by RJ Moore
“Hey.” He gives me a little squeeze. “You don’t repay us, or me. We look at you like you’re one of the family, and that’s what family does.”
He’s wrong. Not every family is amazing like his. Not every family is caring and loving. Not every family goes out of their way to do something as incredible as they did for me today. Not every family opens their arms and accepts people.
I cuddle deeper into his side as he resumes caressing the length of my back. He kisses my head and that’s how I fall asleep—wrapped in Ian’s strong arms, legs tangled together, and Duke acting as our own personal heating blanket.
Quinn’s business has skyrocketed when I come back from my weekend trip, keeping us busy. I guess that’s expected of a landscaping company in the springtime. Days turn into weeks; weeks turn into months. Both he and Ian make sure to come by once a week to mow my lawn. I want to learn how to do it myself, but they say I would chop my leg off if I tried. I don’t argue with them after that.
Along with keeping busy at work, I continue going to all of Jane’s cooking classes. I don’t know if my cooking skills have really improved, but I never stop going. My garden that Lacey planted has really taken off. Jane comes over to my house regularly, teaching me how to harvest all the vegetables and fruits.
Waddling into the kitchen, I set the basket of fresh strawberries from my garden on the countertop. Placing my hands on my lower back, I stretch backward, trying to catch a breath. I think my little girl is taking up all my lung space.
My stomach is huge, or at least it feels that way. Scarlett swears my size is normal and my measurements are right on track. I’m not so sure; it looks like I stuffed three large watermelons under my shirt.
“What are you doing?” Lacey asks as she strolls into the kitchen with her hair wrapped in a towel.
“Standing here. What are you doing?” I ask in my most innocent voice.
“Mmmhmm.” She raises her eyebrows at me, not fooled. “What are you doing with all those strawberries? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready to go shopping?”
“I am ready. You were taking so long, I figured I would do something productive while I waited.” Picking the basket up, I set it in the sink to start rinsing off all the dirt. “I’m craving strawberries and thought they would taste good dipped in chocolate for the shower tomorrow.”
The truth is, I can’t sit still. I’m constantly cleaning, redecorating, and attempting to cook, no matter how tired I am. I’ve been endlessly reading up on childbirth, even googling videos. Scarlett warned me not to watch them, but I couldn’t help it. Learning about the baby crowning—what women call the burning ring of fire—made me want to pass out. Needless to say, it scared the hell out of me.
I call her every time I feel pain, which turns out is only Braxton Hicks contractions. She assures me the baby is not coming, that it’s only my body preparing itself. According to Scarlett, I will know when the real contractions come. I’ve never had a baby before so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to know what is the real deal. If these Braxon Hicks are any indication of the pain that is to come, I’m positive there is no way I’m going to be able to do it without a lot of pain medication.
“You know my mom gave strict instructions that you’re not to lift a finger for the baby shower.” She shrugs her shoulders, clearly not really caring that I’m doing just that. Walking over to the sink, she grabs a clean strawberry, stuffing the whole thing in her mouth. She helps me wash the rest of them and I store them in the refrigerator.
I wait, watching with envy while Lacey French braids her damp hair. No matter how many times I’ve tried, I cannot braid my own hair. Tying the end with a rubber band, she struts over to my side. “Ready to go, Preggers?”
I sigh, giving up commenting on the crazy names she dubs me. Two weeks ago I met her for lunch and when I walked through the door, she called out, “Hey incubator, over here!” The week after, I went over to Ian’s parents’ house for dinner, which had her running up to me hollering, “Look at that bumpassaurus!” followed by obnoxious fondling of my stomach.
“Ready. Just don’t make me look ridiculous, okay?”
“I would never!” she says, putting her hand over her heart.
After we get in the truck, Lacey drives us in record time to the only store that sells maternity clothes. I would have driven myself but with my belly so big, it’s hard for my short legs to reach the pedals.
Lacey is being persistent about me wearing a dress. I usually love wearing cute spring dresses but being pregnant, I just look like I colored a potato sack and threw it on. It’s not a good look, especially with my swollen ankles.
The maternity section is small, which only leaves a total of maybe six dresses to choose from. Lacey pulls the only short dress out: a bright yellow sundress. I can already picture what this is going to look like with me in it.
Trudging to the dressing room, I reluctantly shimmy into the dress.
Oh, dear Lord.
No.
I swing the dressing room door open, glaring at Lacey. “No one should have to see this.”
“Awww. Look how cute you are.”
“I hate you.” Shutting the door, I rip the dress off, putting my own clothes back on. Walking out, I throw the dress at her. “You’re paying for that. I refuse to buy something that looks so dreadful on me.”
When I hear her snicker behind me, I flip her off over my shoulder. “I’ll be waiting in the truck.” I hurry out the door, making my waddling more noticeable.
She pays, returning to the truck quickly. Tossing the bag on my lap, she slides behind the wheel. “I have the perfect cowboy boots that would go perfectly with that dress.”
“Um, you have way bigger feet than I do.”
Putting the truck into gear, she heads back to my house. “I know, but with your feet double their normal size, they should fit perfect.”
