THANKSGIVING DADDY

by Rachel Lee

  “Is he moving?” Seth asked.

  She realized her hand had come to rest on her belly again. “Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if he ever sleeps.”

  “What does it feel like to you?”

  “Mostly gentle little pokes, sometimes almost like small moving gas bubbles. It depends on how forceful he’s being, but the feeling gets stronger with time.”

  “Not painful?”

  “Nope. Well, maybe not until today. It could have been a digestion problem. They said that’s common in pregnancy.”

  “I guess I need to get a book and read up. Have you thought about names?”

  Her breath stopped, just briefly. “No.” But a volcano of realization erupted in her at the thought. All this time she told herself she’d been coping. All this time she thought she had accepted the reality of this baby. After all, she could feel it moving within her, and that was as real as it got.

  But she suddenly understood she’d been keeping up some kind of pretense with herself. Maybe a wall. Right up until the last few days, she’d been objectifying this baby, calling it “it,” “the kid,” “the baby.” The closest she’d come to thinking of it as a real child had been when she referred to him as “Junior.” Hell, she had only recently gotten to thinking of it as a him.

  Seth already referred to “my son” and “my baby.” He had taken possession. She had not. In some way she had refused, all the while planning everything out, to own her own child in some deeply emotional way.

  “Edie? Did I say something wrong?”

  She had to force herself to look at him as a tide of guilt overwhelmed her. She was soon to be a mother but had been thinking of her child in such a detached way. Distancing herself.

  “I’m going to be a lousy mother.”

  Surprise dashed across his face. “What brought that on?”

  “A good hard look inward.” She hesitated, wondering if she should even try to explain this to him. She looked away again, dealing with the storm inside herself. She didn’t like what she was seeing. Objectifying this child. What kind of mother did that?

  “Edie?” The prompt was quiet, gentle.

  Just another assignment. Just another problem to be dealt with. Not a living human being who would soon be utterly dependent on her caring and love. She hadn’t given that love yet, had in fact avoided it. Had she been stupid enough to think that could continue, especially after the baby was born?

  Seth stopped rubbing her feet and moved until he was kneeling beside the chair. With his fingertips, he turned her face toward him. “Talk to me,” he insisted quietly. “We’ve both got a lot to work through. It’s amazing how helpful talking can be.”

  “You don’t do much of it.”

  “I do more than you in some ways. I have this tight little self-protective core and I know it. Twenty years in special ops makes it essential. Well, I get the feeling you have one, too. I respect that. But maybe we need to edge out of them a bit, cross those barriers. We’d have to do it with our baby.”

  “That’s just it,” she admitted finally. She closed her eyes because she didn’t want to see his reaction. “I just realized I’ve been objectifying this baby. Making it something other than my child. Oh, it’s my responsibility, but thinking of it as my child, my son...I’ve been avoiding it. Until I got here I didn’t even think of him as a he. Just as the kid. He could have been anyone’s kid, the way I was thinking.” She paused. “Maybe I didn’t always talk that way, but that’s how I was thinking. Trying not to feel.”

  He spoke slowly, as if feeling his way. “Is that a crime?”

  Her eyes snapped open. “What if I keep doing that?”

  “Somehow I think you won’t be able to keep on doing it once you hold our baby. I just don’t read you that way. You’ve got nerves of steel when you need them, but people go into CSAR out of passion. You’ve got a lot of passion to get where you’ve gotten. You give a damn about things, and you’re going to give a damn about this baby in time.”

  “So sure?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Absolutely. Once we sort out all the things that have been worrying you and bugging you, you’ll have room for the rest of it. You’ve had a lot to deal with, Edie, and you’ve been pretty much handling it solo. Of course you went into mission mind-set. But once a lot of this gets ironed out, you’ll have the emotional space to think about actually being a mom.”

  “I just don’t know how to cross over.”

  “I asked my dad about that.”

  “You did?” Her eyes widened a bit.

  “Of course I did. I know what I am, who I’ve become. I probably know better than most people because I’ve had to get into the dark places most people never have to find in themselves. So I asked my dad how he made the transition. How he crossed back over the lines you have to cross in special ops. How you transition from being a warrior to a dad.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Once you hold that baby for the first time, it becomes the center of everything, basically. So I think you’ll do it, whether you figure it out or not in advance. You’ve pretty much been in a defensive crouch for months. Defending yourself, defending your decisions, trying to defend your career and, yes, even defending your decision to keep this baby. Well, you can relax a little now. I’ll take on as much as I can, as much as you’ll let me.”

  He made it sound so easy. She resisted, then realized that maybe it was just that easy. Anything she didn’t figure out now, she would figure out later. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, but not about the actuality,” she admitted. “Don’t most people by this point start buying baby clothes or something?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person about that.”

  Despite a feeling of disappointment with herself, she felt the corners of her mouth lift a little. “I haven’t even wanted to face maternity clothes.”

