by Kate, Jiffy
Epilogue
Casey
New Orleans - Wild Card Game - October 2
“Can I get you anything?” Jack asks, for the umpteenth time since we sat down in the box where our seats are located.
Smiling, I shake my head as I rest my hand on my very large belly. “I’m good, Jack. Thank you, though.”
“Just let me know if you need anything.”
I nod, “I will, don’t worry.”
I swear, this kid is trying to evict me from my own body, instead of the other way around. I feel like I don’t have room to breathe, and even though I’m always hungry, I don’t feel like I can eat.
This morning, instead of kicks, I got my first Braxton Hicks contraction.
Of course, Ross freaked out, but I assured him it was normal. When he tried to talk me into a visit to the OB, I pulled one of my trusty books off the nightstand and proved they’re nothing to worry about.
I’m pretty sure he put his parents on Casey Watch, because neither of them has left my side since we left the house.
He’s not been much better over the last couple months.
Since our big talk, he’s enforced new rules, which include me never being truly alone. When they go on a road trip, he insists on me going to Charlotte’s or her coming and staying with me. When he’s home, I’m basically an appendage of him.
He even moved all of my things from the guesthouse into his house and emptied out my boxes from Charlotte’s attic. According to him, he didn’t want any of my belongings anywhere other than next to his.
Not going to lie, it made me a little emotional.
But that doesn’t take much these days.
When he surprised me on my birthday last month with an interior designer for the nursery, I bawled.
“Feeling okay?” Charlotte asks as she takes the seat beside me, the one Jack just vacated especially for her.
I sigh, kind of tired of the same question from every single person I know. “Yep, except for the part where I swallowed a basketball… and the indigestion… and I only slept three hours last night…”
“So, nothing’s changed since yesterday,” she says, unphased by my bellyaching. “Good.”
Feeling a tightening in my belly, I wince and take a drink of my water.
“Are you okay?” Joann asks, turning in her seat as the players take the field.
“Fine,” I tell her, with a smile. “Just excited about this game.”
She pats my arm and turns back to the field. “Me too,” she says, focusing on the team as they line up for the National Anthem. “Just think, next year, we’ll have a little one up here with us.”
Just the thought puts a smile on my face and brings my hand back to my stomach. I have a feeling Joann and Jack will be spending a lot more time in New Orleans next year. With the guest house empty, it gives them their own space in our backyard. Who knows? They may split their time and fly south for the summer.
When Ross takes the mound for the beginning of the first inning, the atmosphere in the box shifts and everyone’s attention turns to the game. The excitement of playing in the Wild Card game is palpable. If the Revelers win tonight, they’ll advance to play in the Division Series.
Ross strikes out the first batter and I exhale a small sigh of relief.
He looks focused, poised, and incredibly sexy.
By the second inning, I have to relieve my bladder, and Joann and Charlotte insist on accompanying me to the bathroom. On our way back, we hear the crowd roar. Waddling as fast as I can, I get back to the box to see a replay of Ross crushing a ball. The outfielder dives to catch it, but misses, allowing Ross to get to second base and sending Freeman home.
Go, baby, go.
I don’t want to jinx anything by saying I had a premonition about this game, but I did. Ross woke me up this morning with some amazing, lazy morning sex. Due to the size of my belly, our positions are limited, but we make it work… boy do we make it work. And the orgasms are mind-blowing. I mean, they have been since our first night together, but lately, they’ve been intense.
Like, out of this world… hold my calls… see you next Tuesday.
But, I digress.
After the sex and orgasms, we cooked breakfast together for his parents.
Then, I had a nice Facetime chat with my own, who thankfully have warmed up to the baby and Ross. My mom wanted a virtual tour of the nursery and to see the crib they bought for us and had delivered. I talked to her and my dad while I sat in the middle of the floor and folded a small basket of onesies.
It’s weird that laundry can make you happy, but those tiny pieces of fabric that smell like baby powder make me happier than any tub of Oreo ice cream topped with crushed-up Thin Mints.
When I walked outside, the sun was shining and it actually felt like fall.
To top all of that off, there were no reporters stalking me on our way into the game.
AND I found a penny heads-up on the ground just outside the entrance to the field.
Of course, I don’t even let my mind go to the possibilities, because I’m now a firm believer in the stupid baseball superstitions.
The jersey I’m wearing is one of Ross’s old ones from his first season in New Orleans. He said the night he wore it, he pitched seven innings and struck out eleven batters. I also have on the same socks I wore from the night Ross almost had a no-hitter.
“Come on!” I yell when there’s a bad call. “Open your eyes. I thought only horses sleep standing up!”
Charlotte snickers. “That’s a new one.”
“I have to get creative,” I huff, settling back into my seat. “They make me sound like a broken record with all of their horrible calls.”
For four innings, the Revelers go three up, three down, and as Ross takes the mound in the seventh, I swear he looks straight at the box. There’s even a long pause as he takes his stance and I wonder what he’s thinking.
I can’t imagine having that much pressure on me with thousands of people watching. The thought makes my stomach hurt a little. If I could take any of it away for him, I would, even though he doesn’t need me to… I would.
