He tips his eyes to the sky, huffing out a laugh. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, obviously, how could you?”
“Damn,” he shakes his head. “I should have taken more care-“
“Oh, hush, would you, and let me finish,” I order him. “I’m trying to say that it was my birthday and that’s why…well…I gave myself you for my birthday.”
He cocks his head, narrows his eyes, not sure he believes or understands what I’m saying.
“You were my birthday present to me, Dean,” I repeat. “The most handsome man I’d ever seen, looking at me, asking to walk me home…there was pretty much nothing you could have done to stop me that night. If you recall, I kissed you on my front porch, I pulled you into my house, I pulled off your clothes.”
I stop because he’s laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” I’m feeling insecure and cross. “Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m not laughing at you, Mama,” he reaches out and cradles my face. “I love you.”
“What?” I don’t believe it.
“I love you, and you love me, and it’s just crazy.”
“What do you mean, I love you, don’t tell me how I feel,” I insist. Honestly, the gall of this man.
“You don’t love me?”
“Well, no, I do, but, you couldn’t just wait and let me say it? You have to be all bossy and tell me what to feel? No, Dean, just, no.”
I watch as he pushes himself up to his feet, dusts off his shorts, tugs his t-shirt and hoodie back on, then reaches down to help me up.
“I gave you a hell of a birthday present, didn’t I?” He says, hands to my belly, our baby.
“You sure did. And doesn’t that just figure, your sperm bossing my eggs around, telling them how it’s going to be, fertilizing them without even asking, like they know what’s best.”
“What are you talking about, Mama?” He chuckles while folding the blanket.
“You’re bossy, that’s what I’m talking about.”
I swipe at my backside and legs, acting like I’m sandy when, really, I’m just avoiding looking at him.
“Why are you acting like you’re mad at me?”
He’s stopped folding and is standing in front of me, hands to himself.
“I’m not mad at you.”
“I know you’re not mad at me. I said, why are you acting like you are?”
Darn. I am doing that. My façade crumbles and I look at him with teary eyes (I can’t even help it, okay?).
“Because,” I begin, my voice a whisper, “I do love you, Dean, and listening to you talk about what you’ve been through makes my heart hurt, and hearing you say such sweet things about me makes it beat faster, and I’m just trying to process all of it.”
“Alright, don’t cry,” he wraps an arm around me and gathers me close, and that’s when the tears really start, but I keep my sunglasses on, and pull my hat down low and tell him let’s go.
“Have you ever talked to anyone about all that you’ve been through?” I ask, thinking of my own years of therapy.
“Lots of times,” he answers. “And every Thursday.”
“Every Thursday?” I ask.
“Before I leave base every Thursday to come home to you, I meet with a military therapist.”
“Oh.” I’m glad he does, I would hate for him to be struggling with so much and not have an outlet for that.
“Part of the reason I got my degrees in psychology and social work is because I needed to know how to deal with stuff, I felt like it gave me more control over my feelings to have a little insight, you know?”
“Smart guy,” I tell him, proud of him for being so pro-active about his mental health. Damn, his brain is super sexy.
Three hours later, he leaves for San Diego, after kissing me for, like, fifteen straight minutes on the couch. It isn’t until things start to get a little heated and I’m tugging at his clothes that he pulls away and insists he needs to leave. He makes me tell him the plan again, makes me promise to follow doctor’s orders, makes me promise to answer any video calls he might make to me, and I agree, because…I love him. And love, apparently, when paired with hot smooches, makes you compliant and weak-willed. Ugh. Stupid love.
Chapter 43
Holly
When Grace stops over Monday morning, I’m itching to talk to her. I think she’s surprised because normally, I’m pretty quiet and reserved. But now that all this love is out there and just floating around, I want to act on it.
“Hey, so, I want to do something nice for Dean,” I tell her, once she’s settled at the kitchen table with me. My ankles and feet are extra puffy this morning, so I’ve got them propped on a chair and Grace keeps poking them.
“Is that normal?”
“I don’t know, I mean, I think it’s pregnant normal.”
She pokes again.
“Okay, but, did you hear what I said?”
“Yes,” she turns her attention to me. “How can I help?”
“Tell me what you think I should do, because my resources are currently limited,” I gesture down to my ankles. “I can’t, like, physically do something for him and he doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who would care all that much for material things, so I’m stumped.”
“Can I just say,” a knowing grin working its way across her face, “that this makes me exorbitantly happy.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re in love, blah, blah. Focus, Grace.” When I’ve got something on my mind, I don’t like to be distracted from it.
“Wait, you’re in love? Like, in love, love? With my brother?”
Oh, sheesh, now she’s got a hand to her chest and her eyes are all sappy and I’m never going to get her back on track.
“Yes, Grace,” I admit, willing to give this a moment.
“Does he know?”
“He does.”
“And what did he say?” She’s all wide-eyed with excitement.
“He said he loves me too. In fact, he wasn’t all that surprised, he figured I was in love with him already because your brother is a big, fat, over-confident oaf.”
