by Tamara Lush
“Ah, ah, ah.” A woman in a white coat comes in and guides my arm away from the nightstand. “You need to rest.”
“I need my phone,” I say petulantly. “I have to check my email and my calls.”
The doctor ignores me. For that matter, Caroline’s ignored my question, too, which must mean that Rafa hasn’t called. Surely she’d tell me if he had.
“I’m Dr. Kramer. Is this your mother? Can she stay in the room while we talk?”
I look at Caroline, who is beaming.
“No, she’s not my mother, but she can stay. Caroline’s a dear friend.”
The doctor pulls up a chair. “Well, Justine. Here’s the situation. You passed out because you were dehydrated and exhausted.”
Of course. I’m an idiot for not taking better care of myself. I nod. “That makes sense. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately at work and in my personal life. I’ve been eating like hell. When can I leave? I have a lot to do.” Crap, did I miss the meeting with the real estate broker? I look around for my purse. Where is my damned phone?
With my free hand, I pull the thin blanket off my legs and flex my toes. My legs look swollen. God, do I have cankles? I groan.
“Justine,” the doctor says sharply. “Relax. You need to stay for a little while longer. Probably overnight for observation. We have more tests to perform. There’s something else.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What?”
“You’re pregnant.”
I still and look around the room, wondering where the hidden camera is located. Because of course this is a joke. Me, thirty-four and pregnant—with Rafael’s baby? I gape at the doctor, then at the grinning Caroline.
“Congratulations, honey,” Caroline coos. She’s over the moon.
I cover myself with the blanket, slump back onto the pillow and shut my eyes.
What the hell am I going to do now?
I’ve never before craved a peanut butter, mustard, and pickle sandwich on white bread. Now, staring at the folder containing the ultrasound photo resting on my lap, I’m convinced that I’ve never thought of a better culinary combination. I’m in Caroline’s car and trying to avoid thinking about anything but food.
“Thanks for driving me home. And thank you for staying with me all night.”
Caroline pulls into my driveway, shuts off the ignition, and turns to me. “You know I love you like you’re my own.”
I nod, blinking back tears.
“Sweetie, it’s going to all be okay.”
I wipe my eyes, feeling unbecoming and slobbery. “It won’t. I’m so worried about telling Rafa. He’s going to be angry, I think.”
Caroline leans over the center console and wraps her soft, wrinkled arms around me. I bury my face in her shoulder and am swaddled in the comforting, spicy smell of Opium perfume.
“No, he won’t be angry at all. Don’t worry about Rafa, honey. He’ll do the right thing. Trust me on this. You’ll see him soon. Now, do you want me to come inside with you and make you a tea?”
I break away, shaking my head.
“You’ve been amazing, Caroline. Thank you. I don’t need you to stay. I’m going to have a snack and a shower, and then rest.”
“Okay, but you know you can call me if you need anything. And, Justine—”
“Yes?”
“Please trust in Rafael when you see him.” Her voice quivers a little.
I pause, my hand on the door latch. “I don’t know when I’ll see him.”
“Probably sooner than you think. And remember, whatever happened between the two of you, put it in the past. Forget about your father and the problems he caused you both. Rafael’s a good man and he loves you—and like most men, he needs to feel like he’s in charge and the protector. That’s all he’s wanted, is to protect you. And that’s all your father wanted, too—for you not to get your heart broken.”
I mutter something about how it’s too late.
“Honey, if your mother could have seen how much Rafael loves you, she would have given her blessing.”
I swallow tears and rub my stomach, a motion that’s become surprisingly familiar in the past few hours.
“Okay.” I sniffle.
“Remember that the two of you need each other. You always have, but especially now.”
Strangely, the idea that Rafael decided to let me go all those years ago so I could maintain a relationship with my dad no longer bothers me. He made what he thought was the right choice at the time, when he was young and stupid. Just as I had. We’d both let anger and stubbornness rule our lives. Everything about our past makes sense now—at least until the moment I rejected him in Miami a few weeks ago. That’s the only thing that’s illogical about our relationship—that I continue to be an idiot.
“If he comes back and still wants me, I’ll remember that. I’ll forgive him if he gives me another chance.”
I kiss Caroline’s cheek and climb out of the car, holding the folder to my chest. It’s nighttime, and I feel like I’ve been away from home for years, even though I’d only been in the hospital overnight.
I’m a different person now. I’m a mother.
I take the folder inside and set it carefully on the kitchen table. A bittersweet feeling fills me when I think about telling Rafa. In the past, I’d fantasized about how we’d get back together and how happy he’d be when I told him I was pregnant again.
I never imagined we’d be thousands of miles apart. I never dreamed I’d be filled with anxiety and dread while waiting to tell him. Yeah, it’s safer to think about eating. Thank God my appetite is back, and I say a silent prayer of thanks for the medicine the hospital gave me to stop vomiting. Right now, food is satisfying. Thinking about Rafa, not so much.
I pad into my bedroom and pull off my flats. I wriggle out of my bra, which has seemingly turned tight, and slip a comfy dress over my head.
