Mourning Wood

by Heather M. Orgeron

  “Fine.” Bringing one knee onto the bed, she rotates her body toward me. With a deep inhale, she pulls her hair to one side, nervously fingering the edges. “You want to know what I’m thinking?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll tell you…I’m thinking this has all moved so fast and a baby is the last thing either of us wanted right now.” Her throat bobs with a hard swallow as she moves to fiddle with a frayed string on the comforter. “I’m thinking,” she says, her voice breaking, “I’ve spent years trying to fix my tarnished reputation in this stupid little town, and this is not going to do me any favors.”

  “Whitney—” I start, and she cuts me off.

  “You asked—let me finish.” She rests a gentle hand on my thigh, offering me a little reassurance. “But I’m also thinking I’ve been a fool for caring more about what others might say about the choices I make for my life than myself and the people I love. And, I. Love. You.” With tear-filled eyes she cups my cheek, stroking gently. “While our relationship has been brief by most people’s standards, you’ve come to mean more to me than I ever dared to dream possible. And I know that no matter what happens when we check that test in another minute, I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have been chosen by you. To be loved by you.”

  The heaviness that began forming in the pit of my chest with the start of her monologue begins to lighten, and my heart flutters in my throat. “Fine,” I grumble, biting back emotion. “Take the damn panties.” I hook them around one finger and pull back, slingshotting them at her chest.

  With a snort she seizes them before punching me in the shoulder. “That’s it?”

  “Not even close.” My God, I have so much to say, but I can’t focus, so instead I grab her face, pull her toward me, and smash my lips to hers. Kissing her is my immediate answer to everything.

  She stares at me expectantly, wiping the back of a hand over her swollen lips. “Now would be the perfect time for some grand declaration about how awesome I am.” She folds her hands in her lap, all demure, while nudging me with her shoulder and fanning her lashes.

  “I know,” I say as the timer on her phone starts to buzz, “but can we check that first? I don’t care how politically incorrect it is…I’m really fucking excited.”

  She takes a deep inhale before blowing it out slowly and accepting my outstretched hand. “I’m shaking,” she whispers.

  I bring her fingers to my lips and kiss each one in turn. “Breathe,” I repeat my earlier sentiment. “One moment—one breath—at a time, we’ve got this.”

  Her grip tightens and she nods. “Ready?” Whitney asks, clutching the upside-down stick in between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Plus or minus, right?” My pulse surges and my palms begin to sweat. I’m not even certain why I want this so badly. But if my body’s reactions mean anything, I do.

  “Yep.”

  “Okay…” I cross my fingers behind my back, sending up positive vibes and nod, giving her the go ahead.

  With her lids pulled tight, she flips it over. “Well?”

  I blink a few times to be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me before shouting my excitement through the roof. “Fuck, yeah!” I grab Whitney at the back of her thighs and lift, wrapping her legs around my waist. Sprinkles is going crazy beating on the door, trying to get in on the action.

  She giggles through a torrent of tears while I bounce up and down, spinning in place.

  “You’re really happy?” She grips my hair on either side, turning my face so she can stare into my eyes.

  “Am I not being clear enough?” I ask, carrying her to the bed and dropping her in the center. “Tell me those are happy tears,” I beg, laying on my side to face her. I brush a thumb over her cheeks, wiping the wetness away.

  “They are…confused tears.” She dips her head in a sort of apology while fingering the buttons on my shirt. “I’m not sad,” she assures me. “Overwhelmed, maybe?”

  I nod, the gravity of what this means setting in. “That’s fair.” I can appreciate what she’s going through, but at the same time, I can’t stop smiling. “Feel my heart,” I say shifting her hand to my chest. “That’s for you, for us, for Prissy, and our baby.” I clear my throat. “You want a grand declaration, this is it, love. It doesn’t get more genuine.”

