by K. Webster
She smiles and, thankfully, doesn’t argue. Sitting up in the loft all day with no exercise can’t be good for her depression.
“Since when do you suck up to Dr. Sweeney?” she questions.
“Since it depends on the happiness of my wife.”
The answer seems to satisfy her, and we walk most of the distance in comfortable silence. But as we near the restaurant, she stops and looks up at me.
“Let’s call them. Right now. I want to do this, Jackson.”
I frown because I don’t want to ruin the contentedness of our moment with the stress of worrying over adoption. But the determined appearance on her face has me pulling my phone from my pocket. Then I dial Laura and put her on speaker.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Hi, Laura. Listen we’re really sorry about—” I begin, but Andi cuts me off.
“Laura, I’m an emotional mess today and I can’t apologize enough for the way I acted. Please reconsider us for adopting Jill’s baby,” she rushes out.
The line is silent for a moment, and I try not to cringe.
Finally, she speaks. “Jill was pretty upset, but mostly with herself. She’s struggling emotionally as well, Andi. Here. I think you two should talk.”
We hear some murmuring before Jill gets on the line. “Hi.”
In unison, Andi and I say, “Hi,” back.
“Do you want to name him?” Jill asks softly.
I watch a tear roll out of Andi’s eye as she nods. “Jill, we’d love that. That is very generous of you. I’m sorry I acted like a fool. This has just been a long, hard road for us.”
“It’s okay. Just tell me what you want to name him and I will start calling him that—so he knows his name when he comes out.”
Andi grins at me. “Uh, right. Let us think on it. Would you like to come over one day and see our home? Maybe I could fix you and your mom some lunch. We could just chat and get to know each other?”
This time, I’m the one grinning. The fact that she’s stepping out of her bubble brings so much joy into my heart. I’m starting to believe we can make this work.
“Mom? Can we do that?” she asks her mother, reminding me that she herself is only a child. “She said yes. Text your address and we’ll come by tomorrow at lunch.”
“Thank you, Jill.”
“You’re welcome, Andi.”
They hang up and Andi hugs my middle. On the crowded sidewalk, I squeeze her back and stroke her hair.
“We’re going to be a family,” she cries into my chest as if suddenly understanding what just happened over the phone.
“Babe, we already are.”
Twenty-Two Weeks Pregnant
“Where do you want me to put this ugly Harry Potter lamp?” Jill questions from the corner of the nursery.
My eyes fly over to where she’s holding up one of Jackson’s newest Internet finds. “Ugh. The trash?” I groan.
She giggles, and I smile back. It’s been a month since we agreed to adopt Jill’s baby. All of the necessary paperwork has been drawn up by our attorneys and signed off on by a judge. In a couple of weeks or so, we’ll be welcoming him into our family. We’re incredibly thankful for her gift to us.
“Just kidding. You can set it on the end table between the cribs,” I instruct.
Since the babies will be so close together, mine being born only about three months after hers, we decided to put the beds in the same room. We’re going to need to think about moving soon because we’re very quickly outgrowing our loft.
“Ouch,” she whimpers, and I quickly stand to see what’s going on, ignoring my own ache that stretches across the side of my abdomen.
“Are you okay?” I question.
“I think I’m having another Braxton Hicks contraction. Those things are so annoying,” she complains.
“Come on. Let’s go take a break.” I motion for her to follow me into the kitchen.
While we may not see eye to eye on everything, Jill and I have grown rather close. I feel protective over her—not just because she’s carrying the baby that will soon be mine, but also because she’s like a little sister to me now.
“I can make us some lunch. What do you feel like having?” I question. I must be hungry and overworked because my skin suddenly feels flushed and I think I might pass out. We’ve worked too long since breakfast. I need food and soon.
“Pizza,” she tries with a laugh, but it’s cut short when she has another pain. “Ow!”
“Jill, are you sure you’re having Braxton Hicks? Maybe you should go lie down on the couch,” I say before nervously chewing on my lip.
The ache in my own belly now starts to worry me. As she waddles over to the couch, I find my phone and call my husband.
