by Amy Bellows
“Damn it,” he whispers as he swells within me.
I don’t know whether I should laugh or moan. He feels so good, but we’re still in his office.
He starts laughing first, and his laughter moves his knot in all sorts of delicious ways. I giggle too, which doesn’t help matters. Before long, our laughter is obnoxiously loud, and I’m so high on the stretch of his knot, I almost don’t care if someone walks in.
“Tatum, I want to leave this office and never come back.”
What? Is he high from his knot too?
“But you love teaching.”
He laughs again, and there’s this joy to his laughter that I didn’t hear before. “No, I don’t. And I don’t ever have to do it again.”
He sounds so happy—euphoric. I understand. That’s how I felt when I realized I got to keep him.
“Well, you may need to wait a few more minutes to leave this office. Just until we’re not tied together anymore. Then I’m good. I want to support you with whatever you want to do with your life, no matter what that is.”
He wraps his arms around me from behind, which does rather uncomfortable things to the space where we’re tied.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Damien.”
34
Tatum
Five months later…
The glorious coolness of the refrigerator and freezer blasts at me as I stand in front of their open doors and bask.
No one should have to be pregnant in August. Absolutely no one.
“Tatum, close the door. You’re letting the cool air out. Our electric bill will be scary this month.”
My mother forgets that we have money now, even as she sits in our very nice kitchen. I keep the doors open for another few seconds, then close them slowly and turn to face her.
“Oh, honey. Are you pregnant?” she asks for the millionth time.
At least I know she’ll be excited when I tell her the good news.
“Yep. I’m due any day now.” I even had two contractions this morning. I hope that means something.
She grins at me from her seat at the counter with such radiant happiness I can’t stay annoyed that she won’t let me leave the fridge open. She’s wearing the coat Sharita bought her after I started cranking up the air conditioning last month. Sharita can complain all she wants. I’m giving her a grandchild, so I get to decide what temperature we keep the house.
Damien pads into the kitchen wearing a wrinkled shirt and suspenders. He’s so handsome. Some days I still can’t believe he’s mine.
“Good morning, baby,” he whispers and pulls me in for a soft kiss. He smells of man and sandalwood—of happiness.
“Who the hell are you?” my mother asks.
Damien releases me and walks around the island to hold out his hand to my mother. “I’m Damien, your son’s mate. You had a head injury, so you don’t remember me, but I promise you that we get along. We’ve sung ‘Jolene’ together many times.”
My mother shakes his hand uncertainly. He smiles at her so patiently you’d think it was their first time having this conversation, when in reality they have it a few times a day.
It makes my heart swell even bigger than my feet. Which is saying something because today they’re enormous. I pull out my phone and take a quick snapshot, then text the photo to Isaac Evans. He sends back a shocked emoji with the words: That’s the worst. Almost there, man. Just a few more days.
We’ve been hanging out a lot since Isaac and Damien started recording a spinoff show together called “Get Geeky About Your Game.” It’s a sex-ed channel that’s even more popular than the Heat Professor.
“We’ll be shooting in the guest house today. When Isaac finally shows up, send him back after gently mentioning that he shouldn’t be late all of the time.”
The doorbell rings.
“Ah, that should be Deb,” he says. Deb is always on time.
Damien walks around the island and glances over at my mother, who is taking a sip of her tea, then covertly squeezes my ass.
“We have some things to attend to after the shoot,” I say with a wicked grin.
“We certainly do.” He gives me another kiss that’s probably too long considering Deb is waiting at the front door and we’re standing right in front of my mother. “Go put up your feet, okay? They look uncomfortable.”
“I will.” I’m not going to lie. When he says stuff like that, I get this warm feeling in my chest. He’s always worried about my feet or my back. It’s nice to be worried about by someone who loves you.
Damien walks out of the kitchen. I follow him as quickly as my huge feet will allow, holding out my hand to my mother as I pass the island. “Let’s go watch some TV.”
She smiles absently. I know she’s sorting through what Damien told her. She often deals with the disorientation of being reminded of her memory loss quietly. Some cuddling and Golden Girls should cheer her up. Damien bought her the complete set on DVD as a housewarming gift when we moved in.
I wave to Deb as I waddle down the hall into our grand living room where Damien installed a TV for my mother. Eventually, she may move to the guest house, but for now she’s still living with us.
“Do I know that woman?” my mother asks.
“Not well. Don’t worry about it, okay? Which season should we watch?” I pull out the box set. Her eyes light up at the sight of it, like they do every time. I love seeing her so excited.
“Which one do you want to watch, Tatum?”
I shake my head. She always makes me choose. Today, I just want to relax.
Sometimes life isn’t about landing on your feet but the ability to put them up for a bit.
I send a text to Isaac.
If you aren’t here soon, Damien’s going to give you that disapproving look. You know the one.
I laugh when I see his response.
I hate that look. On my way.