  She pulls in her lips and nods while emotion drips down her cheeks. “We’re going to be okay?” Her voice is so unsteady. That she’s unsure guts me. I wish she could share in my excitement, to know without doubt that things will be different this go-round. I’m positive that’ll come with time. So I’ll be patient, reassuring her every step of the way until she truly believes it.

  “We’re going to be more than okay,” I say, tipping her chin to kiss her tear-soaked lips. “We’re going to be a family.”

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she says, sniffling. “For Prissy… for myself.”

  “I know.” Tenderly, I stroke my knuckles along her arm. “We want the same things, Whit. And I feel like I’ve finally found a family, in you and in Prissy, and hell, even your kooky parents. And now…this.” I shake my head in disbelief. “No, it wasn’t planned…but neither was showing up on your doorstep a few months ago.” I shrug, and she smiles. “So, yeah,” I say, beaming. “I’m happy. How could I not be? When I’m staring at everything I’ve ever wanted—when it’s finally right here, within my grasp.” I grip the back of her head, pulling her close to kiss her again, because I can’t get enough of those salty lips.

  Out of nowhere she chokes on a laugh, catching me completely off guard as she pulls back.

  “What’s funny?”

  She coughs, clearing her throat. “I was just thinking… I mean, this is so…us.”

  “What is?” Fuck, she’s beautiful with her blonde hair cascading around her face like a curtain, her dimpled smile on full display, and those expressive blue eyes shining bright with so much emotion. She steals my breath, every time.

  “To wind up pregnant this way.” She can’t stop giggling. I’m not complaining; it’s a welcome sight over her tears.

  “What way might that be?” I taunt, leaning in to nibble on her neck.

  “You know what way.” She squirms, moaning under my ministrations.

  I chuckle. “I just wanna hear you say it.”

  “So bad,” she mutters, nipping at my jaw, playfully. “My pussy swallowed that condom like a fucking Venus flytrap.”

  I roll to my back, hand on my chest, laughing until tears stream down my cheeks. Blushing, she climbs on top of me. “Know what I just realized?” She circles her ass over my cock.

  “What?” I grip her at the waist, lifting my hips to offer a little encouragement as desire takes root in my groin, spreading heat throughout my entire body.

  Leaning forward, she brings her lips to my ear. “No more condoms.”

  With an arm hooked around her waist, I flip her around so that I’m hovering over her. “That is really good news.”

  “Is it?” she asks, reaching up hastily, unfastening the buttons before pushing my shirt over my shoulders and down my arms.

  With a nod, I stare into her bottomless blue eyes, losing myself in their depth as I shrug the rest of the way out of my flannel. “Our little hobby was about to get expensive.”

  She quirks her brow, not catching my meaning.

  “You live here now, remember?” I nudge her with my erection. “Two or three a day at seven days a week…” I touch each of my fingers to my thumb mocking calculations.

  She grins up at me. “Right,” she rasps, her eyes clouded with longing as I grope her breast through the fabric of her blouse.

  One by one she releases each of the little pearl buttons while I trail a hand the length of her inner thigh, beneath her skirt, and along the scrap of lace covering her heat.

  “Yes,” she hisses, her head falling back, slowly rotating side to side with every light touch.

  I reach around to her back, unfastening the clasp to her bra before sh
oving it out of my way and bringing my mouth to feast on her breasts.

  She’s hypersensitive, nearly coming clean off the bed with every brush of my tongue over her pebbled nipples.

  “Wyatt…” My name is a desperate plea falling from angel’s lips.

  She writhes beneath me as I move lower, spreading kisses over every exposed inch of her skin, devoting extra time and attention when I reach her flat stomach.

  Settling, she combs her hands into my hair, no longer tugging, but caressing, lavishing me with love and affection while I worship the body that’s nourishing our miracle.

  With every measured press of my lips, my emotions climb.

  “Hey there little one,” I say, as tears prick the backs of my eyes. I smooth both hands over her stomach, overcome with the depth of my feelings for a child I’ve not yet met. “It’s me…Daddy.”

