Early the next morning, I hear a creak in the floorboards and come to attention quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, my sister is slinking back out the bedroom door and I realize I’d forgotten to tell her that I was home and she didn’t need to stop by this morning. I gently slide out of bed, pull on a t-shirt and pants, and go to find my sister in the kitchen, putting away some things in the fridge.
“Hey, big brother,” she greets me, doing a horrible job of hiding her grin.
“Grace.” I’m barely awake. It’s been all too easy for me to become accustomed to sleeping past dawn this last month and this week’s return to early mornings had been rough.
“Started some coffee for you,” she says, leaning back against the kitchen counter, “and helped myself.”
I’m leaned over the fridge looking for something, and when I glance over to her, I find her barely restraining the curiosity. I lift a hand in invitation to her questions.
“You looked awful cozy in there.”
“Yup.”
“Dean.”
“Yeah?” I head over to fill a mug with the freshly-brewed coffee.
“What’s that all about?”
“What’s what all about?”
She punches me in the shoulder, causing my coffee to slosh over onto the counter. I slowly reach for a cloth to wipe it up.
“Oh my God, seriously? You are the worst.”
I can’t help but chuckle. She’s so freakin’ easy.
“It’s about sleeping, Grace, that’s what it’s about.”
“But…Dean…”
I glance over expectantly, waiting for more.
“That didn’t look like just sleeping, the two of you were, you know, entwined.”
“Entwined?” I repeat slowly, shaking my head.
“Yes, as in, wrapped around one another. You, in particular.”
“What can I say, I’m a snuggler.”
“Ugh!” She hits me again. “Are you two together now or what?”
“Gracie, I don’t know what to tell you,” because I don’t know myself, what Holly and I are, “we’re having a baby together, we’re kinda living together, does that answer your question?”
I open the fridge to grab the eggs.
“I just really like her,” Grace says, grabbing a pan out of the cupboard for me.
“I like her, too,” I admit. “I’m just not sure she likes me a whole lot right now.”
“Eh, that’s normal. Every pregnant woman goes through a period of hating the man who impregnated her. She obviously liked you at one point…”
She wiggles her eyebrow and elbows me, just in case I don’t understand her meaning.
“Just don’t go planning any weddings,” I tell her, ignoring her dorkiness, “except for maybe Uncle Red’s. What’s going on with all that?”
“It’s in two weeks, on the deck at his shop, barbecue on the beach after. It’ll be low-key, family and close friends. Of course, knowing Red, that means probably half the town will show up, but whatever, it’s just gonna be a big party. You and Holly are going to make it, right?”
“Yeah, should be fine, as long as she doesn’t go into labor or anything.”
“Gah, bite your tongue. She’s still got six weeks to go.”
I wasn’t rushing anything, believe me. In fact, the thought of the baby being here in the next two weeks had me pausing in my egg scrambling. Is it horrible to admit that sometimes I kinda forgot we had a baby on the way? I mean, I didn’t forget, the fact that I was about to be someone’s dad was always on my mind, but I seemed to find myself fixating on a certain redhead more than anything.
“Have you picked out a baby name yet?” Grace asks, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“Uh, no, we haven’t talked about it.”
“Hmm.”
“What, hmm?”
“Nothing, just hmmm.”
“Should we have?”
“No, not necessarily, some people don’t even settle on a name until after they’ve brought the baby home.”
“But…?”
She takes a gulp of coffee, obviously mulling over her next thought.
“But…what do you guys talk about then? If not the baby?”
“I don’t know, normal stuff.” I turn off the burner and slide the scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Hey, do me a favor and grab that white bag for me?”
“Sure. What’s normal stuff?”
“Jeez, Grace, normal stuff, like, getting to know you stuff about each other, I don’t know. Sometimes we don’t even talk, sometimes we just hang out.”
She hands me the white bag and I place a big strawberry fritter on a plate.
“You eat donuts now?”
“No, it’s for Holly. She’s been in a baked goods for breakfast mood for, well, since I’ve been here, so maybe forever. Anyway, there’s this donut place in San Diego that’s, like locally famous, and I stopped by and-what?”
She’s staring at me open-mouthed.
“What?” I look down at myself, rub my face against my sleeve.
“Holy. Shit. You are so in love with her.”
“What?” I rear back. “Since when do donuts equal love? I got her the donut after being reprimanded by pretty much every woman in my life for not giving her what she wants, but now suddenly it’s because I love her? Jesus, women are confusing.”
“It’s not just the donut, Dean, it’s the going out of your way to get her something she likes, it’s the entwined sleeping arrangement, it’s the ‘hanging out and just talking about stuff’.”
“Okay, time for you to go,” I take my plates and shuffle her towards the door, stopping at the kitchen table to set down our breakfast.
“Dean’s in love,” she sing-songs her way out the front door and I close it on her before she can say anything else stupid.
I’m not in love, I think as I turn around.
Holly’s standing there, one hand on her belly, the other rubbing her eyes tiredly. A good amount of hair has come loose from her braids and is curling around her face and into the air, unwilling to be constrained.