“A big, fat, over-confident oaf that you looove,” she sings the last word.
Obviously, this is when the blush happens, burning from the inside-out, up my chest, all the way to my hairline.
“Are you two gonna get married?”
Ugh. “Why does love always have to end up with people being married? Can’t we just live together like we have been and leave it at that?”
And then it hits me. Dean doesn’t really live here, he has some stuff here, but most of his belongings are still in the little back house at his parent’s.
“Oh my gosh, I’ve got it!”
“What?”
“Let’s move his stuff here. I’ve got a little garage that’s mostly empty, except for some unfinished furniture projects. He can keep his surfboards here and anything else that’s still at your parent’s house.”
“That’s a nice idea, Holly, but just so you know, he barely has anything at my parent’s house, either. My brother lives like a nomad.”
“Oh.” My enthusiasm dithers a little.
“But I still think that would be a really nice gesture. My dad and Red will help and if Ben’s home from work, he’ll be happy to help, too.”
That afternoon, Dean’s dad and Ben show up in two trucks with, like Grace said, a paltry amount of belongings. His mom brings in another bag of Dean’s clothes, and I watch through the window as his dad and carry some surfboards and wetsuits towards the little garage at the end of my driveway. Ben comes in to say hello and I hand him the key to the padlock, just as Red rolls up the house on a motorcycle. I’d forgotten that Dean even had that. They spend a couple hours organizing his things in the garage, installing hooks to hang his surfboards from the rafters, making space for his motorcycle; but they also make time to drink the beers I waddle out to them and stand around and talk and I realize, this is pretty great, having people to call on for
help, who care about you, who stand around in your yard comfortably chatting.
I think this is what a family should look like, should feel like. My grandma started me off on a good road, by loving me and caring for me, and taking care of me; I never thought I’d have anything more than that. I rub my belly because I’m thinking about her, my little pumpkin, and how I want her to have all of this, and I think what I’m feeling is happy, and that this feeling might just be something I get to keep.
The next morning, my ankles and feet are even more swollen, which I didn’t think could be possible. I call my doctor, she tells me to take my blood pressure, which turns out be a little elevated. She says, under no circumstances am I to do anything physical today, that I am to take my blood pressure every thirty minutes and if it goes up any more, or if I start feeling dizzy or faint, to call her. She also recommends I get someone over to be with me as soon as possible.
I dread calling Dean. He’s going to freak out.
We talked on the phone last night (he didn’t try to FaceTime me) and I was cool and didn’t let on about the little surprise I had waiting for him, but I also didn’t tell him about my swollen ankles and feet. I honestly didn’t think it was a big deal.
But now, if I don’t tell him what’s going on, he’ll be really upset. It’s difficult to get ahold of him during the day, unless it is an emergency, so I figured I’d just be leaving a voicemail.
But, no.
Dean just so happened to be between training courses and is able to take my call.
What perfect timing.
“What’s wrong?”
No hello, no Hey, Mama.
“Hi, Dean. So, I just wanted to let you know, it’s no big deal, but my blood pressure’s up a little today and my feet and ankles are extra swollen, but I talked to the doctor and we’re keeping an eye on things, I’m taking my blood pressure every thirty minutes, and I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know, you know, what’s going on. Honestly, I thought I’d just be leaving a voicemail, I didn’t want-“
“Are you alone?”
“Um, well, yes.”
“Call my mom.”
“Well, okay, but-“
“Holly, call my mom. I don’t want you alone and I can’t fucking be there.”
“Okay.”
He’s taking such deep breaths that I can hear them through the phone.
“Are you mad?”
“What? No, I’m not mad. I mean, I’m upset that I’m not there, but I’m not mad, and certainly not at you.”
“Okay. It’s okay, Dean, I’m fine, the baby’s fine, we’re all good. I just didn’t want you to find out and be upset, so I called. Should I not have called?”
“Of course you should call, I’m glad you call, I’ll always want to hear your voice, even when it’s not about good stuff, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should go to the hospital, just in case.”
“I’m okay, I really do feel good, and Doctor Graysen gave me a plan to follow and symptoms to look out for.”
“Alright. Call me with updates. If I don’t answer, which is likely, because we’re about to go out to the range for weapons training, then leave me a voice mail.”
“I will.”
“Okay, I gotta go.”
“Okay.”
“You know how to get through if it’s an emergency, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye most of the time and, at first, I was put off by it, but after weeks of phone calls, it feels like something he does purposefully, so I’m used to it now. He doesn’t say goodbye this time, either, but he does hang on the line for an extra couple beats before clicking off. He’s worried.
When I call Lola, Dean’s dad informs me that she’s already on her way over. I guess Dean got ahold of her before me, anyway.
Turns out, Lola is an awesome bedrest buddy. She and I blow through the first season of Doc Martin over the course of two days, all while taking my blood pressure and updating both Dean and Doctor Graysen. I’m good. Everything is good.