I narrow my eyes at her, refraining from calling her some choice names. Laying my head back, I close my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I feel like I have so much to get done around my house, though I don’t. I’ve already done most of it—twice. I’m excited yet nervous for my baby shower tomorrow, and I have no idea why I’m nervous.
I also keep having dreams about my parents. I sent them another letter along with an invitation to my baby shower. I never did get a response to either of the letters I sent, and should probably give up on trying to contact them. Sometimes I want to break down and call them, but I’m afraid to hear their voice, their reprimands, the chastising I know would come.
The truck comes to a stop outside my house, ending my internal ramblings. I scoot out, following Lacey inside, and throw the bag on my coffee table. I see her texting someone as she sits down on the loveseat.
“Where’s your remote? It’s time to get our Walking Dead on.”
I chuckle, pulling the remote out of the cushion to toss it over. She has become obsessed with the series. Turning the TV on, we begin watching season six.
I jump when I hear my front door open during an intense part. Scarlett steps inside carrying a box as she shuts the door with her foot. I accepted a while back that the Masters do not knock on doors—they simply walk right in.
Craning my head back so I can look at Scarlett, I ask, “What do you have there?”
“Chocolate fountain. Lacey texted me to come over here so we can eat strawberries,” she says over her shoulder, still walking into the kitchen. That has us both jumping up, running to Scarlett. I sit down in the chair, watching her set up the fountain. She throws down a long white ribbon on the table in front of me. “That’s to act as a belt around your dress. It will give it more shape. Plus, it’s super cute.”
I thank her as I set it aside, not wanting to think about wearing that dress tomorrow. I get up to grab the strawberries out of the fridge as soon as the chocolate is done being melted in the microwave. Lacey pours it in the fountain and we start dousing our strawberries.
“You know these were supposed
to be for the shower tomorrow,” I say around a mouthful of strawberry.
“Yup,” they say at the same time.
Lacey picks up another one, twirling it under the flowing chocolate. “They sounded too good to wait until tomorrow.”
I shrug my shoulders, agreeing with her, and it doesn’t take long before we clear the bowl. Scarlett stands up, clapping her hands before rubbing them together. “Okay, let’s see this dress of yours.”
I drop my head back, groaning loudly. “Ugh, no.”
She tugs my arm, pulling me up until I’m standing. “Quit your whining. I wanna see it.”
I sigh, stomping all the way to bathroom after grabbing the dress. Putting it on again for the second time today, I open the door, going back over to Scarlett. I hold my arms out, pursing my lips when I see her lips twitch. “See! A potato sack.”
I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “It’s not that bad. It’s your expression of pure disgust that is more amusing.” Taking the ribbon off the table, she wraps it around my back and ties a bow above my stomach. “There. Now it’s much cuter. Go look.”
They all follow me back to my bedroom where I have a long mirror. I hate to admit it but Scarlett is right; it does make it look better. “All right, it’s not that bad, but with cowboy boots?”
Lacey punches me in the arm. “Would you stop doubting me?”
“I look like a beached whale.” I sigh, studying my reflection in the mirror.
“A cute beached whale, though,” Lacey sings as she and Scarlett walk out of my room. Dressing back in my clothes, I join them in the living room, settling back down on the couch to resume our Walking Dead marathon. I listen as Lacey gives a very detailed plan of how she would survive the apocalypse when zombies take over the world. The baby starts kicking wildly, making me grunt when a well-placed kick nails me in the ribs. Lacey stops talking midsentence, looking at me with wide eyes.
I laugh at the look on her face. “I’m not in labor, she just got me good in the ribs. All the sugar from the chocolate must have woken her up.” Rushing over to me, they start fighting for the best spots on my stomach to get the best feel of her.
“Oh my God, it looks like she’s trying to break out.” We all laugh, because it really does look that way. I hear the door open so I twist my head around to see Ian standing in the doorway, giving all of us a weird look.
“No way are you getting in here for a feel. You hog her all the time,” Lacey says without taking her eyes off my moving stomach.
He sees my belly moving side to side and comes strolling over. “But—”
“Back off.” Lacey pushes him when he gets too close. Ian takes the pillow at the end of the couch and hits her in the side. She falls over, giving Ian the chance to jump into her spot. Lacey darts back and they both start wrestling. I laugh when Scarlett smacks them on the backs of their heads and shouts, “Children!”
And that’s how I spend the rest of my evening: surrounded by the people that have become such an important part of my life.
My bladder is about to explode and the bumpy lane is not helping. Ian starts to slow down but my death glare has him taking his foot off the brake. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it!” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think of something else besides my full bladder as he stomps on the gas.
My baby shower was amazing. I got armloads of clothes, along with boxes of diapers and wipes—definitely more than I expected to get. My favorite has to be the handmade quilts from Jane and Helen from the bookstore. There are so many baby essentials I had no idea even existed.
I was close to not wearing the dress Lacey bought me, but she must have a sixth sense because she showed up right as I was about to stuff it in the far back corner of my closet.
I ended up looking pretty good for a huge pregnant girl with swollen ankles. She did some fancy side braid that ended up lying on my shoulder and wove white flowers throughout, so it matched nicely with the ribbon Scarlett lent me. Her tall cowboy boots completed my ensemble.
