Zayne stood at the base of their apple tree, looking up at his wife.
Who was sitting on a branch.
Approximately three meters up.
Surrounded by three squirrels.
Having what appeared to be a very serious conversation.
*This is normal now. This is my normal. Wife in tree. With squirrels. Gossiping.*
"—and THEN," Nana was saying animatedly to the squirrels, "he said my cooking was 'adequate' but I KNOW that's doctor-speak for 'very good!' Right?!"
The squirrels chittered in response.
*She's asking squirrels for relationship advice. They're responding. This is happening.*
"Exactly!" Nana nodded seriously. "Men are so bad at expressing feelings! Even handsome doctor men!"
More chittering.
*They're agreeing with her. The squirrels are agreeing with her. I'm being criticized by rodents.*
"But he's very sweet though," Nana continued, pulling out hazelnuts from her pocket. "Here! I brought international nuts! From the honeymoon! Remember I told you about the honeymoon?"
The squirrels chittered excitedly, taking the hazelnuts.
"I KNOW RIGHT?! It was SO nice! Beach! Food! And—" she lowered her voice conspiratorially but not quietly enough, "—his sunflower is VERY impressive!"
*SUNFLOWER. SHE'S TELLING THE SQUIRRELS ABOUT SUNFLOWER. THE SQUIRRELS KNOW ABOUT SUNFLOWER.*
*I've been discussed with woodland creatures. My anatomy has been reviewed by rodents. This is my life.*
Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh.
*She's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And I love her.*
"So," Nana asked seriously, "do you prefer the hazelnuts or the acorns more? Be honest! Consumer feedback is important!"
The largest squirrel—Mr. Fluffytail, presumably—chittered loudly.
"Ohhh! You like BOTH! Very diplomatic!" Nana beamed. "You're so wise, Mr. Fluffytail!"
Mr. Fluffytail, apparently pleased with the compliment, grabbed an acorn and offered it to Nana.
*He's... giving her an acorn. Gift exchange. Interspecies diplomacy.*
"For ME?!" Nana gasped, taking it carefully. "Thank you! This is so thoughtful!"
She examined the acorn closely, turning it over in her small hands.
"How do you eat this though?" she wondered aloud. "Do you crack it? Or—"
*Don't. Please don't.*
She bit into it.
The whole thing.
Shell and all.
Her face immediately scrunched up.
"IT'S BITTER! And HARD! How do you eat these?! This is TERRIBLE!"
The squirrels chittered—if Zayne didn't know better, he'd say they were laughing.
*The squirrels are laughing at her. My wife is being mocked by squirrels for trying to eat their food.*
Zayne couldn't hold it in anymore.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Out loud.
Nana looked down at him, still holding the bitter acorn, looking adorably offended.
"It's NOT FUNNY! Mr. Fluffytail gave me this! I had to try it!"
"You're not supposed to eat the shell," Zayne called up. "You crack it first."
"Oh." She looked at the acorn again. "That makes more sense."
She tried to crack it against the branch.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed again.
*She's going to fall. She's going to fall trying to crack an acorn and I'm going to have to explain to the ER that my wife fell from a tree during squirrel gossip.*
"Come down," he said. "Before you fall."
"I'm FINE! I'm—" she shifted slightly, lost her balance, "—ZAYNE!"
He caught her.
Easily.
Practiced at this now.
*This is the seventh time this month. We should just install a net.*
"Got you," he said, setting her on her feet.
She immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight.
"My hero!" she declared. "Saving me from gravity!"
*Gravity. Her arch nemesis. Along with coffee machines and neckties.*
"Perhaps stay on the ground from now on?" he suggested.
"But the squirrels are up there!"
"The squirrels can come down."
"But then it's not gossip! It's a meeting! Different vibes!"
*Gossip requires altitude. Obviously. This makes perfect sense to her.*
"Come inside," he said, kissing her forehead. "You need to make dinner."
"I'M COOKING TONIGHT!" She announced proudly. "REAL FOOD! I've been practicing!"
*Practicing. She's been watching cooking videos. For three months. The kitchen has only caught fire twice. Progress.*
"I'll supervise," he said carefully.
"You don't trust me!"
"I trust you. I don't trust the stove."
"Fair," she admitted.
To Zayne's genuine surprise, Nana was actually cooking.
Real cooking.
Scrambled eggs—fluffy, properly seasoned, not burnt.
Roasted chicken—golden brown, cooked through, actually edible.
*She did it. She actually did it. No fires. No disasters. Actual food.*
"LOOK!" She held up a perfectly cooked piece of chicken with pride. "REAL FOOD! I MADE REAL FOOD!"
"You did very well," he said, genuinely impressed.
"Try it! Try it!" She offered him a bite.
He did.
It was... good.
Actually good.
"It's excellent," he said honestly.