I wonder where Rafa is right now, what he’s doing, who he’s talking to. Every time I imagine him in Madrid, I envision the inevitably gorgeous women who will follow. Stunning exotic beauties in gorgeous designer clothes who will sip martinis and say witty things and offer their bodies without demands, drama, or complications.
Women without cankles.
Women without failing businesses.
Women who won’t make him remember difficult moments of the past.
In the kitchen, I spread a dollop of peanut butter across two slices of bread.
I raise my hand to my face to wipe away the tears wetting my cheeks.
While lying in the hospital bed, I’d started a dozen emails to Rafa about the baby, but didn’t want to tell him the news in an impersonal message. Or over the phone, if I can help it. Of course he’s not answering his calls because he doesn’t want to talk to me.
Anyway, I have to let him know about the baby in person, which means I have to wait until he returns, whenever that is. I’ll go to Miami and be brave. We’ll have to work together for the good of our child, even if we aren’t together as a couple. I’ll stay in my house in St. Augustine, of course, and we’ll come to an agreement on custody. I’ll stand firm for my baby because I want him or her to be raised in a familiar place. A place with legacy and meaning.
I top the peanut butter with sliced pickles.
Pressing the thick sandwich down with the palm of my hand, I go to cut it in two, then stop. Why be dainty? I’m an unmarried, hungry pregnant woman in a green paisley sundress that resembles a cotton sack.
I take a huge bite of the sandwich. I close my eyes and emit a satisfied hum. The sandwich isn’t better than sex or mangoes, but it’s coming pretty close. A little blob of peanut butter leaks out of the sandwich and squirts on the front of my dress. I scoop it off with my finger and lick.
I’m taking my second giant bite when I hear the knock. Swallowing and wiping my mouth quickly on a napkin, I walk to the hall and flick on the porch light. I look out the small glass pane on the door. A surge of electricity shoots through me.
Rafael?<
br />
41
Slowly, Madly, Deeply
I blink twice, wondering if I’m imagining his presence. I know pregnancy hormones can be powerful, but can they cause hallucinations?
His handsome face is marked by deep circles under his eyes and even darker stubble on his chin. His white shirt is unbuttoned one too many times to be appropriate for a businessman. Rubbing his lips together, he runs his hand though his hair. He looks straight into the glass and into my eyes.
I slowly open the door, and his sheer, masculine presence makes my knees wobble. I can’t say anything because I don’t want to cry. Instead, I stand aside and let him sweep past me and into the kitchen.
I peer at him closer. He looks like hell, with longish, rumpled hair. Brooding and tortured. Broken, even. He never looks disheveled like this, and his posture isn’t the usual straight-and-haughty.
He whirls to face me. “When were you going to tell me you were in the hospital?” he demands, half-shouting.
I open my mouth, then close it. I wasn’t expecting him to yell at me.
“I had to hear it from Caroline yesterday, and I chartered a flight all the way from Madrid because I was so worried. You could have told me in your emails that you were sick. Or in your phone messages. Are you okay? What’s going on?”
I stand by the table, and my eyes go to the hospital file. I cling to the back of the kitchen chair so I won’t tumble over. Caroline called him? Does he know about the baby?
“Justine, talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.” He grabs my shoulders and squeezes, spinning me to face him. Deep lines of fury are etched between his brows.
“I’m okay,” I say quietly. “I was severely dehydrated.”
“How many times have I told you to drink water? You never drink enough water.” Scowling deeper, he releases my arms and pinches the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. He gestures with a broad sweep of his hand. “Christ, Justine. Do I have to remind you to take care of yourself?”
I puff out a little laugh, and it dawns on me that he doesn’t know about the pregnancy. Caroline obviously told him I was sick as a ploy to get him back here, back to me, so I could tell him the news in person. I giggle. “You…you came all the way from Spain to tell me to drink water?”
His glare turns into a small smile. “No. I came here for something else.”
Rafa kneels before me on one bended knee, and the hummingbirds in my chest began to alight. “Amor. I came to apologize. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this past month. Like usual, I wanted to put business first and get everything squared away before letting you in on any decisions. Then I realized that was wrong of me. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure everything was right for us. I’ve only ever worked hard and wanted to succeed for you.”
“Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for,” I whisper, running my fingers through his dark hair.
“I acted terribly when we were younger. And when I arrived in St. Augustine. I was scared because I loved you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I never will. You’re the person I’ve never stopped looking for in a crowd. Te quiero. Te amo. I love you.”
He takes a deep breath, and his voice quivers as he speaks. “I’m sorry for being so cold after the miscarriage. I didn’t know how to deal with my own grief, much less yours. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. Then I was stunned by your father’s attitude — I grew up in Miami, where Cubans aren’t just accepted, we’re in charge. No one had ever treated me like that, like I was different or a minority.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears spilling everywhere. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry it all happened like it did. Justi, I wanted perfection then, and I want it now. But it’s taken me all this time to realize that what we have is amazingly imperfect and perfectly amazing. I’m sorry I gave you less than you deserve. I hope you can forgive me.”
I open my eyes. Rafa pauses and presses his lips to the back of my hand.
“When I came to St. Augustine, I shouldn’t have tried to pass off our attraction as only sex. I should have told you that you are the single most important thing in my life. You always have been, and you always will be.”
