His fingers stretch absent-mindedly out to my hip while he mulls over the name of our baby, and we breathe quietly into the dark and silence.
“You’re feeling good, though?” He asks, shifting my train of thought.
I inhale deeply and try not to snuggle into his side and breathe in the scent of his skin.
“I am.” I regale him with all the positive things Dr. Graysen had to say at my appointment, and I don’t even get distracted when he tips onto his side and switches hands (that means he doesn’t remove his hand from my body, he just switches hands, so he’s still touching me in a familiar and tingly way-tingly because his touch gives me the tingles).
“She wants to do another ultrasound next week, so I switched our appointment to Friday so you could go with me. I mean, if you want, of course,” I add hastily, all my unsaid words weighing heavily on my mind.
“I want to.” It’s dark, but my eyes have adjusted enough so that I can see his stormy ones honed in on mine, and maybe it’s because it’s dark and that gives me a cloak of confidence, but this time, I don’t relent. I like his focus on me, and I want to somehow relay that to him without having to actually use the words.
His fingers squeeze my hip and a small sound escapes my lips (it’s like a wheeze/sigh with a hint of desperation).
This bed is a magical place, this is the only possible answer for what has conspired tonight and all the nights that have come before and led up to this moment.
“Holls?”
“Yup,” I automatically reply.
“I like the name Lennon, too.”
And when I smile, it’s too big, so I bury my face in my pillow and do the thing my body wants, which is to press my body against his and fall asleep with my head in the crook of his arm.
The next morning Dean leaves early to meet his dad and sister at the beach to surf. I do my usual-laze in bed reading for a while before forcing myself out of bed and into the shower. These days it takes a lot longer for me to get myself ready. After my shower, I have to sit for at least fifteen minutes and catch my breath (how can a little melon ball be squishing both my lungs and bladder at the same time, aren’t those things on, like opposite ends of my insides?) before getting dressed, after which, I have to lay on my bed and cuddle Mr. Bubberchop for at least ten minutes.
I can’t say that I often imagined myself as a pregnant woman, but I can say that I never would have guessed myself to be this lazy. In my pre-pregnant life, I was an early riser, a go-getter, attack the day and stay busy kind of gal; I constantly had projects going, a long to-do list, my house was always tidy and well-kept. Now, the simple act of eating required a nap afterwards. I tried not to feel pathetic, and most of the time I could talk myself into accepting that this is a temporary phase in my life, that I am simply listening to my body and its needs; it is, after all, creating a human life and that took energy. Right?
This means, of course, that when Dean returns home from surfing, I am still lying in bed, only I have different clothes on than when he’d left.
“Hey, Mama,” he comes in the bedroom peeling his shirt off as he passes through the doorway.
Today, I let my eyes linger on his body. He truly, truly, has a spectacular physique and a work of art like that should not go unappreciated. No, that would be worse, my ignoring his hard work and arms and abs and chest and…
“Holly.”
“What?” Oh, sheesh, busted.
“My eyes are up here.”
I roll my own hard before meeting his and finding a cocky grin to go with them.
“I’m hungry and was thinking about food,” I tell him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was checking him out.
“Uh huh,” he rubs a hand against his chest then lowers it to scratch lightly against his abs.
“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous, put a shirt on, seriously,” I reprimand and make a graceful rolling effort to get out of bed. He’s there, still shirtless, to help me stand.
“I like it when you stare at me,” he says, towering over me and crowding into my space, his hand still holding onto mine. Gone is the vulnerable, soft Dean from last night. I glance back to my bed and can’t help but wonder what kind of voodoo it possesses.
“Come on, I’ll feed you.” He keeps hold of my hand and we walk out to the kitchen where he pulls out a barstool for me.
“I was saying,” he begins, pulling out stuff from the fridge, “some friends were talking about meeting up at the beach later and were wondering if we wanted to join them. I think Grace and her family’s going to go, my parents will probably show up because, well, that’s what they do.”
“Are these the same friends from last time?”
“Yeah, Bear, Barney, and their families. We ran into Bear this morning. I know it’s not that nice out today, but Grace has a big pop-up tent that helps block the wind and we can bring blankets and jackets and stuff. I told them I’d see how you felt.”
It would be nice to get out of the house, I hadn’t been out all week. Not once. All week.
“Yes, I think it would be nice, I’m probably sorely lacking in Vitamin D and could use all the sunshine the sky has to offer today.”
He stops chopping at looks up at me with a smile.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he resumes chopping. “Tell me about your week, how’d it go?”
While away this week, Dean had made sure to call me daily, but I don’t think either one of us were great phone conversationalists, so the calls were kept pretty short.
“Not much to report, I had a musical movie marathon, worked a fair amount, slept a lot…” I shrugged, not having much else to add.
“How was your night with Maya?”
“Oh, it was good.”
He scrapes his choppings into the frying pan and turns back to me, eyebrow lifted.
“Dean, you know my days aren’t very exciting, there’s just not much to report. I told you about the doctor appointment and I’m sure your mom and sister already spoke to you about their visits and reported that I was following all orders.”