"REALLY?!" Her face lit up like sunrise.
"Really. You've improved significantly."
"YES!" She pumped her fist. "I'M A COOKING MASTER NOW! First kissing master, now cooking master! I'm collecting masteries!"
*She's gamifying life skills. Everything is an achievement to unlock.*
They sat down to eat together—actual homemade meal, at their dining table, like a normal couple.
*This is nice. Domestic. Normal.*
"Zayne?" Nana said between bites.
"Mm?"
"You know what people at my college say about you?"
*Oh no. What now.*
"What do they say?"
"They say you're cold. Scary. Like ice. But—" she smiled at him, "—you're not cold at all! You're warm! And kind! And soft with me! And you have a really big sunflower!"
*SUNFLOWER. AT THE DINNER TABLE. DURING A NICE MEAL. WHY.*
Zayne closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
*Saturn. I want to go to Saturn. Not Mars. Not the moon. Saturn. With the rings. Far away. Very far away.*
"Can we NOT discuss sunflower during dinner?" he managed.
"Why not? It's a compliment! You should be proud!"
"I'm not discussing my anatomy over chicken."
"But it's very impressive anatomy! You're very blessed! I tell all my friends!"
*She tells her friends. Multiple friends. About sunflower. This is my reputation now.*
"Please stop telling your friends."
"But they ask! They want to know if their husbands are also—"
"NANA."
"Fine, fine! No more anatomy talk at dinner! But after dinner?"
"No."
"Before bed?"
"No."
"In the shower?"
*We're not showering together anymore. I've learned my lesson. Multiple lessons.*
"Absolutely not."
She pouted but continued eating, looking pleased with herself.
*She's proud of her cooking. And proud of sunflower. Both things I never expected to be connected.*
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
After dinner, dishes, and brushing teeth, Zayne had retreated to his home office to review patient files.
He had a surgery scheduled for tomorrow—complex valve replacement, required meticulous preparation.
*Focus. Review. Prepare. This is important.*
He spread the files across his desk, putting on his reading glasses, ready to—
The door opened.
Nana walked in.
And immediately lay down on his desk.
On top of the files.
Like a sacrifice.
Arms spread. Face up. Completely still.
*What is she doing. Why is she on my desk. This is my workspace.*
"Hamster, what—"
"Offering myself," she said dramatically. "As tribute. To the work god. So he'll give you back to me faster."
*Work god. She's offering herself to a work god. This is her logic.*
"I'm not a work god."
"You're working. So you're a work god. Same thing."
*It's not the same thing. Not even close. But arguing is pointless.*
"I need to review these files—"
"Do it!" She waved her hand dismissively. "I'll just lie here! I'm very comfortable!"
*She's lying on patient records. Confidential patient records. This is inappropriate.*
"You can't lie on the files—"
She sat up with a huff but stayed on his desk, now just sitting cross-legged on top of his work.
*Still on the files. Just sitting now instead of lying.*
"Can I hold your hand?" she asked.
"I need both hands to work—"
She grabbed his right hand anyway.
*And there goes my dominant hand. I'm reviewing complex cardiac files with my left hand now.*
"Nana—"
"Shh! Work! I'm just holding! Very quiet holding!"
She was not quiet.
She hummed.
Swung her legs.
Played with his fingers.
*This is impossible. I can't work like this. But she looks happy. She's smiling. She just wants to be close.*
*Fine. I'll adapt.*
He continued reviewing files with his left hand, trying to focus while his wife played with his right hand like it was a toy.
*This is my life. Working one-handed. Wife attached. This is normal.*
After approximately seven minutes of this, she got bored.
Climbed off the desk.
Climbed onto his lap instead.
*Better. At least she's off the files. But now she's on me. Trade-offs.*
"Comfortable?" he asked dryly.
"Very!" She settled in, wrapping her arms around his neck.
*I'm trying to review complex medical files with my wife in my lap. This is professional. This is fine.*
She pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Then another.
Then moved behind his chair, arms draped over his shoulders, kissing the other cheek.
*She's moving. Why is she moving. Stay in one place.*
"Still working!" she whispered. "Don't mind me! Just kissing!"
*Just kissing. As if that's not distracting. As if I can focus while she's—*
She was on the floor now.
*When did she get on the floor. How did she get on the floor. Why is she on the floor.*
"Hamster, what are you doing down there?"
"Floor perspective!" she called up. "Very interesting view! I can see under your desk!"
*She's exploring. Of course she's exploring. She explores everything.*
Then he felt something.
Movement.
At his ankles.
*What is she—*
Small hands grabbed the hem of his pajama shirt.
*Oh no.*
"Nana, what are you—"
She climbed.
Inside his shirt.
Through the bottom.
*She's inside my shirt. My wife is inside my clothing. This is happening.*
Her head popped out at his collar, face pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his torso under the fabric.