Proving my point, he throws a fastball that zips by the batter, making him swing.
Jack fist pumps the air and I smile, loving the pride he has in his son, and thinking, not for the first time, that I hope Ross and our son have that kind of relationship.
I hope they’re close and remain that way, regardless of the path our son chooses.
Even if they don’t always see eye-to-eye, I hope that unconditional love parents have for their children is there and that it’s reciprocated.
Resting my hand on my stomach, I watch as Ross finishes off the rest of the batters, still not allowing anyone to make it to first base.
During the seventh inning stretch, I do just that. Over the past half hour or so, my lower back has started to ache. When I stand to rub at the tension, I feel a wetness seep down my leg.
Horrified, I bend down as far as I can to try and see what’s happening and my black leggings are a darker shade of black down the center from my thigh to my ankle.
“Uh…” I start and stop, not knowing what to say. My heart begins to pound as I think of the possibilities. I’ve either peed myself, which is mortifying, or my water just broke, which is terrifying. I’m not ready… I didn’t bring my go-bag, Ross is currently pitching one of the best games of his life… the Revelers might be going to the playoffs… and I have four more weeks to go… “This can’t happen,” I mutter to myself, finally getting the attention of everyone around me.
It’s Charlotte who notices first and she drops her nachos to the ground, hands flying to her mouth.
Joann gets on board next and seriously climbs over two chairs in one long stride. “It’s fine,” she says, taking my hands into hers as she talks to Jack over my shoulder.
“Call a car,” she instructs. “Wait until the game is over and bring Ross to the hospital.”
“What?” h
e asks, sounding confused until he sees where Charlotte’s eyes are still glued—my wet leggings. “Oh… oh.” As realization dawns, he pulls out his phone and gets to work.
“I can’t,” I breathe out, feeling panic seep in. “I’m only thirty-six weeks… this can’t happen.”
A twinge of pain hits me about that time and I wince. It’s not strong, kind of like what I’ve experienced all morning, but it’s enough to throw everyone into action, even my sister gets onboard, looping her arm through mine and ushering me out into the corridor.
Everything after that is a blur until we make it to the car Jack called for us.
Charlotte helps me into the back and Joann climbs in on the opposite side.
“I need Ross,” I say, emotion thick in my throat. “I can’t do this.”
Charlotte grabs my hand and holds it firmly. “Yes, you can.”
“I promise everything is going to be okay,” Joann says calmly. “Thirty-six weeks isn’t too early and I’m sure Ross will be there as soon as he can.”
“He can’t know,” I say, feeling an immediate sense of urgency. “He has to finish the game. Tell Jack that. I don’t want to mess this up… I have a good feeling about it.”
That’s when tears prick my eyes.
Ross is going to get his no-hitter and I’m not going to be there.
“He won’t,” she assures me. “And I’ll tell him to get everything on video.”
I nod, blowing out short, choppy breaths as I try to calm myself. The only thing I can control at this moment is how I react to the situation. Ross would want me to focus on that… focus on me and getting our baby here safely. I can do that. For him… for me… for us.
We’re a team and I’ve got to play my part.
“Please hurry,” Joann says to the driver as he pulls out onto the street. “We’re having a baby.”
As he zips through traffic, I practice the breathing techniques Ross and I learned while taking a private Lamaze class last month. Honestly, as we were taking the class, I wasn’t sure if I’d even need the things we were learning, but of course, I wanted to be prepared. Now, I’m glad we did it… practiced breathing seems essential right now as the pain in my back and pelvis increase.
“Just a few more minutes,” Joann assures me, still holding my hand.
“This is definitely not how I saw things happening,” I say as I see the hospital come into view.
Charlotte gives my hand a squeeze. “Sometimes, things don’t go as planned. Fate steps in and takes over… I mean, it’s pretty perfect if you think about it.”
Huffing out a laugh, I shake my head. “You’re right.”
It is pretty perfect, or perfectly imperfect.
Mine and Ross’s entire relationship has been a series of curveballs, nothing landing where expected, but somehow being exactly where we need it.
If someone would’ve asked me a year ago where I saw myself now, I never would’ve come up with this scenario on my own. It wasn’t until I threw caution to the wind that my life took a sharp turn, leading me down a path to happiness and purpose and love… so, so much love, in all different capacities.
A love for my soulmate.
A love for my unborn child.
A love for my new family.
And a newfound love for myself and all the possibilities my life holds.
Bonus Epilogue
Ross
The past couple of months have been an absolute blur.
Samuel Cy Davies was born two months ago. He’s named after me, my dad, and my favorite pitcher of all time. Most people would tell you he looks just like me, but I see his mother in him too. He has her eyes and her spirit. There’s never been a more laid-back baby. Even when he’s hungry or wet, he’s still pretty chill about it and he can sleep anywhere.
Between becoming a father and the Revelers winning the division and then losing in the championship series, I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone sleep.
But the guys planned a post-season party at a bar down in the French Quarter tonight and Casey basically pushed me out the door, stating I needed to get out of the house before she kicked me out.
