A few doors down, Isabel stood in the hallway, looking down at her phone.
She glanced up when I exited. "You okay?"
I shook my head.
Isabel held her hand out, and I took it. We walked back to our room like that, and by the time I curled up in bed, she'd booked my tickets home with her in three days time.
I didn't cry myself to sleep, but I curled a hand around my stomach and promised my little peach we'd be okay. All of us.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lia
I did okay packing up my things. No tears were shed as I packed the brand new suitcase I'd purchased to accommodate the new items I'd purchased the past few months. Even my Shepperton hoodie and winter hat made it into the suitcase with dry eyes, which I was pretty ecstatic about. Isabel helped some, but I also forced her to do a few of the touristy day tours she'd booked.
My paper, once it was polished and printed and bound into a hardcover binder, had been delivered to Atwood's office earlier in the week, as well as via email. The beautiful thing about the way we'd structured my semester cohort with her was the flexibility in my schedule. My flat was empty and clean, Isabel gone early from her Oxford B&B to do a day in Bournemouth. Originally, I'd planned to go with her, but Atwood had availability in her schedule and emailed me a cryptically short message that had my stomach twirling with nerves that she hated my paper and I'd end this entire semester with no credit.
When I knocked on her office door, I felt the first stirrings of emotion that I wouldn't be doing it again.
"Come in," she called.
Peeking around the corner, I gave her a tentative smile. "Ready for me?"
Professor Atwood watched me over the edge of her glasses, and I felt the weight of it like a wool cloak, something that in the right situation could be warm and wonderful. Or hot and oppressive.
I took my usual seat and saw my bound paper on her desk, next to her ever-present teacup. "Well, you didn't burn it. That's a good sign."
She smiled softly. "No, definitely not."
Nodding, a sigh escaped my lips in relief.
Atwood twirled an expensive-looking pen in her hands, briefly tapping it against her desk before she spoke again. "Your final product was quite lovely, Lia. I'm proud of you."
"Thank you." I exhaled. "I was worried you'd hate the change I took with the end."
She shook her head. "On the contrary, I thought it was a wonderful shift in perspective and shows the understandable change you've undergone in your time here."
"It felt right, I guess."
Atwood picked up the binder, flipping to the back. "This is the part that I highlighted. Discontent is a powerful motivator for change and a fuel of ingenuity, but only when it's coupled with an unwavering sense of self. When applied through a lens of the past, the indomitable spirit of the independent female is wonderfully subversive, a concept that only thrived in secret, printed on words claimed by male monikers. But when that concept is viewed in light of the present, with a clear-eyed glance at the future, we find Brontë's words equally applicable. Not only that, but their intelligence, her own discontent, provides the reader with a timeless benchmark for how to apply change in their own life, even when choices seem few."
My face felt warm at her smile when she set the paper back down.
"I'm quite proud of you, you know," she said.
"Thank you." I laughed. "I swear, I'll say something else at some point."
"It will be incredibly easy to email your advisor at the University of Washington with a rave review and to heartily sign off your credit for this semester."
My eyes welled up. "I'm so appreciative of everything I learned from you."
Atwood waved that off. "That's the beauty of teaching upper-level students. You don't need as much teaching; you need guidance to see the information you already know at a deeper level. Flesh out the layers of what's already up there," she said as she tapped her temple. "I don't know if you've given much thought to what you'll do when you finish, but I think you'd make a marvelous teacher, Lia."
"Really?"
"Really." She took a sip of tea, carefully set the cup back down. "You have the energy students would respond to. Give it some thought as you do your last couple of classes. Whenever you get back to them." She looked pointedly at my stomach.
"I should be able to finish the last two classes during the spring semester," I told her. "I'm not due until early June."
"I'm happy to hear that." She stood. "Is it inappropriate to ask for a hug before you go?"
I shook my head, getting up and walking easily into her embrace. She patted me on the back, brisk and firm. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright, but her smile shaky.
"Off you go. If I get weepy over every student that came through this office, I believe they'd revoke my tenure."