  “You faced them pretty good yesterday.”

  “I guess.” At least she hadn’t choked. “The other thing is...” She hesitated.

  “Yes?” He waited.

  “After what you said about not being allowed to find out what was going on with me because we’re not family...it struck me how awful it would be if the baby had a problem and you were cut out like that.”

  “Or if you have a problem,” he reminded her quietly.

  “I know a lot of people are forced to deal with that, but there’s got to be some way around it. It just hit me hard that it would be so unfair to you. You’ve already committed to raising this child. That means you’re bound to get involved and care.”

  “I already care,” he admitted. “And it’s our child. Our son.”

  “Our son,” she repeated. The words came more easily now. “What if he got sick? What if something happened to both of us and you couldn’t do a damn thing except pace a waiting room like you did today? That’s awful. I don’t want that to ever happen. And what if, God forbid, something should happen to me? You’ve got to have a right to this...our son. I’d hate to think of anything else.”

  His next words surprised her. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling me that you’re ready to let me be part of our child’s life. However we work it out, that’s what I needed to hear.”

  He actually smiled at her. She had the worst urge to reach out a hand and touch him, run her fingers over his hair, cup his cheek. She still wanted him in the same way she had wanted him that night months ago. Maybe even more now. She stopped herself, though. Too much remained unsettled to confuse them even more by having sex.

  “You’re accepting this faster than I am,” she remarked.

  “Well, I’ve had a whole lot less adjusting to do. I’m going to be a father. Awesome. No career to bollix things up, no superior officers making suggestions they shouldn’t ma
ke, none of it. I got the easy end.”

  “That remains to be seen,” she said, feeling an errant bubble of humor. “You can take the middle-of-the-night feedings.”

  He laughed, and the sound melted something inside her. He didn’t press her, though, didn’t seem to take it as a statement of fact, but as a joke. Which is how she meant it. For now. She still wasn’t sure she wanted him around all the time. But she was rapidly coming to the conclusion she wanted him around at least some of the time.

  “Okay,” he said presently, “let me throw a couple of things out here. No pressure. No need to make up your mind right now. We can solve a lot of these problems by going to an attorney. Probably cost an arm and a leg, but we can get legal papers, I’m sure, acknowledging my paternity, giving me medical power of some kind...I mean, I’m sure a lawyer could sew things up so you wouldn’t have to worry about those things.”

  “Probably. Have you got an arm and a leg?”

  He waved one arm with a wink. “I can manage.”

  “And the other thing?” Although she already knew, for some reason she wanted to hear him say it again.

  “You know. Marriage. That’s an automatic slam dunk on legal issues. We can work out the details of how to manage it between us, but it’s a valid option.”

  She nodded but didn’t answer. The option was still there, and it was sinking deeper and deeper ever since they had first discussed it. Then she asked, “Seth, what if it blows up?”

  “I’ve survived one ugly divorce. I can survive another. Except I want one promise—that it won’t be ugly. That wouldn’t be good for our son. If you decide you can’t stand the sight of me, just tell me to pack. I don’t need the whole vituperation thing.”

  “I don’t do much vituperation.”

  “Good.” There was no smile in his eyes now, but rather a steely look. She wondered if he was remembering, or assuming a mantle of determination. Either way, for a few seconds he looked harder than a diamond-edged blade.

  “After what you’ve been through, I’m surprised you can even suggest marriage.”

  A smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, it wasn’t all bad. Trust me. It was just hell when they ended. Our son is a good enough reason for me to give it another shot. Your rules, of course. But the boy is a good enough reason for me. The question is whether he is for you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Several nights later, Seth left the house in the wee hours to take a walk. Edie slept in the king-size bed in his room, over her objections that he needed the extra space. She’d subsided when he’d explained that he was sure the room was mold-and mildew-free, something he couldn’t say with absolute certainty about the other bedrooms.

  Not exactly true, but true enough that he didn’t feel he was lying. He wanted her to have the more comfortable bed.

  He wanted his son to have the best. His son. The idea had settled into his heart in a way that still surprised him. It was a warm feeling, and wonderful sense of anticipation, and it thawed some of the places he’d had to put in ice over the years. Nor did that thawing trouble him. It made him feel surprisingly good, actually.

  Not another word about how they were going to deal with the legalities of this, but he got the sense she was trying him on for size anyway. They had done some remodeling stuff together, things he was sure wouldn’t cause her a risk, like reframing a wall with arsenic-free wood. He’d done all his sawing outside but she had followed anyway, accepting the dust mask he’d pointedly handed her.

  She didn’t mind carrying boards, she loved using the nail gun and she’d even proved adept at helping him with some of the wiring.