“I didn’t talk to my mom or sister all week, Holly. In fact, the only person I checked in with was you.”
“Well, tell me about your week, how’s the new job?”
He stirs the food a moment at the stove before responding.
“It’s alright, not what I’m used to, but I think I could like it.”
“Go on,” I prod him in my best therapist voice.
“Well, Doctor, I guess you could say, being used to more highly-trained Marines, dealing with a bunch of fresh out of boot camp guys is going to take some practice in patience,” he responds, playing along (and can I just say the fact that he is willing to play along with my silliness is madly endearing).
“Perhaps you could use it as parenting practice. These new recruits-is that what you call them?” He shrug-nods in answer. “Well, they’re like toddlers, new at life, they have to be taught how to do everything that we adults take for granted, like eating with a fork and spoon, licking an ice cream cone efficiently so the scoop doesn’t fall off the cone. We just do those things because we’re experienced at them, but a child has to learn, sometimes the hard way, and it’s our job, as parents, to be patient while they do, to be understanding of their mistakes, and to help them do better next time.”
He stares at me, head cocked. “That’s actually…kind of helpful, Holly.”
“I have my moments.”
He passes a plate of scrambled eggs with green stuff and tomatoes across to me, along with a glass of orange juice. I pick up my fork, mouthwatering, and smile at him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He eats across from me, standing at the kitchen counter, leaning in on his elbows so that we’re a bit closer than the counter between us, and grins at me while chewing.
Gah, this guy.
His hair is sticking up a bit, even though it’s shorter now since returning to work, because
that’s what it does after being dipped in the ocean; his eyes aren’t stormy today, there are no clouds hovering behind his bright blue’s, and I wonder, not for the first time, if I’m being honest, if this is what a life with Dean Slade would look like, would feel like.
I wonder if a life of contentment and security, something I’d always felt was out of reach, could be mine. Could I have a guy who came to me when work was done, made me eggs in the morning, and taught our daughter how to eat ice cream without losing all the good parts? God, if I let myself want that, hope for it, but didn’t get it, there would be no coming back from the disappointment. I’d overcome massive letdowns before, but yearning for this kind of life with Dean (because, you see, I’d never wanted this with another person I’d ever met before) only to be left wanting, that would be a distress my battered heart and mind could not overcome, I feared.
So now I’m stuck in a romance cliché.
And perhaps it is time to edit my way to a happy ending.
Chapter 35
Holly
This week started off much the same as last. As you may guess, my days didn’t involve much in the way of variety. Grace came with breakfast burritos Monday, Lola with a veggie casserole for dinner that night, Grace came with homemade quiche Tuesday, Red came with tacos that night, and so it goes. Every morning I insisted Grace did not need to come by with breakfast, I was perfectly capable of pouring myself a bowl of cereal, and every morning she insisted she came because she wanted to, that she enjoyed the company. And every afternoon, I told Lola it was not necessary for her to bring me dinner, and every night she assured me coming to see me was the highlight of her day.
I was fighting a losing battle with the Slade family. Why was I even fighting, you may ask, and to give you an answer, I’d probably have to go back into therapy. I was this close to just surrendering and letting them take care of me like it’s their full-time job.
My own personal weekly highlight came Wednesday when a rag-tag group of book nerds showed up on my front doorstep with chips and dip, bags of candy, and a pizza.
“Miss O’Brian!” They shouted when I opened the door. Lola Slade was still over, in the kitchen, pulling another casserole out of the oven, therefore she is witness to the group hug that ensues.
“Oh my God, we miss you!”
“You look so cute!”
“Yo, Miss O, you got a cool place.”
They all talk over each other and my heart bursts with joy. You know how they say you learn how much you care about something once it’s gone? Well, I knew I cared about these kids and I loved my job, but I still had no idea how much I’d come to depend on my little library family until they just now reminded me.
“Oh my gosh, I did the coolest thing on Valentine’s Day, Miss O, I made this whole love story book display, it was so cute, here, I took pictures, let me show you!”
While Lucy, the lover of love, pulls up the pics on her phone, the other kids settle around my dining table, spreading the food out across the top.
“Hi, are you Miss O’Brian’s mom?” Cami asks Lola.
“No, honey, I’m not, I’m Lola. Are you kids from the high school?”
“Yeah, we’re Miss O’s book club friends,” Isaac answers, and I love how he refers to us as friends, so cute, “we usually meet on campus during lunch, but, you know, she’s not there right now, so we brought the club to her.”
“Well, there’s a casserole on the stovetop cooling, you all help yourself,” Lola tells them, “and have a great time.”
The kids say thanks and I meet Lola at the door.
“Thank you, Lola, again-“
“My pleasure, honey,” she says, cutting me off, with a gentle touch to my arm. “Call me if you need anything else.”
“Of course.”
“See you Saturday!”
Ah, yes, Red’s wedding. I wave and close the door, turning to the wonderful chaos at my table.
“Well, what are we talking about tonight?” I ask, and so begins our book club. We hardly ever focus on just one book, as the kid’s interests are varied, but the club has served as an opportunity for like-minded literature-loving students to freely discuss whatever they’re into, and what they’re into is often changing. It’s also a great way for me to keep the pulse of what I should be offering at the library, to keep the stock updated and inviting to all students.
