She stands, gathers the cups.
You know what Lena told me at work today? Shes jealous because were realno masks, no games. Even without a wedding stamp.
They sit in silence, listening to the rain.
A week later Emily meets her younger sister, Anna, at a café. Anna married two years ago and is now six months pregnant.
How are you? Anna asks, chewing a bite of cheesecake. Sorry, Im eating like a maniac. This little one runs my life.
Same old, same old, Emily smiles. Work, home, James.
Anna puts down her spoon, looks intently at her sister.
Emily Im not prying, okay? Im just curious. Have you two decided anything? Its been almost ten years. Im with Simon; weve been engaged for a year and a half, and everyone keeps saying were dragging.
Were different, Anna. Were not dragging. Were just living.
But you want a family? Kids? Anna rests a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready. Then I felt those first kicksa rush of love, pure joy. Dont be scared. Motherhood will awaken when its meant to.
Im not scared of kids, Emily says gently. Nor of marriage. Im scared of doing it because its time or because everyone else does. James and I have our own story. It may not mirror yours, but its oursand its real.
What if he never feels ready? Anna whispers. Sorry, I just worry about you.
Emily reaches across the table and squeezes 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 Im happy with him every day, even when we argue. Isnt that enough?
A tear glistens on Annas lash.
Sorry. Hormones, I guess. I just want the best for you.
I already have it, Emily laughs. Cheesecake, a sister, and James waiting at home.
A few days later a similar conversation occurs between James and his father, Victor. Victor arrives unexpectedly; they rarely see each other, their contact limited to brief holiday calls. He steps into the modest flat, eyes the worn chairs, and sits.
Hows it going, lad? Mum sends her love.
Good enough, busy with work.
And Emily?
At the office. Shell be back by seven.
An awkward pause follows. Victor fidgets with the keys to his old Mini.
Listen, James I might be overstepping, but Mums worried. We saw online that Annas pregnant. Lovely pictures.
James feels a knot tighten in his chest.
Dad, about marriage and kids
No, no, what are you Victor waves a hand, but his eyes betray the thought. Just Im looking at you two. Nine years. Thats serious. Really serious. I he searches for words. I want you to know Im proud youre not repeating our mistakes.
James looks up, surprised.
My parents married because I was already in the picture. Then they spent their lives blaming each otherBecause of you I didnt go to university, Because of you my career stalled. Silly, of course. Were the ones to blame. A marriage certificate cant glue whats cracked; sometimes it even keeps you stuck together longer than you should be.
Victor finally meets his sons gaze, a tired honesty in his eyes:
Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a huge responsibility, and thats fine. Honesty beats a perfect façade. Do you talk about this with Emily?
Constantly, James exhales.
Good. Just make sure youre on the same wavelength. Everything else will fall into placeor not. But the decision must be yours, not because parents are waiting.
They chat a bit more about business; Victor declines dinner, citing work. As he leaves, James asks, Dad, do you regret anything?
Victor pulls his coat tighter, thinks.
Regret marrying your mum? No. Regret how we all messed things up lateryes, every day. Guard what you have, son. A stamp on a passport isnt armor.
That evening James tells Emily about his fathers visit. She cuddles the cushions, then says, You know, Anna also dropped by with questions.
And?
And I told her Im happy just as we are.
He pulls her close. Outside the rain starts again.
Theres still something missing, she murmurs into his chest.
What? he asks, his heart skipping.
Stop grumbling when you lose at online chess at night.
James laughs. Emily lifts her head, kisses him, and he realises their journey isnt stalled. It moves slowly but surely along a route they map themselves, day by day, conversation by conversation. The station called Forever may not be a point on a map but the road itself.
Over nine years theyve weathered his depressive spells after failed projects, her night shifts, three moves, and her mothers illnessalways intact.
Emily, he says.
Um?
Thank you for being you.
She turns, flashes the smile he loves mostslightly tired, warmly familiar.
I love you too.
James walks to the window, watches the scattered lights. He doesnt know what the next year, five years, ten years hold. He doesnt know if theyll ever reach the imagined station others expect them to. He only knows that tomorrow morning hell wake up beside Emily.