  Then there were their forays into cooking. Those had turned into a great deal of fun with a lot of laughter. They discovered they were messy cooks, and she had joked that she couldn’t even boil water, but they’d managed to put together some decent meals, despite an almost daily flow of casseroles from people around town, most of which filled the freezer. Of course he’d phoned Marge a time or two, but she was more than willing to advise. The only problem he had was keeping her from coming over to do it for them.

  God bless his mother, he thought. It must be killing her to stay away, but Seth had this feeling that he and Edie were at a fragile point, and he didn’t want anything knocking this slowly growing understanding off-kilter.

  Edie insisted on doing the laundry for both of them, so he did all the sweeping and vacuuming. Not that he wouldn’t have done it all if she weren’t there.

  Trying it on. That’s what it felt like, except it would be different when she went back to her job. Then he’d be the househusband, he guessed, if she decided she wanted him around.

  The thought caused him to yank himself back. He was in danger of envisioning something that might never happen. He did crack a grin, though, at the thought of greeting Edie when she came home with a kid on his hip and an apron around his waist. Damn, wouldn’t his old buddies have a field day with that?

  It was certainly a new way of thinking for him. SEALs were the ultimate in machismo. It oozed out of them and they were proud of it. A man’s world, for men only. Never mind that he’d seen more than one turn into putty at the hands of their own kids, at least temporarily.

  But he didn’t have to fit that culture anymore, and he was actually enjoying the wind-down as it occurred. Little by little he was growing comfortable in his skin in a new way, finding parts of himself he’d never really had much time for before.

  So this whole dad thing was easier on him than the mom thing was on Edie. That was as plain as the nose on his face. The only way he could figure out how to make any of this easier for her was to step in wherever she might let him and relieve her of some of the burden.

  He somehow suspected that notion was really chapping at her. She was as fiercely independent as anyone he’d ever worked with. In fact, she had her own form of machismo.

  Thinking about it that way gave him a better feel for how to navigate these shoals. Assuming, of course, that he wasn’t wrong. The woman had been through a private hell these past months and was still trying to be tough and hold the reins.

  He admired that more than he’d probably ever be able to let her know. In a way, they were both very much alike. He supposed he needed to find a way to get that similarity through. It might make the rough ground a little smoother.

  But two very strong-willed people shackled together for the sake of a baby? He couldn’t blame her for her doubts. Maybe he should be having more of his own.

  But under no circumstances was he going to pretend his son didn’t exist.

  As he approached the house, he saw that the kitchen light was on. Edie was up. Hoping nothing was wrong, he started running. His body enjoyed opening up, enjoying the exercise, but his mind wasn’t remotely happy about the possible reasons for it.

  He never locked up when he got the urge for a nighttime ramble, but with Edie sleeping upstairs, he had. He fumbled for his keys, struggling to get them into the lock in the dark—he hadn’t turned on the porch light—and finally burst into the house.

  “Edie?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Well, she sounded all right. So he paused to close the door and slowed his pace as he went to her. She was leaning against the counter, wrapped in a blue terry-cloth robe, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Not a thing. I heard you go out and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. Do you go out at night a lot?”

  “Once in a while. I like it out there.”

  “You probably did an awful lot of things at night.”

  He couldn’t deny it. “It’s peaceful out there,” he answered, evading the question. If it had even been a question. “Everything’s so quiet except for the breeze, and when I can see through the canopy of trees, the stars are
beautiful.”

  She smiled faintly. “Grab some coffee, or do you want to go back to sleep?”

  The adrenaline jolt he’d gotten from seeing the light on had eliminated any possibility of sleep.

  “Why don’t we get comfortable in the living room?” he suggested. “I can even pull out some of those rolls we bought if you’re hungry.”

  “I seem to be always hungry.” She turned, freshening her coffee, then headed for the living room.

  Taking that as a yes, he found the package of cheese Danish and sliced some up onto plates for them. Juggling two plates and his own cup of coffee, he joined her.

  She thanked him when he put one plate on the end table beside her. Then he retreated to his own chair, facing her.

  “Any idea why you couldn’t get back to sleep?” he asked, noting that she once again rested her hand over her stomach. He’d realized some time ago that that seemed to be instinctive in pregnant women, but he wondered if it was a physical cue to the direction of her thoughts. They’d kind of put things on hold since after her hospital visit, and he had no idea what she was thinking about the huge questions facing them. Nor did he feel inclined to press her. She’d talk when she was ready.

  If his job had taught him one thing, it was that there were times when patience was essential.

  She ate a few bites of pastry, then licked her fingers and let her head fall back.

  “You have a life and family here,” she remarked.

  Instantly, his focus on her tightened. He waited, letting her lead.

  “You must want to stay here,” she said.

  Ah. “Well, this is the first time I’ve stayed here longer than my leave. I haven’t exactly put down deep roots. Sometimes I wonder if I can.”

  Her blue eyes settled on him. “Really? With all this family, I would have thought it would be easy.”