by Nina Lane
After using the bathroom, I head into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
“Go sit down.” Dean comes up behind me, giving me a gentle pat on the rear. “I’ll get it.”
I return to my overstuffed chair beside the window, and Dean soon comes in with the tea and a plate of the Wonderland Café’s popular Home, Heart, and Courage cookies, which he sets on a table beside me.
“Anything else you need?” he asks.
I reach up to squeeze his hand. “Just you.”
“You always have me.” He rests one hand along the back of my chair and bends to press his mouth against mine. I lean in for a longer kiss, feeling that melted-honey sensation slide through my blood.
“I picked something up for you earlier.” Dean moves away from me, his palm lingering against my cheek.
He goes into the bedroom and returns with a big, white box topped with a red bow. He places the box on my lap and sits on the coffee table across from me.
I tug the lid off the box and separate the red tissue paper inside. I run my hand over a swath of thick material. As Dean takes the cloth out and unfolds it, my breath catches in my throat.
“A quilt?” I ask. “You got me a new quilt?”
“The Wickham sisters and I have been conspiring about it for months,” he tells me. “Florence’s sister Ruth is a quilt-maker, and when I told her what I wanted, she got right to work. She just finished it this morning. She said it’s called an heirloom memory quilt.”
I can only stare at the quilt. Each square is beautifully sewn with images and words that encompass my life.
The Wonderland Café sign, the University of Wisconsin logo, library call numbers, a book stitched with the title A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Alice in Wonderland, the yellow brick road. A hot-air balloon, the Jitter Beans coffeehouse sign, a peace lily, apple pie, the Eiffel Tower, a patch from Dean’s old San Francisco Giants T-shirt, a baby wearing a blue cap, ruby slippers, a cameo silhouette, the Butterfly House, a knight on horseback. And around the border, twelve squares stitched with twelve oak trees.
“Oh, Dean.”
“Not bad, huh?” He looks pleased.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, Liv.” He slides his hand through my hair, tucking a lock behind my ear. “More than anything. More than life.”
He’s a blur through my tears, but when I wipe my eyes, I see him watching me with a depth of emotion I can’t even begin to fathom. I know because I feel it too, a million colors that fill my heart to overflowing.
I gesture for Dean to sit in the chair with me. He does, gently lifting me onto his lap. I press my face to his chest and sink into the warmth of him. He tightens his arms around me, surrounding me with his ever-present strength and devotion that will see us through anything.
Happy. That’s what all the colors distill into. I am so happy.
Even though the unknowns are as innumerable as seashells scattered on a beach, the knowns are clear as glass and infinitely more powerful. Now, finally, I feel like Dean and I have reached the shore at the end of a long ocean voyage.
After exploring distant lands, battling unforeseen threats, learning how to navigate rough waters and emerge from storms, we have both come safely home together, fatigued but exhilarated.
I settle against my husband’s chest, into his arms, as he pulls the quilt over my legs and we watch the bustle of Avalon Street outside the window.
We’re here again. We’ve always been here, in our own private world, the space that belongs only to us. We’ve never left.
I run my hand over the quilt, knowing that one day our son will learn about this patchwork history that has shaped my life, all the people and places who have made me the woman I am now.
One day I’ll tell our son about my own mother and father. I’ll tell him about the grandmother I never knew who unknowingly helped me find my own path. I’ll tell him about the warmhearted people who lived on a California commune, about the boy who taught me how to ride a bike, about beaches and the Grand Canyon at sunrise. I’ll tell our son that sometimes people aren’t kind but most of the time they are, and you should give them a chance to prove themselves.
I’ll tell him about the day his father came to my rescue at the university, the day Allie jumped out at me in a scary apple-tree costume, the day I won Kelsey over with a hug and a plate of crepes. I’ll tell him about the aunt who took me in when I needed her help, and a man named Northern Star who reminded me that living takes courage.
I’ll tell our son to be the type of man his father is—a man of intelligence and talent, yes, but more importantly a man of deep kindness, loyalty, strength, and integrity. A man who slays monsters for the woman he loves and stands by her side when she needs to slay them by herself. A man who doesn’t give up, who believes in chivalry and codes of honor. A man who knows what it means to both love and be loved.
There are so many important lessons I’ve learned in my journey to now. Trust your instincts, follow your bliss, make plans, work hard, learn to let things go. Don’t be late. Remember that fortune favors the brave. Live. If you need to run, try and run toward something. Study for tests. Laugh at silly cartoons. Be organized. If you fall seven times, get up eight. Always carry an extra pen. Believe you can do everything. Find your key.
And the most valuable lesson I’ve learned will forever live in my heart, right beside my husband. Love the one who proves to you that happily ever after is only the beginning.
Thank you for reading AWAKEN. Please consider providing a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I hope you enjoy Liv and Dean’s story.
CHAPTER ONE
OLIVIA
“PROFESSOR HOTTIE ALERT.”