  Whitney chokes on an emotion filled sob, drawing my attention. She shakes her head, motioning for me to continue. “I’m o—okay.”

  “You’re not yet,” I say, crawling over her to stare into her eyes, “but you will be.”

  “I got one!” Prissy screams, leaning back with dramatic flair as she reels in her pole. She’s too stinking cute with her little camouflage ball cap, cut-off shorts, and rubber boots. Her acclimation to country life’s been a breeze.

  “Be careful,” Wyatt urges, setting his own down on the brand-new dock he finished for us last week, coming over to investigate. “Pretty sure you got caught on another log.”

  “No way,” my child argues. “It’s so strong. I bet it’s an alligator.”

  “Don’t yank like it that, you’re gonna snap the line.” He stands behind her, gripping her pole and controlling her reel with his big hand covering hers.

  “I know what I’m doing, Dad.”

  Yep. Dad. Be still my heart.

  It’s been four months since we moved in. Prissy started with the dad bit about a month ago. The first time she did it, poor Wyatt looked like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of how to respond. A simple nod from me was all it took to have him melting on the spot and accepting his new title with gusto.

  Who am I to begrudge her—either of them—that relationship? The bond is already there. It’s merely a title, and one that man has more than earned—one he wears like a badge of honor.

  “You two wanna stop arguing? You’re killin’ my vibe.” I rest my paperback face down on my basketball-sized belly, squinting through the setting sun to glare at the two of them.

  “Hear that?” he growls. “You’re pissin’ the prego off.”

  Prissy snickers, crawling out from under Wyatt’s arm, leaving him to deal with her mess while she runs over to join me at my lounger, her rubber boots clomping on the wood with every step. “How’s my sister?” she asks, resting a hand over my navel.

  “Could be a brother,” Wyatt hollers, cursing up a storm at the massive driftwood he just reeled in.

  “Whoops,” Prissy giggles, covering her mouth. “Think he’s really mad?”

  “No way,” I say, reaching around to the back of her head to tighten her ponytail. “Put your hand here.” I slide her lower and to the right where the baby is practicing its kickboxing technique.

  “Does it hurt?” she asks, her eyes widening.

  “Not at all.”

  She cringes. “I’m not gonna have a baby,” she announces, moving to show her jealous dog some attention when he dips his head under her arm, nudging her hand. “Cuz, I don’t want nothin’ coming outta my vagina.”

  I choke on my tea, sitting up so I don’t die. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Imma just take your word for it.”

  “You’ll change your mind one day,” I assure her.

  “Nuh-uhn.”

  “Why don’t you come in and watch?” If any kid can handle witnessing a birth, it’s this one. With everything she sees and has seen at the funeral home, I’m not worried one bit.

  “Watch the baby come out?”

  I laugh at her excitement. “Sure,” I say, looking to Wyatt for his approval.

  “Don’t see why not,” he shrugs. “She can take over when I pass out.” He winks at his daughter. “Two birthing coaches are better than one. Let’s tag-team this shit!” He holds out his hand for a very enthusiastic high-five from Priss.

  “Great. Now that that’s settled,” I say, reaching for Wyatt’s hand to help me up from the chair. “Let’s get some dinner. This baby’s starving.”

  Once we’ve finished eating, we go through our nightly routine of loading the dishwasher and cleaning the kitchen as a family, then settle around the coffee table for a board game. After spending half an hour trying to decide, Prissy settles on The Game of Life. It’s one of her favorites, only tonight she adds an unexpected twist when she lands on the “Get Married” space.

  After adding her little blue man to her car, she sets her piece down and leaps to her feet. “Speaking of getting married…” She focuses her beady blue eyes on Wyatt. “When are you gonna marry my momma?” Her hands move to rest on her hips. “It’s time to shit or get off the pot, dude.”

  Choking—I am literally choking on my own saliva.

  Wyatt’s lips curve into an amused smile. “Funny you should mention that, Prissy.”

  I shoot my precious daughter a look. “I don’t think it’s very funny at all.” Pretty sure I just died, actually.