“Hi,” she says in her quiet, morning voice, a shy smile spreading across the lower half of her face.
I get this weird, swooping feeling in my gut.
And then I realize, shit, I am in love.
Chapter 34
Holly
“Your mom wants to throw me a baby shower and I really need you to talk her out of that,” I say to Dean. He’s in the driveway washing our cars and I’m on the front porch with my feet up. We’d just had lunch and now I was getting a show. Lucky me.
“Why, aren’t you supposed to have one of those?” He wanders over, a sponge dripping soapy water down his arm, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re not supposed to, it’s just a tradition, one that I don’t feel I need to take part in.”
Honestly, the thought of a living room full of women I didn’t know trying to feel my belly and staring at me while I opened gifts gave me the shivers, the bad kind.
“You know how my mom is,” he starts, and I do. I easily remember the way she and Grace coerced me into ambushing Dean at the airport.
“This isn’t easy for me,” I admit quietly. “I realize she’s probably looking forward to some sort of baby celebration and I really hate the idea of upsetting her, but the whole idea of it makes me super uncomfortable.”
He pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head and does his staring bit.
“Alright, Mama, I’ll call her off.” He pushes off of the porch railing and backs away, squeezing the sponge out in front of him.
“Thank you.”
And then he smiles. Sigh. It’s like he enjoys doing things for me. I mean, is that even normal?
I watch him a bit longer (oh, you would too, if you were here) before going back to my reading. I’d finished work on a romance novel I’d been copy-editing last night and was giving myself a break before starting the next project. The amount of editing work I
’d been doing lately was going to cover my maternity leave nicely. Since I had to take extra time, my sick days would run out before I returned to work and now, I had a nice little nest egg to cover those extra weeks, and to pay for the fancy stroller. At my last doctor visit, to which Dean’s mother had escorted me since he was in San Diego (insert eye roll here), Dr. Graysen said I and the baby were looking great. She was planning on doing another ultrasound next week, so I scheduled it for Friday when Dean would be here. I made a mental note to inform him of this.
“Who are you?” Dean’s authoritative tone snaps me back to the present.
“Who am I? I am Camille Leann Garrett, who are you?”
Out in my driveway stands Cami, a student from the high school, one of my dear helpers and book club members, facing off with big, bad Dean Slade.
“Cami!” I shout excitedly, standing, a bit too fast, so I grab on to the porch railing, which, of course, sends Dean scrambling my way.
“Miss O!” She shouts back and follows Dean over.
“Holly, would you just sit down.”
“No, I need to hug Cami,” I tell him, allowing him to stand behind me with his hands on my waist while I pull Cami into the best hug I can, considering the melon between us.
“It’s so good to see you,” I mumble to her shoulder, tears springing.
“You too, Miss O. Wha-are you crying?”
“No. Shut up.” I tap Dean’s hands and gesture to the front door. “Let’s go inside.”
He reaches around me and opens the front door, then holds it as I head in and Cami follows. He tags behind me as I waddle to the couch, making sure I’m settled in, I’m sure.
“I’m okay, Dean, I just stood a little too quickly. I’ll stay sitting now.”
“I got her now, big guy,” Cami reassures him, making me giggle.
“Well, okay, then. Can I get you something to drink before I leave you to it?”
“Nope, I’m good,” she tells him.
“You need anything, just holler, I’m almost done.”
“Well, that’s an interesting development I’d love to hear about,” she gestures towards Dean with her thumb, once he’s safely outside.
“I’m sure you would, but you’re not going to, dear student.”
“Fine, whatever.” She flops back into my soft couch. “We miss the hell out of you, Miss O’Brian.”
“Aww, Cami, I miss you guys too, so much. Mrs. Martinez has been keeping me somewhat updated on the library, but I think she might be lying to me or making stuff up. How’s it going in there?”
“Eh, it’s okay. The sub lady is nice, lets us do our thing, thankfully. I’m making sure the books are getting shelved and Jasmine’s been helping, you remember her? She used to come to book club and then just kinda fell off the face of the earth?”
“Yes, of course, I wondered what happened to her. I thought maybe she’d gotten together with that boy and didn’t have time anymore.”
“Yeah, I think they got together, but, Miss O…she’s got real strict parents, you know what I mean? They, uh, didn’t want her hanging around us so much.”
I lick my lips and absorb her words. “Do you mean because…” I point to my belly.
“Yeah. Sorry. I mean, it’s total crap, obviously, like single women haven’t been raising babies for decades. Hell, I haven’t seen my dad since I was eight, and look how fabulous I am. Not that your baby daddy isn’t in the picture, I mean, obviously he is, you just aren’t married.”
I’d forgotten how Cami could be once she got going.
“I get it, honey, and it’s okay,” I hold up a hand to stop her. “People are entitled to their beliefs and opinions, whether we agree with them or not.”
“You mean, whether or not they’re stupid and archaic? Is that what you mean?”
“Oh, Cami, I’ve missed you all so much.”