I gulp in a breath. “Don’t apologize. I understand everything now. And I should have never left you.”
He stares at me, solemn. “Let’s leave the word should out of our vocabulary from this point on.”
I’m bawling at this point, sniffling and running my hands over his glorious, silky hair. The hummingbirds are flying at full force now, going a hundred miles an hour in my chest.
“I don’t care where I live as long as I’m with you. I don’t care if we’re rich or poor. I’ll spend my last dime to save your paper if that’s what it takes for you to be with me. I need you, Justine.”
He extracts a black velvet box out of his pocket. His big eyes lock onto mine.
“Will you marry me?” he murmurs, opening the box to reveal an enormous diamond.
I laugh and tip my head back, tears streaming down my face. “Yes, Rafael, God, yes.”
He fumbles with the delicate ring, finally extracting it from its nest. Taking my hand, he stares at my finger, on which sits the ring he had bought so many years before.
“You…you’ve been wearing this? You took it from my house?”
I nod, and he presses his lips to my palm. He slips off the old ring and tucks it in his pants pocket.
“We’re going to put this, and the past, behind us.”
I shudder a breath as he slides the new diamond onto my finger. Sinking onto the floor next to him, I’m rubbery, incapable of holding myself upright. His hands embrace my head and back as if I’m breakable.
“I’m glad you came back for me. For us. I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I was so stubborn.”
“Justi, don’t apologize. We’ve both made mistakes.”
“Let’s try not to make any more mistakes, okay?”
For the first time, I see tears form in his eyes. They threaten to spill over his bottom lids. I start to weep because I’ve gotten another chance with him. Another chance at life. He gathers me in his lap.
“I love you.” I sniffle and snort while holding my hand out so I can look at the big and bright diamond. He’s compromising, which is what I’ve always wanted. Or perhaps we’re both compromising, and both getting what we need.
Either way, I’m sobbing and radiating happiness.
“The ring is stunning. And that’s a perfect idea about the house. Thank you.” I shudder in a breath while he soothes and caresses my back.
We hug tightly for several moments, and I don’t want to let go. Rafa smells faintly of wind and water and all things safe and familiar, and I close my eyes to inhale the scent of his skin. I trail a line of kisses down his neck.
“Justi, what have you been eating? You smell like…I don’t know. Peanut butter?”
I swallow hard. Right. I need to tell him about the baby. “Ah… I…I think we should sit. Maybe on the sofa. I wanted to tell you something.”
“How about the bedroom?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively.
I nod and stand up. “Yes. Sure. I’ll, um…meet you in there in a second. I want to use the bathroom first, okay?”
Rafa also stands and grabs my ass, drawing me against his erection. “It drove me crazy to be away from you for a month. Seriously. I thought I was going insane. I was having withdrawals.”
He plants a scorching kiss on me.
“See you in the bedroom,” he says, ambling down the hall.
I pace a few times in the kitchen and grab the ultrasound folder. I take a deep breath, then go into the bedroom.
When I see his muscular, mouthwatering body on the bed, a wave of lust surges through me. I suddenly want to touch him, everywhere. “You’ve wasted no time in taking off your clothes.”
“I’m not going to waste any time taking yours off, too. If you’re feeling okay, that is. Get rid of that dre
ss and climb on top of me.” His eyes are half-lidded and he points at the folder. “You’re not planning on talking about the paper now, are you? I think we have more interesting things to discuss.”
I shake my head. This is no time for sex, although the combination of him naked and my pregnancy hormones are making me want to pounce on him. I stand, frozen, because I have to tell him about the baby. Right now.
“What? What is it, amor?” Rafa scowls, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Opening the file, I silently hand him a black-and-white photo.
Rafa’s brow furrows as he holds the photo, and his voice rises in time with his panic. “What is this? An X-ray? Justine, is this from the hospital? What’s wrong with you? Is it a tumor?”
I shake my head and rest the file on the bed next to him.
“Justine, talk to me. Now.”
Gently, I take his right palm and press it firmly to my abdomen.
“That’s our baby.”
His eyes go round, and I’m not sure if he comprehends. “Rafa, we’re going to have a baby. I’m eight weeks pregnant. This ultrasound was taken this morning.”
There’s a pause, and I hold my breath. His face explodes with the biggest, craziest, ear-to-ear grin, and I exhale, loud. Finally, there are no secrets between us, and I kiss him slow and soft. He puts both hands on my stomach.
“Our baby.”
He caresses my hips, and I kiss the top of his head.
“Our baby,” I whisper.
“Can I see?” His voice cracks.
“See what, Rafa?”
“You. Your stomach.”
A laugh, gleeful. “I’m already feeling fat. I’m going to be huge, Rafa. You need to know that my body isn’t going to be the same for a while. But I’m loving my curves and can’t wait to be big with our baby.”
His fingers gather the hem of my dress and lift it. I slip it over my head and stand before him, clad in only a pair of lacy, pale-blue panties.
“Jesus. I didn’t think you could be more beautiful, Justine. I was wrong.”
He runs his hands over my stomach, pressing his face to my bellybutton. His lips skim my skin.