35
Damien
Tatum’s been having contractions on and off all week, so I asked him to send me a baby emoji every time he has one. This morning he’s already sent me three texts.
Just as Deb finishes setting up her camera equipment, Isaac shows up in a hoodie and jeans. He gives her a hug, and she squeezes him so hard I hear the breath being forced from his lungs. He told me that she’s been aggressively affectionate since he named one of his twins after her. This time he had a boy and a girl. They’re four months old now.
I’m wearing a full suit, sans the shirt. It’s my Heat Professor outfit. It reminds me a little of the photoshoot I did for my heat companion work, where I wore nothing but my glasses. I still look back on that time fondly.
“I’m almost on time.” Isaac sits on the stool next to me.
I lift one eyebrow and glare at him. He scrunches his shoulders together like a little boy who’s been scolded.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my back pocket: another baby emoji from Tatum. I send him a hug emoji. I hate how uncomfortable he’s been over the last few weeks. After we get done with this shoot, I’ll take him to bed and make him feel good.
“Where’s the banana?” Deb asks.
Isaac has this banana he dresses up in a different kind of condom for every show, so our viewers can see what they’re like. Sometimes, he gets other outfits for the banana. Last shoot it was dressed like a cowboy.
“Fuck. I forgot it. It’s on my counter at home.”
Deb puts her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you should go get it. I don’t think we can do the shoot without it.”
Unfortunately, she’s right. Our viewers are strangely attached to that stupid banana.
“We have bananas. I’ll go grab one from the main house. We can say he’s wearing his ‘birthday suit’ this week.”
Isaac jumps up and takes a few springy steps for the door. “But I had a cute mermaid outfit made for my banana. She has little shells for her banana boobs and a rainbow wig with a tiny tiara. It’
s adorable.”
The joys of filming with Isaac Evans. As much as I hate to admit it, our viewers will probably love the mermaid banana. I don’t know what it has to do with sex education, but Isaac’s good at infusing humor into our episodes, which means more people watch them. That’s an element of advocating for sex workers that I didn’t quite accomplish before—the numbers. I had less than a hundred students per semester, and I didn’t get through to all of them. Now I have a platform where I reach millions of people. It’s a lot more effective and, honestly, a lot more fun.
“Fine. Go get the damn mermaid banana.”
Deb nods to Isaac, and he rushes out of the house.
“Would you like some coffee?” I ask her.
“Nah, if it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna call my mate. Our dog, Chomper, ate two socks this morning, and I want to see how he’s doing.”
My phone buzzes again. Another baby emoji.
“I should probably go check in with my mate too. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Before stepping out into the August heat, I shrug out of my suit coat and fold it over my chair. I don’t want to iron it again before we do the shoot.
Walking through the sweltering backyard and into the frigid house makes me shiver. It’s like a meat locker in here. I immediately regret leaving my suit jacket behind.
Tatum hobbles out of the bathroom. His cheeks are flushed, and his face is sweaty.
“I thought you were having a contraction,” I say.
He shrugs. “Yeah, I was. But I still had to pee. My body is very confused right now. For instance, here I am, looking at you without your shirt on, and I don’t want to have sex. That’s a first.” He clutches at his stomach and hunches over, grimacing. “Here comes another one. Christ.”
I step closer and rub his back. He breathes deeply through his contraction, like the birth coach taught him.
“That’s it. Breathe,” I whisper.
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, God. This one is bad.”
The contraction goes on for a long time. It doesn’t occur to me to time it until it’s over, but it has to be a full minute.
“We need to go to the hospital,” I say.
Tatum nods, still catching his breath. “The bag.”
He’s referring to the bag he’s kept packed for two weeks now with everything we’ll need at the hospital.
“I’ll go get it and call Abbie. My omega mom is on a deadline, so she can’t sit with Gwen, but Abbie can probably bring her laptop and work from here.”
Bounding up the stairs to grab our hospital bag feels surreal. This is it. I’m about to be a father. I’ve been a sperm donor before, but this is different. Before, I was helping build someone else’s family. The contracts were clear on that. And I wanted to help. I found it meaningful. But now I get to build a family of my own.
I can’t wait to see what our baby will look like. Will he have Tatum’s dimples? How curly will his hair be? I want to hold him in my arms and show him all of the beautiful things in this world. I want him to call me “Daddy.”
The duffle bag waits just inside our bedroom door—in front of my big wooden desk. Every time I look at it, I smile. I don’t work there much anymore, but it still gets plenty of use. Next to our bed, a bassinet already waits for our baby boy. Tatum has meticulously prepared our home and our lives for this child. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s been such a great caretaker for his mother, it makes sense he’d be a good father too. It still warms my heart.
I put on a shirt and make a quick call to Abbie, who promises to head right over. Then I text Deb and Isaac to let them know what’s going on. Gwen isn’t comfortable with either of them, so they won’t go in and watch TV with her. But Deb can at least make sure there aren’t any disasters until Abbie gets here.