I loved teenagers. I know they get a bad rap sometimes, but in my career, I have found them to be some of the most caring individuals I’ve ever met, full of hope and optimism for the future.
“Well, I didn’t come here to talk about all that,” she waves way the discussion with her hand.
“What did you come here to talk about? How’d you even know where I live?”
“Miss O, this town is painfully small.” Ah, true. “Anyway, we’d all like to have at least one last book club meeting with you, since there’s a few of us graduating and the school year is almost over.”
“I would love that so much, Cami.” Here come those blasted tears again. “You guys could come here, since I can’t really leave, and all.”
“Awesome. That way, we can bring snacks and stuff. I mean, I am a firm believer that books and snacks go well together.”
“One of many reasons I love you, Camille. How about next Wednesday?”
“I’ll check with everyone and let you know for sure, is that cool?”
“Super cool.”
She slides forward, ready to stand, but looking like she wants to say something first.
“Yeah, anyway, cool.” I guess she decided against speaking the words. “Also, this is a real nice couch.”
That night, when Dean and I are settled in bed and the lights are out (probably my favorite time of day), he asks, “Should we have a name picked out?”
And I realize, we don’t talk about the future very much.
“Oh. Um, I mean, yeah, probably. I’ve been thinking about it some,” I mumble. And I had. I mean, who doesn’t think about what they’re going to name their baby?
“And what’d you come up with?”
I glance over to his side of the bed (we always start the night on our own sides of the bed and then gravitate towards each other in our sleep; I’m trying not to let my head run away with what that means), he’s lounging with one arm cocked behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest. He looks relaxed, which is good since I feel uncomfortable enough for the both of us. I think I was still stuck in this how-much-does-he-want-to-be-involved land, because the truth is, I had been mulling over names that I wouldn’t mind sharing with him, I just never quite knew how to broach the topic.
“Well,” I roll onto my side, facing him, “as you may have guessed, I’m a touch Irish.”
He tips his head towards me with a smirk. “I never woulda guessed,” he says, tugging a wild, red curl.
“So, I don’t know, I guess I’ve been leaning towards names of Irish origin.” He nods, encouraging me to go on. “My top three right now are Rooney, Reagan, and Lennon.”
“And which of those is your favorite?”
“Lennon,” I whisper.
“Lennon,” he repeats, gazing back up at the ceiling, like he’s trying out the name in his head. “Should I have asked you to marry me?”
His question makes me choke on my own spit and I sputter and cough for a minute before I’m able to breathe normally again.
“Uh, no, I don’t think that’s necessary,” I assure him. I mean, does he not remember my ‘I’m an independent woman’ speech?
“I just wanted to check since it feels like I’m doing pretty much everything else wrong.”
“What?” His candor takes me by surprise. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, rubbing a hand against his jaw. “I don’t know.”
Here’s my chance, I know it, to tell him how much I like him, how I’ve come to depend on him in a way I’ve never allowed myself to do with anyone, and, while I may not want to marry him, I definitely don’t want him to go away.
“Dean, I-I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” I mumble, failing at words.
He turns his head my way.
“I missed you this week.”
I think I can actually feel my heart beating against its neighbors in my chest; it’s gone mad, trying to beat out of my chest because HE MISSED ME!
“I missed you too,” I confess, and my palms go sweaty.
A small grin works its way onto his lips and I restrain my fingers from reach
ing out to touch it.
“It’s just weird…I’ve done nothing but second-guess myself for the last eight months, more than I ever have in my life and I’m not used to feeling…unsure of myself.”
He catches my eyes with his and must read the apprehension his words have caused.
“It’s not because of you,” he explains, angling his body towards me. “That night we met, I was already in a weird place, stuff that happened overseas, with my team, had me doubting what I was doing. Then I met you and acted a bit rash,” he glances at me, sheepish, “not that I regret it, it’s just, I don’t know, my life has been like a line of dominoes, one piece falls and the rest go with it. Now I’m in this in-between place of feeling bad for reeling you into my mid-life crisis, but also feeling...really…glad I trapped you here.”
His grin lets me know he’s teasing about the trapping part, but his words…his words, they’re more than I expect, more than I know what to do with.
He reaches out and presses a hand to my belly, and our little melon ball reacts, giving his hand a kick hello.
After several moments of silence (because of course, once again, all the words I should say are caught between my brain and my mouth), he asks, “What about her last name?”
And, he’s officially killing me right now. He’s so bleeping tender and open, it makes me ache.
“I suppose since we’re not married, her last name would be O’Brian?” He asks, eyes on his hand on my belly. This bold, assessing man can’t even make eye contact now?
“I think, as far as her name goes, we’re allowed to do whatever we want, which makes me feel both powerful and terrified.”
“It is scary, huh? I mean, we can name her literally anything we want.” He casually shifts his hand on my belly and huffs in amusement. The movement is so casual, so natural, so freakin’ cozy, it takes my breath away.
“Lennon,” he whispers to himself, like he’s trying to imagine such a being even existing.
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