Allie’s call rises up the stairs of the Wonderland Café. I leave a pile of birthday party bags on one of the tables in the Wicked Witch’s Castle room and peer out the window. My husband is standing across the street, his tall figure a welcome and familiar sight after a long day at work. Just as I start to ease back from the window, he looks up. Our eyes meet with a spark that kindled into life six years ago and still flares sunshine-bright.
Dean lifts a hand in greeting. I wave at him and head downstairs. Allie is in the reception area, fluffing out her curly red hair with one hand as she pulls open the front door with the other.
“He looks like he’s ready for a night out,” she remarks, nodding to where Dean is crossing the street. “I hope he’s taking you somewhere special.”
“Very special.” I shrug into my coat. “We’re going to a childbirth education class.”
Allie gives a little sigh of happiness. “How romantic.”
I smile at her before turning to the door. My heart does a little twirl as Dean climbs the front porch steps. Having just come from the university, he’s wearing a navy suit and striped tie that somehow has remained unwrinkled despite the fact that it’s past six in the evening. With his thick, brown hair burnished by the streetlights, the masculine planes of his face etched with dusky shadows, he looks both gorgeous and somewhat dangerously sexy. Then he smiles, and his dark eyes crinkle at the corners, and he’s my Dean again, all heat and tenderness.
“Hey, beauty.” He brushes his lips across my cheek and slides one hand down to my round belly. “All set?”
“All set.”
Dean lifts his head to glance at Allie. “Hey, Allie. How’s it going?”
“Just fine, thanks.” As usual, Allie blushes a little when Dean talks to her.
“Just let me get my things.” I squeeze Dean’s arm and head to the front counter, where I’d left my satchel.
When I return, Dean is speaking to Allie in a low tone, which—as his voice usually does—has her gazing at him raptly. She says something in response, then glances up at my approach and gives me a bright smile.
“You guys have a great evening, okay?” she says, waving us tow
ard the door. “Remember if it’s a girl, the name Allison would be a perfect fit.”
“And we’ll change our last name to Wonderland,” Dean promises.
Allie grins, and we say our goodbyes before heading outside.
If it’s a girl. We don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl yet. At Dean’s suggestion, we decided to wait until opening night to find out, though that has made my nursery-decorating ideas and baby-stuff purchases varying shades of green and yellow.
Dean takes my satchel as we walk to his car parked halfway down the block. Black-clad witches, grinning jack-o-lanterns, and spooky ghosts cover the windows of the shops lining Avalon Street. October in Mirror Lake is crisp and clear as glass, the trees ablaze with red and gold leaves, the downtown streets bustling with activity. Though the Wonderland Café has built up a steady clientele since our June grand opening, business picked up even more when families returned to town after summer vacations.
After we get into the car, Dean drives to the health office on the campus of King’s University. I’m well into my sixth month, and everything has progressed smoothly on the baby front. My girth has increased, of course, I need to pee a lot, and I had to buy a few new pairs of shoes since my old ones no longer fit. My back hurts, and I have to sleep with four pillows to be comfortable. But the baby is fine, my bloodwork is fine, and there is no reason for me to be worried about anything.
Except, you know, giving birth.
I’m not a fan of the weekly childbirth classes, even if there are free cookies and milk. The instructor, Mary, is a lovely, soft-spoken nurse who has been with Labor and Delivery for over twenty-five years. The woman knows what she’s talking about.
But what she’s talking about are things like dilation and pain management and mucus plugs and the baby descending into the birth canal. Like it’s going to come out as gently as a balloon losing helium.
Truth be told, I really don’t know much about labor and delivery yet. Prior to getting pregnant, I didn’t have a reason to learn about it, and the past six months have been so busy with the café and figuring out what to do with our newly purchased (and badly in need of renovation) Butterfly House that I haven’t exactly had time to peruse all the pregnancy books I’ve checked out from the library.
Somewhat guiltily, I glance over the info sheet Mary gave us for tonight’s lecture. There are seven other couples in the class with us, all parents-to-be for the first time. We arrange our chairs in a semi-circle around Mary as she takes out a plastic model of the pelvis and shows us how the baby, in this case an infant doll, makes its way into the world.
“Dilation and effacement of the cervix happen together for most women,” Mary says. “As we discussed last week, dilation is the opening of the cervix. Who remembers what effacement is?”
Everyone raises their hand except me.
“Dean?” Mary looks at Dean expectantly.
“Thinning of the cervix,” he says. “Which is measured in percentages rather than centimeters.”
“Correct.” Mary beams at him.
Two classes in, and already Professor West is her star student.
“The cervix must soften in order to dilate,” she continues, “and often contractions help the process along. Now let’s discuss what happens when the mother begins to experience contractions.”
I glance at Dean. He’s taking notes. Seriously. The man brought a yellow legal pad to class and has already taken two pages of notes. I nudge him with my elbow.
“There’s no final exam at the end of this,” I whisper.
He looks at me over the tops of his reading glasses. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What? There is an exam? Mary didn’t say anything about that. Is it multiple choice? True or false? Omigod, is it an essay test?”
“Liv.” Dean takes off his glasses. “Birth is the final exam.”