“Hey, beautiful,” he answers in the deep timbre that always makes my knees go weak.
“Can you come home? Jill is having sharp pains and I’m not feeling so hot either, Jackson. Please,” I whine.
“Shit. Of course. I’ll call Laura and will be there in fifteen minutes,” he replies urgently before hanging up.
I don’t want to freak out, but I’m about to freak the hell out.
Plastering on a calm look, I walk into the living room to meet the wide eyes of Jill. “What?” I demand, all calmness gone right out the damn window.
“I think I peed myself,” she whispers in horror.
I would smile, but another pain that nearly brings me to tears wraps around my side. Please, God, do not let this be happening to me.
Choking back a sob, I make my way over to her and grab her hands. “Jill, I think your water just broke. Little Tyler is on his way.”
A few weeks back, when we found out the sex of our own baby, Jackson and I decided to name the babies Tyler and Thomas. Tyler is the little boy Jill is carrying, and Thomas is in my belly.
She starts to cry. “Oh shit. I’m not ready, Andi. This is going to hurt.”
My tears are already streaming down my face as another painful ache stretches around my stomach. “I think something is wrong with Thomas,” I gasp as I quickly fall into the armchair. The room spins, but I try to force myself to relax.
“What?! Andi, I’m sure he’s fine and—owwwww!”
We’re quite a mess, the two of us. Come on, Jackson. Please hurry up.
“Jill, go dig around in my closet. Change into some dry clothes and we’ll get ready to go. Jackson will be here soon,” I instruct from my chair. I’m afraid to move. The pain hasn’t gone away. In fact, it has begun to intensify.
Once Jackson gets here, everything will be okay. Just last week, Dr. Ellis did an ultrasound and my baby was perfectly healthy. He’s just fine. I won’t freak out. I’m sure I’m just having sympathy pains for Jill.
He’s not okay.
I force the horrible thought from my head and close my eyes. I cannot lose Thomas. He’s stuck with me for so long. I’ve felt him moving inside me. My baby is fine.
He has to be.
Nausea hits me with the force of a hurricane and I nearly vomit all over my living room. I press my cheek against the cool leather of the chair and take slow, deep breaths, which helps the ill feeling pass.
When the front door bursts open, my eyes fly open and I sigh in relief. He’s here. And a very concerned Jordan is with him. They’ll make it better. My Jackson will take care of everything.
“Go find Jill,” Jackson orders his brother before rushing to my side and dropping to his knees. “What’s wrong, Andi?”
I whimper and take his hand. “I don’t know, but I hurt. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Come on. We’ll get both of you to the hospital. Everything will be fine, Andi. I promise,” he whispers and kisses the top of my hand. Then he gently helps me to my feet.
I sure hope he’s right.
But then I feel it.
A trickle.
Not a lot, but a little.
Please, God. No.
“Jackson!” I cry out as I frantically haul my dress up
and feel between my legs.
When I pull my hand back out, I see blood. Jackson’s face turns ghost white.
And I pass out.
Beeping.
Over and over again in a periodic rhythm.
It would almost be soothing if worry didn’t instantly consume me.
My eyes are heavier than they’ve ever been, but I somehow pry them open.
“Hello, Andi. I’m Sharon, your nurse. How are you feeling? Would you like something to drink?” she asks calmly with sympathy in her eyes. I instantly hate her.
“What happened?” I croak. “Is my baby okay? Where’s my husband?”
The machine beeps wildly as my blood pressure rises.
“Ma’am, calm down. Let me get Dr. Ellis in here to talk to you. Your husband is in the waiting room.”
“My baby?”
“Let me get Dr. Ellis.”
Before I can scream at her for ignoring my question, she rushes off. My hand shakes as I slide it to my belly—my very empty belly.
Please, God, let Thomas be okay.
When I see a somber Dr. Ellis round the corner with a red, teary-eyed Jackson in tow, I lose it.
“No! Go away!” I scream at him.
