desiderium | m. o'hara

fifteen

  Miguel's been buzzing all afternoon. He got back from his mission with Peter after I called him about Rosalina's dance, and hasn't stopped speaking about it since.

  "What if she gets a little tux?" he asks elatedly as he drives the car through the streets of my Neuva York to pick her up from school. "With a little bow tie and everything?"

  It's adorable, really, how excited he is. He's so good with Rosalina that sometimes I forget he's never been a dad before. All of these things are completely new to him.

  I smile at the side of his face as he pulls into the school's parking lot. "We'll get her whatever outfit she wants to go in."

  "Of course," Miguel says. The car rolls to a stop alongside the other vehicles waiting for their resident child. "... what about a jumpsuit?"

  "Miguel." I break into an amused grin.

  "Siento, siento," he murmurs distractedly and unclicks his seatbelt.

  We converge at the side of the car and lean against it, peering through the crowd of dispersing children for a young face that looks like ours. Rosalina breaks from the throng and dashes towards us. She throws her arms around my waist before clinging to Miguel.

  "Did you hear?" she asks, breathless with elation.

  "We did!" Miguel lifts Rosalina, bag and all, and sits her on his hip. She giggles ecstatically. "Are you excited?"

  She quickly nods her head. "Yeah!"

  I chuckle at their shared joy. "Come on, you two. We've got a game to get to."

  Rosalina's priorities shift immediately. "We need to go!" She struggles out of Miguel's hold and throws her bag into the car, scrambling up after it. "It's the last one before the finals!"

  "Then let's get going!" Miguel says, before quickly shutting the door and hopping into the drivers seat.

  I shake my head with a smile and walk to my side of the car. They're both such trouble.

  We zip home. While Rosalina eats some afternoon tea and gets changed, Miguel and I straighten up the living room from the frantic rush to leave this morning. He keeps glancing over as I scrunch the blanket and toss it aside for the wash. His hands plump the cushions a tad too slow.

  "Are you sure you're okay with me sleeping in your bed?" he asks, voice tinged with concern. "I don't mind the couch."

  "I'm sure."

  "I just don't want you to feel pressured."

  I send him a gentle, reassuring look as I fold the second blanket that lives on the couch. "I don't feel pressured."

  "But if you're uncomfortable-"

  "Mig." I rise and turn to him. "I'm not uncomfortable. You don't make me uncomfortable." I step closer and hold his arms, an attempt to soothe his worries. "You know me - if I don't like something, I let you know about it."

  Miguel sighs, resigned. "That you do."

  I smile. "You worry too much. Have you tried meditation? Maybe some yoga?"

  Miguel shoots me with a dry look. "Ha-ha. Alright, point taken."

  My smile grows. I drop his arms and pick up the blanket to throw into the washing machine. Miguel watches me as I go.

  When I peek back at him before I round the corner, he stares at the couch with an unreadable expression.