  When he disappears from the room, I grab my daughter by the arm and pull her next to me. “What the heck do you think you’re—”

  “It’s okay,” Wyatt says, waltzing back in with something hidden behind his back. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment…”

  He pushes the table over to kneel in front of me and everything goes blurry. Everything but him. On one knee. Looking up at me with a little velvet box in his left hand. The finger of his right preparing to flip the top open. “Whitney,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’ve given me a family. A daughter,” he turns, smiling at our little girl, who I might still want to throttle right now. “A baby.” His eyes glisten. “A partner in everything but name.”

  The tears brimming in my eyes spill over, scorching a warm path down my cheeks. “Marry me,” he says flipping the box open to reveal a beautiful princess cut engagement ring. “Whitney Daigle,” he says, his eyes locked with mine. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? To give you my name would make me the happiest man on earth.”

  “Yes,” I say, blinded by tears as he slides the ring onto my finger. My heart is literally jumping up and down. “Yes,” I say again, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ll marry you. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

  “Oh, my God, y’all are so gross,” Prissy groans when he pulls me in to seal our engagement with a kiss. But that little shit grin of hers says she couldn’t possibly be happier, and I might even see a tear or two forming in those baby blues of hers.

  “We’ll pick this up a little later,” Wyatt whispers into my ear before dropping back to his knee, this time in front of my daughter.

  “Priscilla Louise Daigle,” he says, retrieving another velvet box from his pocket. “I already consider myself to be your daddy in every way that counts, but it would mean the world to me if you’d agree to make it official.” He opens the box, removing a gold cuff bracelet with “Landry” scrolled in cursive writing in the center, and a sob bursts from my chest.

  “Prissy, will you take my name?”

  She nods and, completely out of character, starts sobbing when he places the dainty piece of jewelry on her wrist. “Yes,” she cries, falling into his outstretched arms. Her little body is vibrating with so much emotion.

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, daughter.” With her head cradled against his shoulder, he looks up at me, and we share the most intimate moment I’ve ever experienced, one of love and longing and utter relief. We did it. We let our guards down and, in doing so, found everything our hearts desired—in each other.

  My life
has been filled with unforeseen twists and turns. But if I’ve learned anything in navigating the ups and downs, it’s that sometimes those unexpected curveballs turn out to be exactly what you never knew was missing.

  Not every Prince Charming rides in on a white horse. If that’s what you’re waiting for, you’re likely to miss him altogether. Maybe he’s sitting next to you in church, or bagging your groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. And maybe you just might find him during a drunken hookup on Bourbon Street.

  All I know for certain is that life didn’t sit around waiting for me to figure my shit out. It happened, despite my best efforts at times to thwart it. I wasn’t truly living, but merely existing, until I learned to recognize each unexpected blessing and seize them with arms wide open.

  Delivery Day

  “Nine centimeters,” our labor and delivery nurse, Gretta, announces, lifting her head from beneath the sheet covering Whitney’s business. And I say business in the very literal sense. So many people have done been under that damn cover, you’d swear Whit was running 7-11 out of her vagina.

  “What’s that mean?” Priss asks, sipping a Coke and munching on gummy bears in the blue plastic recliner that’s supposed to double as my bed for the night.

  “That means it’s show time,” she offers, popping her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. “We’re about to break down the bed and set up,” she adds, addressing Whitney. “Y’all got someone to watch the little one out in the waiting room? It’s probably time for her to head out.”

  “She’ll be staying,” my wife says.

  Yep, my wife. It’s crazy how much things have changed for me in the last year. I’ve gone from a bachelor in every sense to a married man with a child…soon to be two.

  And let me tell you, people talk about being strapped down like it’s a bad thing, but I’ll take these shackles any day. Life is so much more meaningful when you have people to share it with. It’s all the little things. Take a fart, for instance… Pre-Prissy, it was merely a sound—a smell released into the void. Now? There are squeals and giggles and a feeling of accomplishment.