After I’ve arranged everything for Gwen, I head back to my omega, who is breathing hard again.
“How long does it take to get a fucking bag?” he asks.
I hold back a smile. I guess this is the part where he curses at me and promises we’ll never have sex again. My alpha mother warned me this would happen. She also gave me a stern lecture on how, when my omega was in labor, it was my job to not take anything personally and give him whatever he needed.
I enjoyed getting to know that side of her. In her own way, she’s very protective of my mother, even if she’s a bit old-fashioned.
“I’m sorry it took so long. I had to call Abbie. Are you ready to go?”
He lets out a whimper, making me wish I could take all the pain away. “Just a second. Oh, Damien, I can’t do this.”
“Let’s go get you an epidural.” I hook my arms under his knees and neck and pick him up. “I got you, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He snuggles into my chest as I walk out the front door, switching on the security setting that won’t allow Gwen to escape out the doors without a code. Getting a system designed for Gwen’s needs was expensive, and the cost to put locks on all of the faucets and burners was steep too. But the peace of mind it gave Tatum was well worth it.
As I walk to the car, I can feel Tatum’s inner omega resurface. My inner alpha comes out to meet him like a long-lost friend. The labor up ahead will certainly be difficult. But we can face it together. And he can swear at me all he wants.
I’m ready to give my omega what he needs.
36
Tatum
It’s funny how relative pain can be. Normally, I’m not a fan of huge needles. But after a volley of painful contractions, a huge needle in my spine doesn’t feel like a big deal. The pain dulls, along with the entire lower half of my body, and my labor is different after that. Manageable. For some reason this makes me emotional, and I cry about how wonderful the pain relief is. Damien doesn’t seem to mind.
When we first arrive, my contractions are close together. Unfortunately, the epidural slows them down again. The delivery room they put us in is horribly bright, and I’m hooked up to at least three different machines. Nurses keep coming in and sticking their fingers into my body. I just want it all to be over. As the hours drag on, Damien rubs my back and whispers comforting words. They warned me it might be a long time because it’s my first child. I just didn’t realize how long.
We wait five hours. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen.
Damien’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He requests coffee from the nurses and promises me he’s fine.
It seems like nothing is happening.
Until it does.
I can’t feel anything, so I trust the doctor when he says I’m finally fully dilated. Then I’m supposed to push. Doing something you can’t feel, but also instinctively understand how to do, is such a strange sensation.
The nurses say to push, and I push. The doctor says I’m almost there, and tears leak out of my eyes. I’m lost in this moment where my body isn’t only mine, but also a pathway—a source of life. Arms shaking, I grip Damien hand and bear down one last time.
Then there’s a scream—a beautiful, piercing cry from the being Damien and I made together.
I cry quietly, and Damien wipes the tears away, kissing my forehead.
The doctors and nurses take our baby, leaving Damien and I alone on the delivery bed. They have to weigh and measure him, I’m sure. But Damien’s inner alpha perks up.
Something is wrong.
He leaves me and approaches the doctor. They have a conversation in harsh whispers. I can’t understand a word of it until Damien yells, “There won’t be any surgeries! They’re just a baby. Now give me my child and tend to my omega.”
The doctor silently hands Damien a bundle of blankets. Smiling down at our baby, Damien walks over to my bed. The nurses have returned to my side now, but the doctor remains in the corner, clearly upset.
Damien hands me our baby.
“They’re intersex, Tatum. They have genitalia with both female and male characteristics. Almost two percent of the population is intersex. It isn’t anything
to worry about.”
He says this like he’s concerned I’m going to be upset. How could I be upset? Our baby is perfect. They have soft, brown curly hair and lovely gray eyes I could stare at all day. They close their eyes and let out a little grunt. Damien and I both laugh.
“Don’t you worry, little one.” I give their forehead a kiss. “There’s plenty of space in this big world for you. Even if we have to carve it out for you, we will. We Blooms are strong. You’ll see.”
Damien sniffs, his eyes filling with tears.
“That’s right, little one. There’s space for you. Plenty of space.”
37
Tatum
Very few things will bring Sharita out of her office when she’s on deadline. Apparently, having a grandbaby is one of them. She enters our room with Damien’s alpha mother, Marie, not long after the delivery. Damien’s alpha mother is usually so serious and stiff, but today a wide smile spreads across her face.
Damien beams at them as he holds our baby in his arms.
They both wash their hands in the sink, Damien’s alpha mother going on about how the last thing their grandbaby needs is germs. Unable to hide her eagerness any longer, she returns to the room with her arms outstretched. Sharita almost giggles next to her. The two of them are like kids in a candy store.
Damien gently eases our baby into his alpha mother’s arms. She looks straight into our baby’s eyes with pure love.
“Do they have a name yet?” The they comes out so easily I can’t help but reach for Damien’s hand. He texted his omega mother about our child’s gender so she could prepare Marie. Sometimes, she can be stuck in her ways. But not this time.