Dr. Ellis shakes his head sadly at me, and Jackson runs past him and over to me.
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Jackson cries as he attempts to hug me, but I won’t let him touch me.
“No! Get away from me! Don’t say it, you son of a bitch! Don’t say it!” I wail as I slap the shit out of him.
He grabs hold of my wrists and keeps them still. “Andi, stop. I’m sorry, but Thomas didn’t make it,” he tells me firmly through his tears.
I hate him.
My chest rips in half. The ache is so severe that I cry out in pain. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I can do is cry so hard that my head feels like it will explode. I can’t take this.
“Andi,” Jackson murmurs as he pulls me against him.
I can’t talk to him. I can’t think.
Thomas.
Poor sweet Thomas.
“Where is he?” I suddenly demand through my hysterics. “I want to hold my baby!”
Jackson pulls away from me and looks at Dr. Ellis, who nods.
“Andi, we’re going to give you something to calm you down and we’ll bring him in here. The nurses are cleaning him up,” Dr. Ellis says softly before leaving the room in haste.
I don’t want to calm down. I just want to see my goddamned baby!
Sharon hurries back in and inserts a needle into my IV before I can even question what it is. Jackson tries to hold my hand, but I slap it away. I can’t look at him right now. He has his backup baby. My baby is gone.
After what seems like an eternity of silence—aside from the beeps of the machine—I hear Dr. Ellis clear his throat at his arrival. He pushes a cart with a tiny, swaddled bundle inside into the room.
My Thomas.
I feel more relaxed, but the anguish still threatens to tear apart my being.
“Give him to me,” I bark at Dr. Ellis.
He nods and picks the bundle up. “Take as much time as you need.”
Damn right I’ll take as much time as I need. He’s my damn baby.
When Dr. Ellis gently transfers him into my arms, a tortured sob rings out. My sorrow fills the room as I look down at the tiny face of my boy. My Thomas.
“You came too soon,” I whimper as my lips wobble. Bringing my face close to his, I inhale the scent of my baby and kiss his little head. “I love you, Thomas.”
A garbled cry from Jackson startles me, but I push it away as I study each feature of my son. His hair is dark, just like Jackson’s. My God, he’s so tiny. One of my tears splashes on his face and I quickly swipe it away with my thumb.
Jackson reaches over and tentatively strokes our son’s forehead with his finger. “I’m sorry, Andi. He’s perfect.”
I nod because he is perfect. I’ll get him the most beautiful casket and bury him in the blanket Trish knitted for him. Every day, I’ll visit him at his grave.
My perfect Thomas.
Jackson’s phone rings and he breaks away from us to answer it. His voice is hushed as he quietly speaks to someone. I don’t pay attention though. All I care about is my sweet Thomas.
My eyes burn and my chest aches. With each breath, I feel slumber trying to steal me away from my baby. Desperately, I fight to stay awake. What did that damn nurse give me?
After his phone call, Jackson rejoins us. He looks haggard and stressed to the max. I want to comfort him, but I have nothing left to give right now. Instead, my sleepy eyes find their way back to my precious little angel.
Baby number eight. My Thomas.
“I’m so sleepy, but I can’t let go of him.”
Jackson’s lips press into a firm line, and he looks like he hates himself for what he’s about to say. I want to tell him to not say it, but he blurts it out before I can stop him.
“The medicine is kicking in, Andi. Tell him goodbye. They’ll need to take him to the funeral home, and I’m not sure how long you’ll sleep for. Now is your chance to tell him goodbye.”
I shake my head, but my eyes droop against my will. After dragging my eyes over to Thomas again, I stare at him, memorizing each one of his tiny features. Over and over again, I press loving kisses to my son’s face. I smell him. I hug him. I sing to him. I cry over him.
When my head falls forward, I realize I’m losing the battle.
It’s time.
Our final goodbye.
“I love you, baby boy.”
And that is the last time I hold my sweet Thomas.
“Son, I’m so sorry,” Mom sobs when I reenter the waiting room.