Things have been going great, but there’s a chance I’ve been a little bit of a helicopter parent.
A year ago, I would’ve told you I’d never be one of those, but look at me now.
Casey told me I need to practice what I preach—balance. I’ve always been a big advocator about finding balance in life and in the game. She said I need to do the same with Samuel. But as much as she guarantees me he’ll be okay, I still worry and I want to be there for, well, everything.
I had no clue the second he was born I’d feel like my heart is walking around outside my body. Well, he’s not walking… yet. Thank God, because just the idea of him rolling over on his own is enough to worry about right now.
As the car pulls up at the corner closest to the bar, I tell the driver thanks and hop out.
Tucking my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I duck my head and make my way toward the bar. Mack and a few other guys organized the night and got the owner to shut the whole place down for us. It’ll be nice to have a few beers and celebrate the season.
Sure, we didn’t make it to the World Series, but we came damn close and left it all on the field.
And like they say, next year is our year.
When I open the door to the bar, the first thing I notice are all the familiar faces and then the banner.
Huggies and Chuggies
What the fuck?
“He’s here!” Mack calls out, coming up to my side and slapping me on the shoulder as he forces a beer into my hand. “Casey said you were on your way and we thought about hiding and yelling surprise, but you’ve already had the ultimate surprise… am I right?”
His cocky grin makes me want to punch him, but instead, I shake my head and laugh, while accepting the beer and doing what the sign says. Chugging.
“Congratulations!” The greeting comes from everywhere and I realize I’ve been duped.
“This is supposed to be a celebration,” I tell Mack.
He laughs. “It is… of your super sperm and our team kicking ass this season,” he says, pointing to a large, blown-up picture of the team on the field the night I threw my no-hitter. Mack is lifting me off the ground while the rest of the team rushed the field.
Everyone was celebrating.
Gatorade was flying.
Jerseys came off.
My son was born.
It was a good night… the best night.
“We thought we’d double-up since it’s the holidays and everyone is busy.”
“It’s great,” I tell him, tipping my beer up to finish off the last of it. “Thanks, man.”
During the season, when they all found out I was going to be a dad, they respected mine and Casey’s privacy, offering quiet congratulations, but let us navigate that new road as privately as someone in my position can. I was grateful, both for their support and their discretion. But once we went public and Sam arrived, everyone came out of the woodworks.
Some of the wives and girlfriends of players brought food over.
Casey’s hospital room was full of flowers and balloons, so much so she donated a lot of them to the hospital to give out to patients who were in long-term care.
Gifts, both large and small, were sent to the house.
The outpouring of love was an added bonus I never expected.
“Drinks are on us tonight,” Mack says as he slaps my shoulder before walking off to cheer on some of our teammates who are playing what looks like a fierce game of beer pong.
Turning to the bar, I find a taller man with a thick dark beard and muscles bigger than Mack’s drying some glasses. When I walk up and ask for a refill, he gives me a nod. “Sure thing, man.”
“Is this your bar?” I ask, looking around the place. There are dark wood tables and floors with an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. Dartboards, a pool table, and a long, well-stocked
bar. It could be any dive bar in any city, but the large fleur-de-lis embossed into the wall screams New Orleans. Other than that, there’s just something about the place that is quintessentially the French Quarter.
“It is,” he says, his stern expression firmly in place. “Is this your party?”
I chuckle, accepting the beer he sets in front of me and taking a sip before answering. “I guess it is.”
“First baby?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, fighting a smile at just the mention of Sam. “Do you have kids?”
That’s what gets him. His perpetual scowl finally softens as he says, “One.”
“How old?”
“Almost two,” he replies, crossing his burly arms over his chest. “You think you’re tired now…”
That gets a full-fledged laugh, because fuck, am I tired. “I’ve never been more sleep-deprived in my entire life,” I confess.
About that time, Thatch slides onto the barstool beside me. “It doesn’t get better,” he chimes in. “You go from the infant stage where they want to eat every few hours to getting days and nights mixed up. Then it’s terrible twos, which is also false advertisement, because it can start early or run late, depending on the kid. And don’t even get me started about the avoidance tactics of a five-year-old.”
There’s a chorus of laughs, but beneath the humorous façade is sheer and utter fear… fear of the unknown, fear of the sleepless nights ahead, fear of fucking it all up.
In the span of a few minutes, a comradery is formed and I get now why women join mommy groups. You need peers, people who go through the trenches with you and help you feel like you’re not alone.
“I’m Ross,” I say, reaching across the bar to shake the owner’s hand. “And this is Owen Thatcher… Thatch.”
“Shaw,” he says with a firm shake and nod. “Shaw O’Sullivan.”
He turns to Thatch and offers him the same. “You’ve got more than one, I take it?”
“Two,” Thatch offers. “And I’m now the mom and the dad.”
“Oh, shit,” Shaw murmurs. Without another word, he pulls out three shot glasses and lines them up on the bar, filling them with Jack Daniels. Scooting one to me and one to Thatch, he lifts his glass and dips his head. “To fatherhood.”