Page 144 of (Not) The One
‘What are rules for if not to be broken.’ I shift the baby between us, making space for her under my other arm. ‘Just ask the young girl who bagged herself a gorgeous older man with the kind of bedroom skills that—’
Thomas snuffles, then he makes the kind of noise that sounds like a detonation.
Miranda pulls away as she physically gags. ‘No. No. I can’t deal with that this morning. Oh!’ she holds up her hands as though to ward the smell away. ‘It’s oozing out of the legs of his onesie.’
‘I did the last change,’ I counter, holding him out now at arm’s length, though it does nothing to help the noxious smell, but adds another level to the senses as a yellow blooming stain spread across the legs of his tiny blue pyjamas.
‘No you didn’t. I was up five times with him—I changed him then!’
‘But he couldn’t have made this kind of a mess because I had to practically bathe him at two in the morning. No, this change is definitely yours.’
‘Please, James, I can’t. I’ll be ill. I’ll do anything.’
‘Anything?’
‘Almostanything,’ she counters.
‘Well,’ I reply, taking her hand as I lay Thomas down on his changing table. ‘There’s only one thing that will persuade me to clean that child’s bottom, and that’s if you’ll agree to be my wife.’
She sets off laughing. Laughing like I’ve just told the funniest joke of the century.
‘This is doing nothing for my confidence,’ I grumble, beginning to pull the snaps of his pyjamas before having, purely logistical, second thoughts. I pull the tub of wipes from the lower shelf, flipping the lid as her laughter still. Because there, on top of the wipes purported to be good for delicate bottoms is a note in Miranda’s hand. And it reads:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’d really love
To marry you.
What do you say?
And I say,
‘Yes.’
