After hours and hours of pointing out stars, we returned to my hovel for a real newlywed celebration. Wow, my shack
is good for something after all! Really, though, I was terrified that Franco would take one look at the place and leave, but instead he was very enthusiastic about it. He couldn't wait to expand on the hut, and put in more bathrooms, and a nursery . . . his excitement was contagious.
Over the next few weeks, I found myself rushing to the toilet to throw up frequently, which Franco blamed on his food. So we ordered pizza or went to a restaurant every night, with no change in vomiting habits. Finally, I decided it was a stomach bug and left it at that.
Franco and I were still very,
very much in love. We both had our careers to think about, but in the moments we ignored our responsibilities I felt wonderful.
I wrote comic books in my makeshift studio, even if my true aspiration was to write children's books, and was soon a very popular writer amongst the nerds of Lunar Lakes. I felt that drawing the designs and enhancing graphics really allowed me to become a better artist overall.
. . . that is, when I'm not throwing the entirety of my stomach into a toilet bowl. Maybe I need a break. After all, I did land on an alien planet, marry someone after a single day, and build a tiny house with the money he brought. Perhaps I just need to get away from the stress!
Poor Franco works all the time, going from house to house in search of inhabitants wanting a makeover. It's strenuous work, but the extra money he brings in is life-saving. And have you ever seen a Su look this good?
I usually find him at home very early in the morning, practically dropping with exhaustion and not even bothering to change for bed.
We ate dinner together and . . . such . . . every night, no matter how busy our schedules were.
Thankfully, I only needed maternity wear in the last few months of pregnancy, since the money needed to buy new clothes came from a very strained bank account. Yes,
pregnancy. And I thought it was a stomach bug!
Apparently the doctor had phoned Franco and told him the news, because I woke up to the smell of pancakes long after he had left for work.