Joining Lucy, Isaac, and Cami tonight is David (sci-fi fan, also has a major crush on Lucy), Rachelle (still discovering her reading niche, but tends to lean towards dystopian novels), and Carter (who’s actually a technological genius but doesn’t want the stereotype of being a part of any tech clubs, so he joined our book club-he’ll read anything I suggest, and he’ll read it within a day; I also shamelessly abuse his technical gifts when I’m having problems with the library computers). Jasmine would usually be a part of our meetings, but as Cami mentioned last week, that is no longer the case.
We’re about forty-five minutes, a whole pizza, two bags of chips, and countless candies into our evening when my cell phone rings. A glance at the screen has me blushing. Dean changed the picture that appeared when he called to one of him bare-chested. So brazen. So sexy. Ugh.
“Uh, you gonna get that? Because if you don’t answer his call, I might,” Lucy says. She’s sitting next to me and, therefore, has a perfect view of my phone’s screen.
“Um, excuse me.” I say, using the table to push myself up from my chair and waddle down the hall. “Hello?”
“Holls, you alright?” His voice is tight.
“Yes, why?”
“You took a long time to get to the phone.”
“Oh, no, my book club kids are here and I just wanted to answer your call in the other room. I’m fine.”
“Oh. So you’re okay, then? You’re not doing too much?”
“Dean, I’m fine. If you don’t believe me, call your mother, she was just here a little bit ago and saw for herself.”
“Sorry. Sorry, Mama, I just…” His voice drifts off, and in a matter of two minutes, I’ve already spoken to several different versions of Dean.
“It’s alright, I know you worry.” I seat myself at the edge of my bed, immediately feeling Mr. Bubberchop rubbing at my ankles.
“I do.” His voice is deep, assuring, less strained. “You having fun with your kids?”
“I am. I miss them all.”
“I won’t keep you then.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Well, I hope so.”
There’s silence over the phone, as if neither one of us is quite ready to hang up.
“Dean, are you okay?”
He releases a sigh into the silence.
“Yeah, I’m good. Better now.”
I smile into my dark room and lay a hand at the spot where my girl is trying to kick a hole through my stomach.
“Our girl is kicking up a storm right now. You think she knows I’m talking to you?”
He huffs out a laugh.
“Maybe she senses your irritation with me.”
“I’m not irritated with you,” my smile turns to a confused frown.
“I know I bug you with all my check-ins, Holls.”
“No, Dean, you don’t bug me. Not at all,” I admit. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Silence again. Perhaps I admitted too much. Our girl? Quite the opposite? Gah! Too much emotion!
“Tomorrow, Holly,” he says, and though I couldn’t think it possible, his voice register lowers even further. “I’ll meet you in bed.”
“Okay,” I squeak, because the image those words that conjure in my mind...
“Bye, Mama.”
I say goodbye and lay the phone in my lap, giving myself a moment before I go back out to face the kids. That was the longest phone call we’d had in the past two weeks. It was also the most…emotive. It felt like good progress, positive steps forward.
I push myself to standing, hitch up my maternity jeans, and head back out to the front room floating on a cloud of happy.
And the next night, when I feel Dean crawl quietly into the bed next to me, wrap his body around mine, press his knee between my legs, and rest his hand against my belly, that emotion explodes, and for the first time in weeks and weeks, I have trouble falling asleep. And for maybe the first time ever, the trouble isn’t caused by anxiety or nerves or sadness, it’s caused by a disturbing level of contentment.
Chapter 36
Dean
My Uncle Red is proof that you’re never too old to get what you want out of life. Not that he’s old, but the man sure knows how to suck every drop out of life. And today, at sixty-three years young, he’s getting married for the very first time.
He and Babe met a long, long time ago at Mermaid’s Cove, a beach that was rumored to have gotten that nickname because of a group of lady surfers, who’d grown tired of being harassed by the boys, claimed it as their own. Babe was rumored to have been one of those ladies. If I’m doing the math correctly, she would’ve been a young teenager at the time, as was my uncle, and I haven’t ever actually asked him if the rumors were true. The two of them were kind of a legend around here and no one I knew was really interested in knowing if the legend wasn’t actually true.
But, damn, if he didn’t look like the happiest son of a bitch in the whole world today. The fact that Babe got him to wear pants and a button-up shirt speaks to just how much he loved her-he was still sporting the flip flops, though. They’d gotten married on the deck outside his shop, with Blue Beach as the backdrop. Blue Beach is the more popular of our little beaches here, probably because of the very reason it got its name: the water is the clearest blue, something to do with organic material. It’s the perfect spot for my uncle’s surf shop, which he’d opened when he was still in his twenties and has since turned over management to my sister so that he can fully enjoy the retired life, and now, his new wife.
Babe popped back up on the scene last summer, after I’d already gone back overseas, and, apparently, it was like they’d never been apart. She moved right in with him, they surfed together daily, and can often be found sipping beers on the deck of Red’s Surf Shop, admiring the view.
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