After watching Andi for a good half hour while she slept holding our sweet son, I finally gave him back to the nurse. And now—now, I can’t stop fucking crying.
This will end Andi. Hell, it’s nearly ending me. But Andi? Andi can’t take this.
I feel my mother’s warm, comforting arms hug me, and very soon after, I feel the strong ones of my brother as we all cry together. There are other voices in the waiting room—voices I recognize—but I can’t be bothered to see who all came to visit.
“What are we going to do?” I huff and try my damnedest to get the tears to stop.
Mom pulls away and looks into my eyes. Hers are pink and swollen. “Jackie, you’re going to keep going. It’s all that you can do. Not to mention, there’s another baby in the nursery right now who needs his daddy.”
Tyler.
God, I want to throw up.
Andi will resent him. I can feel it all the way down to my toes. How will I find a way to love Tyler when all I can do is grieve the loss of Thomas? It was so fucking stupid to have gone along with this adoption.
“Mom, I don’t know if I can do it,” I murmur.
She shakes her head and her voice becomes an angry growl. “Too damn bad, Jackson Compton. Tyler is every bit your son as Thomas is. He needs his father. By law, he’s your son now, and I won’t sit here and watch you deny him. It’s not right, Jackie.”
Anger swells in my chest. “I can’t do it!” I roar as I jerk away from her and Jordan’s grasp.
Mom doesn’t let me get away that easily though. “You can and you will. That’s enough, Jackson. Get in there. Now.”
Feeling damn sorry for myself, I storm away from them and back through the double doors. This time, I go the opposite direction of Andi even though my heart calls to be with her. I find a nurses’ station and ding the bell twenty or more annoying times before an agitated nurse rounds the corner. When she sees my face, though, she softens her features.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to see Tyler . . . Tyler Compton.”
After she verifies my identification against the hospital records that indicate that I’m the father, she places a security bracelet on my wrist.
“Come on. I’ll take you to a private visiting area. Someone wi
ll bring in Tyler shortly. And, sir, I’m sorry about the loss of your other baby,” she says quietly as she guides me over to the room.
Clearly, word of Andi and Thomas has spread through the ward.
I wait for what seems like an eternity before the door opens and a smiling, older nurse wheels in a cart. This bundle is much bigger than the bundle I held earlier. This bundle is moving. This bundle is crying.
“Shh, Daddy’s here, little one,” the nurse coos as she lifts him from the bed.
Bile rises in my throat, and I almost can’t stomach the idea of holding this baby. But the nurse doesn’t give me a choice. She bends over to reach me from my seated position on the small couch and deposits him into my arms.
Blue little eyes stop crying and look up at me.
My Tyler.
His presence shouldn’t comfort me. But it does.
His sweet features shouldn’t draw me in. But they do.
His little soul shouldn’t be able to instantly wrap itself to my soul. But it does.
I realize I’m crying again, and I feel like a fool. He’s just so damn beautiful.
“Hey there, little guy. I’m your daddy,” I whisper as I stroke his forehead with my thumb. The skin there is so soft. So warm.
An ache in my heart for Thomas hits me so hard that I shudder. The loss of my other son is still a bleeding wound. But Tyler, with his tiny lips and miniature nose, is desperately handing me a bandage, silently begging me to let him fix it.
And he will. I know this without a shadow of a doubt. This boy, Tyler, was sent to us. Baby number nine. He’s very much ours just as much as any of the other babies were. God sent him to us to heal our broken hearts. I can see that plain as day.
My beautiful, sweet, broken Andi will need some convincing though.
“Now, Tyler, you need to listen to Daddy, okay?” I question through my tears.
His wide eyes inspect my features. His body reacts to my voice. My boy is quiet—as if he truly is listening to what I have to say.
“Your mommy is very sad. Your brother Thomas had to go be an angel. Here’s where I’m going to need your help, little buddy. I need you to be strong for Mommy. Mommy might say things at first that she doesn’t mean. She still loves you, but she’s so very sad. Mommy needs us to be there for her no matter what. Can you do that, Tyler? For Daddy?”