I stare at him. Birth is the final exam.
“Oh.” I sit back. “Right.”
Holy crap. He’s the one taking notes, but I’m the one who actually has to push the little bugger out. And really, if I think about my vagina, and what has been inside it, and the indisputable fact that Dean’s erection is a very tight fit… and a baby’s head is the size of a baby’s head…
My heart starts to beat in a nervous rhythm.
I must look a little panicked because Dean reaches over to squeeze my knee. He’s supposed to be all concerned and loving, but instead amusement lights his eyes.
“You can do this,” he whispers. “We can do this.”
“We?” I hiss. “When your cervix starts dilating and effacing, you can talk about we.”
“Do you have a question, Liv?” Mary asks from the front of the room, where she is standing with a diagram of a uterus.
“Um, no. No, I’m good. Thanks.”
I frown at Dean for getting me in trouble. He winks and returns to his note-taking.
When the class takes a fifteen-minute break, I head for the bathroom with most of the other women. After taking care of business, I dig into the chocolate-chip cookies and milk. Gwen and Marshall, a young couple expecting a girl about a month after my due date, are standing near the table.
“What kind of labor are you planning, Liv?” Gwen asks.
One that results in a healthy baby.
“Just, you know… the usual,” I reply.
“We’re considering a home water birth,” Marshall says.
“A what?”
“It’s when the mother sits in a bath of warm water to give birth,” Gwen says. “It’s a very peaceful, calm way of bringing a baby into the world and it’s supposed to ease the pain of labor. I want to keep things as natural as possible. No drugs or anything stressful.”
Seems to me drugs would keep things from becoming stressful, but I have a feeling that’s not what she wants to hear.
“Well, that’s very… thoughtful,” I finally say.
“I’ve done a lot of research,” Gwen replies. “I’ve heard it also helps the baby’s transition since water resembles the intrauterine environment. You’re due quite a bit sooner than me. Have you done your birth plan yet?”
I don’t even know what a birth plan is.
Before I can respond, Mary calls the class back to attention and launches into a discussion about early labor symptoms.
“We need to write a birth plan,” I tell Dean on the way home.
“I put together a template last week.”
“You have a birth plan template? What is a birth plan?”
I should know this by now. The fact that I don’t makes me feel like I should stay after school for detention.
“Just a list of preferences you want for things like pain management, induction, monitoring,” Dean explains. “You bring it with you to the hospital so the nurses know what your choices are.” He turns into our garage and parks the car. “You can fill it out when you start making decisions. We’ll print out a few copies to put in your suitcase.”
I am acutely aware that he’s far more prepared for the whole birthing process than I am. Though I cut myself some slack over the fact that I’ve been busy opening a business and growing a baby, I guess there’s something to be said for taking notes.
That evening, I do a ton of research on home water births (no, thanks) and birth plans. Following all the links brings up a host of other questions: What’s a doula? Do I want one? Hypno-birthing? Walking epidural? Induction options? Do I plan to nurse? How long after giving birth can a woman have sex? How long after giving birth will she want to have sex?.
Finally I write up a list of my questions and bring it with me to my check-up with Dr. Nolan the following day. I suspect Dean already knows all the answers, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of showing off his knowledge.
After Dr. Nolan patiently answers all my questions, I feel much more emp
owered—or at least, ready for next week’s class. I go into our apartment, dropping my satchel on the front table.
“How’d it go?” Dean calls through the open door of his office.
“Everything’s fine.” I stop in the doorway and pat my round belly. “Heartbeat normal, glucose test fine. I’ve gained twenty pounds, and Dr. Nolan said I should put on one to two pounds a week from now on.”
“Might as well do what the good doctor says.” He looks meaningfully at my breasts, which have grown bigger right along with the rest of me.
“Lecher.”
“Uh huh. Did you tell Dr. Nolan that you’re having hot dreams?”
“I most certainly did not.” I huff a little at the thought, even though it’s true that my dreams have been more erotic than usual lately. “For your information, it’s perfectly natural for a woman’s libido to increase during pregnancy.”
“Oh, I know. Very lucky for me.”
Despite the brewing heat in his expression, which under normal circumstances would light my fire good and hot, I mumble something about needing to start dinner before I head into the kitchen. My body has changed more dramatically in the second trimester than it did in the first, and I’m increasingly—sometimes uncomfortably—aware of that fact.
With a sigh, I get a few things prepped for dinner, then go into the bedroom to change into stretch-pants and a more comfortable shirt. As I pull my sweater over my head, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. I’m wearing a sensible cotton support bra, which is pretty much what I wore pre-pregnancy, except this one is larger and my breasts swell over the top of the cups.
Everything else is larger too. I peel off my jeans and stand in front of the mirror in my underwear. The curve of my belly starts beneath my breasts, so it’s shaped more like a small watermelon standing on end rather than a beach ball. A few veins show through my skin.
I twist around to look at my behind. Wider and rounder too. Can’t say I’m thrilled about that, especially since my ass wasn’t exactly flat to begin with. My hips are wider too, not to mention my thighs…