As we come to a skidding stop, I scramble out of the truck. I hear Ian yell, “I’ll start bringing everything inside,” but I don’t acknowledge him, hell bent on a mission. I almost door check a shiny black car parked alongside us but don’t stop to see who it is. I waddle as fast as my legs will let me go, hiking up my dress as I get ready for the sweet relief that is about to come. I swing the bathroom door closed, practically throwing myself on the toilet.
I audibly sigh when I’m finished. I should not have waited so long to pee. I flush the toilet and right my dress, double-checking that I didn’t tuck the back into my underwear. I’m a bit paranoid after it happened at work. Luckily Quinn was out of the office at the time and I caught it pretty quick.
I hear a voice that freezes me in my tracks. I know that voice, have been writing to that voice, I just never expected to hear that voice here, in my house. Flinging the door open, I step into the living room.
I can’t decide if it’s a dream come true or a nightmare. Judging by the look she’s giving Ian as he holds his hand out to her, I’m going to go with nightmare.
“Mom? Dad? Wh-what are you doing here?” I stutter out, completely dumbfounded. I haven’t heard one word from them in almost six months, and now they’re here, standing in my living room.
The air is so thick with tension I can almost taste it. My mother and father whip their heads in my direction when they hear me speak. Their eyes go wide when they take in my protruding belly. My dad appears as if he going to cry, a far change from his usually emotionless features. My mother, on the other hand, recovers quicker, but not before I catch the tiny tick in her jaw.
She puts on a forced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Evelyn, darling.” She opens her arms, waiting for me to come to her for a hug. I stay rooted to my spot, confusion written on my face.
Realizing that I’m not going to come rushing into her arms, she lowers them, her eyes hardening. I know that look. I know what’s coming. “What are you doing here?” I ask again, this time louder.
“You invited us here.” She looks around my living room, scrutinizing every detail. Her eyes fall on Ian, narrowing before finally returning to me. “Now that we’re here, I think it’s time to go home.” She raises her brows at me, daring me to argue. “I’d say go pack your bags, but if all your clothes look like what you’re wearing right now, there’s no need.” She starts to turn away from me, actually thinking I’m going to follow her.
“This is my home,” I say as I breathe out.
That stops her in her tracks. She spins around, opening her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“This is my home and I’m not leaving with you, now or ever.” I make sure she can hear me this time, staring her in the eyes. Gone is the shock of seeing them here. Gone is the scared girl.
My mother’s face contorts into anger, my father still standing behind her with a surprised look from the tone I have never used before. “This isn’t a home. It’s a shack tucked back in the middle of nowhere surrounded by hicks,” she spits out. “Look at you! Look at what these people have turned you into.” She gestures to my outfit. “You look like some white trash whore that got knocked up—”
“That’s enough!” Ian roars out, interrupting her. He walks over to my side, sliding his arm around my waist. “I don’t like raising my voice to a lady, but right now you aren’t acting much like one. You haven’t seen your daughter—your own flesh and blood—in months. She’s carrying your grandbaby and you show up here without a word, without a hello, a how are you, nothing. How can you not see what a wonderful person she is?”
“Oh yeah, she’s so wonderful. Pregnant and doesn’t even know who the father is. Quit college, shamed her family. She’s an embarrassment. A disgrace.” Turning her glare to me, she sneers, “You think he’ll stay with you? He won’t. He’ll leave you and then where will you be? You’ll be stuck out here, all alone with no family, no friends.”
Ian’s body tenses, his a
rm tightening around my waist. “I’ll never leave her. I love her more than anything in this world.”
Shocked, I momentarily forget about my parents in the room and step out of his embrace. I look up at him, awe in my voice. “You love me?”
Pulling his glare from my mother, his face softens when his eyes meet mine. “Of course I do,” he says softly as he strokes my jaw, smiling at me before facing my mother again. “You don’t deserve her, you never have. Evie and her baby will know nothing but love. They’ll know real family.” He leans down, kissing the top of my head before locking gazes with my mother. “You can go, now.”
Her mouth drops. “You little piece of—”
“Leave!” I shout out, making my mother jump.
“When he leaves you, don’t think about coming home. You don’t exist to us anymore.” Turning toward my father, she walks past him to the door. “Let’s go before we catch something in this dump.”
Hesitating, my father stares at me, seeming to be contemplating saying something. Taking one last look at my belly, he says, “I’m sorry.” I hear my mother shouting his name from outside and he turns, walking out the door.
He’s sorry? Is he sorry for walking out? For blindly following my mother? Sorry that I got pregnant? Angrily, I stomp to the window, watching them pull away from my house, away from me. When their taillights disappear, my eyes start to fill, tears pouring down my face. I sink to the floor, sobbing. I feel Ian’s arm cocoon around me, holding me, being my rock.
I cry for my parents who walked out of my life without looking back, for the grandbaby they’ll never know. I cry for me, for finally standing up myself, for letting go of my fears. I cry because for the first time, someone stood up for me, because I found someone to love and who loves me back.