Until Thursday, when we’re back to the stupid Braxton Hicks contractions and I’m seriously starting to count down the days until this pregnancy is done. The only thing is, a done pregnancy means a baby, and that is a scary thought. Honestly, it’s a thought I’d pushed to the back of my mind probably one too many times. These fake-contractions have me questioning everything: am I even ready for a baby? Grace and Lola, and even Red, have slowly been stockpiling the baby’s room with diapers and pacifiers and burp raps and onesies, bringing a little something every time they come over. I’d also been ordering up a fair amount of baby stuff while sitting in bed and perusing the internet. But a baby was more than the things around it. I have a small moment of panic when I recalled that I had no actual life experience with babies. By the time I’d become close with Maya, her kids were no longer babies, Grace and Ben’s kids were far from babies, and there was no one else.
Oh, man.
Okay.
It’s okay.
I still had, like, a week until I was due and first babies were usually late, from what I’d read, so I’d just do a little research while sitting around today, watch a few YouTube videos on burping and diapering and all that stuff.
I’d be good.
We’d be good.
I’d learned a lot from YouTube. I could learn this, too.
To say that my day was productive would be an exaggeration. Lola did not come over, she was watching Liam and Amelia, and Grace was at work, and I was doing better, less swollen, after two days off my feet. Besides, Maya was coming over tonight. I’d, unfortunately, decided to cancel book club with the kids last night, because of my activity restriction, so by the time Maya arrives, I’ve been alone for twenty-four hours (unless you counted the previous six hours I’d spent with YouTube).
“Holly, where are you!” Maya calls out upon entering my house. She’d asked to be kept in the Holly-bedrest-update loop as well, so she lets herself in to keep me from having to get up (kinda seemed like everyone had a key to my house these days).
“I’m back here,” I respond.
“Hey, so I brought-what. the fuck. are you doing?” She stops mid-stride in my bedroom doorway.
“I’m practicing my swaddling technique on Mr. Bubbers here,” I explain like what I’m doing is perfectly normal.
“And he’s letting you?”
I don’t know why she’s surprised. Mr. Bubberchop is the bestest kitty boy ever. “Aren’t you, Mr. Bubberchop, yes you are.”
Okay, perhaps, six hours of YouTube is a touch too much.
“Um, honey, I’m gonna ask you to stop doing what you’re doing,” Maya requests, like she’s speaking to a dangerous person.
“I know, I know, okay?” I hold up my hands in the air and my poor, sweet, kitty boy wriggles out of the t-shirt I was using to wrap him up like a feline burrito and bolts to the safety of the closet. “I crossed the line into crazy-town for a minute, but I’m back now.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
She steps fully into the room and up to the bed.
“Do we need to have a conversation?” She asks, her non-judgmental counselor hat on.
“No, Maya. I was just trying to gain some real-life baby experience and I thought attempting a diaper change on my cat would be taking it too far, so I went with the swaddle-practice.”
“Uh huh,” she nods, all understanding, “is there a reason you felt compelled to do this today?”
“Maya, stop it, I’m not losing my mind.”
“Well, Jesus in a Jeep, you sure as hell looked like it a minute ago.”
I let my body fall pack into my pile of pillows.
“I’ve been cooped up in this house for three days now with heartburn that appears every time I take a dang sip of water, while taking my blood pressure every thirty minutes, and dealing with
these annoying Braxton-Hicks contractions! Of course I look crazy. I feel crazy!”
“Braxton-Hicks? I thought those went away.” She sets down the bag she’s holding and takes a seat at the edge of my bed, a hand at my belly.
“They did. And then they came back, and they actually hurt this time, it’s super annoying.”
“Um, Holly, honey, Braxton Hicks don’t typically hurt.”
“Well, mine do.” Honestly, like she knows what I’m feeling. I huff and flap my arms, letting them fall to the mattress again with a flop.
“Okay, well, are these Braxton Hicks coming frequently or with less time between them?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t been timing them, it’s not like they’re-oh, holy crap.”
I push myself to sitting as quickly as I possible could, realization hitting me like a strike of lighting.
“Am I in labor? Are these labor pains?”
Suddenly, I can’t breathe and the room looks a little wonky.
“Okay, honey, I’m going to have you get up, out of this bed, let’s just waddle on down to the living room and back, see what happens, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree because Maya has done this before and I would probably agree to anything she suggests right now.
“Maya, I can’t be in labor, not yet,” I say, as she wraps an arm around my back and walks out of the room with me.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not ready, I don’t know how to do this, how to be a mom, I should have taken that stupid class, I should be more prepared.” I realize my voice is going up to a rather shrill decibel, so I just stop all the words.
“Oh, sweets, no one is prepared for their first baby. You could take all the classes the world has to offer and you’d still freak out when you went into labor, okay?”
“Were you scared?”
“Oh, honey, Estrella was almost born in my living room because I refused to go to the hospital, that’s how much denial I was in about being in labor. And I grew up babysitting all my cousins, had changed about ten thousand diapers, it didn’t matter. Being a parent is terrifying.”
She stops us in the middle of the hallway, turning me to face her, her hands on my face.
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