"Perfect!" came her muffled voice. "Now we're matching! Matching pajamas! But I'm INSIDE yours! Like a kangaroo baby!"
*Kangaroo baby. She's a kangaroo baby now. Living in my shirt. This is normal.*
"You can't just—you're inside my shirt—"
"You smell so good!" she announced happily, nuzzling his chest. "Like... like clean! And safe! And Zayne-smell!"
*Zayne-smell. I have a smell. She's categorizing my scent.*
"And your body is so good!" she continued, completely comfortable in her shirt-prison. "So warm! So—" she poked his chest, "—firm! Like your abs but chest version!"
*She's reviewing my body. From inside my shirt. While I'm trying to work.*
"Hamster, I need to review these files—"
"Do it! I'm just here! Very quiet! Not distracting at all!"
*She's the MOST distracting. Currently the most distracting thing in the universe.*
But she was warm.
And soft.
And smelled like vanilla.
And was making happy sounds while snuggled against his chest.
*Fine. I'll work with a wife in my shirt. This is my life now.*
He continued reviewing files, trying to focus on cardiac anatomy while very aware of his wife's heartbeat against his chest.
*Her heart rate is 72 BPM. Calm. Content. Happy.*
*She's happy just being close. Just being with me. That's all she wants.*
*I can work later. Files can wait. This—this is important.*
He set down the files and wrapped his arms around her—around the lump in his shirt that was his wife.
"Done working?" she asked hopefully, voice muffled.
"Done working," he confirmed. "Wife in shirt takes priority."
"YAY!" She squeezed him tighter. "Best husband! Most prioritizing! Very good at priorities!"
*She's praising my priorities. From inside my shirt. While I hold her like cargo.*
"Can we go to bed now?" she asked. "You can hold me there too! More comfortable! Better angle!"
*She has a point. This chair isn't designed for wife-carrying.*
"Alright. But you have to come out of my shirt first."
"NO! I'm staying! We walk to bed like this! Kangaroo style!"
*Kangaroo style. She wants me to walk to the bedroom with her in my shirt.*
"That's not—"
"PLEASE?"
*The eyes. Even from inside my shirt, I can feel the power of the eyes.*
"Fine," he sighed. "Kangaroo style to the bedroom."
"YES! You're the best kangaroo daddy!"
*Kangaroo daddy. I'm kangaroo daddy now. This is my title.*
He stood carefully, holding the lump that was his wife through his shirt, and walked toward the bedroom.
*I'm a cardiac surgeon. Chief of surgery. Published researcher. Award winner.*
*Currently walking around my house with my wife inside my pajama shirt.*
*This is my life.*
*And I love it.*
ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 9:34 PM (BEDROOM)
Medical log - Six Months Post-Honeymoon:
Today's events:
- Wife gossiped with squirrels
- Wife ate acorn shell
- Squirrels laughed at wife
- Wife cooked actual food (SUCCESS)
- Wife mentioned sunflower at dinner (Saturn beckons)
- Wife became desk decoration
- Wife held my hand while I worked
- Wife kissed my cheeks
- Wife ended up on floor (unclear why)
- Wife invaded my shirts
- Wife became kangaroo baby
- Walked to bedroom kangaroo-style
Current status: In bed. Wife extracted from shirt. Both in proper pajamas now. She's asleep on my chest.
Six months of marriage observations:
She's grown comfortable. Completely comfortable. No hesitation. No shyness.
She invades my space constantly. Desk. Lap. Shirt. Everywhere.
She gossips with squirrels about me. Including anatomy. The squirrels know things.
She's learned to cook. Without burning things. Mostly.
She still climbs trees. Still talks to animals. Still names things.
She calls me "kangaroo daddy" now. This is my life.
But also:
She lights up when I come home.
She wants to be near me constantly.
She's proud of small accomplishments.
She trusts me completely.
She's happy.
We're happy.
We still haven't... completed things. The thing. The honeymoon thing.
She's been patient. More patient than expected.
Sometimes she asks. "Are we ready yet?"
And I say "soon."
Because I want her to be COMPLETELYready. Not scared. Not worried. Just... ready.
She's close. Getting closer.
Comfortable with me. With touching. With closeness.
Eventually.
That word again.
But eventually is approaching.
I can feel it.
The way she looks at me now.
The way she touches me.
The way she climbs into my shirt like it's her home.
She's ready.
Almost ready.
Soon.
Very soon.
And when she is—
When she finally says "I'm ready" without fear—
I'll show her everything.
All the things we've waited for.
All the patience will be worth it.
All the suffering will make sense.
But for now—
For now she's asleep on my chest.
Making small sounds.
Probably dreaming about squirrels.
And I'm holding her.
My chaos wife.
My kangaroo baby.
My everything.
This is enough.
For now.
This is perfect.
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.