"Thank you for everything." I held my hands out, then let them drop by my sides. "This whole experience ... I'll never forget it. I could never repay you for the chance you gave me."
"Catherine is a lovely name for a girl," she said with a raised eyebrow.
I laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."
With a small wave as I left her office, I walked back to my flat from her office for the last time.
I'd never gotten a strong sense one way or the other whether I was pregnant with a boy or a girl, and as I took my time studying the buildings I'd gotten used to seeing, I started thinking about names.
Fourteen weeks in, and I found myself smiling at the thought of a little girl named after an English professor, despite how hard it was to acknowledge that I'd be doing things like that without Jude once I was home.
My phone had been quiet since I left his hotel room in London, which I expected, especially knowing he was playing regular matches, plus additional midweek games for various European cups that I still didn't really understand.
The distance between us was something I'd have to get used to. He said we'd talk once a week, and that was smart, but it might take me a while not to think about him as often in all those quiet days in the middle.
I found myself, as I did the final sweep of my flat and left the key with the building manager, making peace with the fact that it simply would've been too easy of a story if we'd ridden off into the sunset.
"Think about it," I told Isabel the next day as we settled into our seats on the first leg of travel. "This is the connection I needed to make."
She stretched her arms over her head and groaned. "I'm thinking ..."
"I avoided all this stuff, right? I avoided discussions and questions and worries because it felt easier, and I didn't want to face all the things that freaked me the hell out about becoming a mom. But what I needed was the discontent, right? It's like I put in my paper, and it's what Atwood was trying to get me to understand, about fixating on the past as a way to avoid facing the future. I needed the fuel to change. Getting pregnant wasn't a choice I made, but it was what I needed to change."
Isabel grinned. "Look at you, making big girl realizations."
"You do it too. The fixating thing."
Her mouth fell open. "I do not."
"Oh, please." I hooked my neck pillow over my shoulders and closed my eyes while people filed past us into their seats for the nine-hour flight to the East Coast. "You absolutely do, but that's not the point."
When she grumbled something under her breath, I ignored her.
"Remember when Claire and I were in like fifth grade, and we had to take something to school from our parents’ jobs?"
Isabel burst out laughing. "Like I could forget. You almost got suspended."
Glancing at her through tiny slits in my eyes, I tried not to smile. "I didn't almost get suspended."
"You took a poster-size picture of Paige's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover to a fifth-grade classroom. She was topless, Claire."
"And do you remember what Logan said to the principal when he came to pick me up that day?"
Isabel sighed. "Doe
s this have a point?"
"Yes. Logan said, I hope you're not shaming my wife for what she does for a living or Lia for being proud of her for it because she's teaching an entire generation of girls that you can be beautiful and smart and sexy and respected, and none of those things cancel the other out."
Iz smiled. "Of course, he did."
"The radical and subversive celebration of the indomitable independent female spirit!" I shouted.
She widened her eyes when people turned to gawk at my outburst. "What the hell are you talking about?" she whisper-hissed.
I started laughing at her expression and couldn't stop as the flight attendants made their announcements, and the plane took off. Like when you're in church and you know whatever the thing is, it's not actually that funny, you just know you shouldn't be laughing. The entire time, Isabel was regarding me warily, like maybe she should've sat somewhere else.
When I finally got my giggles under control, I was wiping tears from the corners of my eyes.
"Yeah," Isabel drawled. "I wish Claire was here right now because you've lost your friggin’ mind, Lee."
I took a deep, cleansing breath and stared at the ceiling of the plane. "I think maybe I have too, Isabel."
She handed me a water bottle from the side of my backpack, stuffed safely underneath the seat in front of me. After I took a sip, I handed it back to her.
It took a couple more minutes for my thoughts to fully form. But when they did, I didn't feel much like laughing.
"When we get to Seattle in a hundred hours," I said quietly, "we will be greeted by a veritable army."
"True."
"But I don't think, until this week, I really ever thought through that I'd be a single mom. Independence is a pretty concept, a topic for speeches and posts and flower quotes, but the truth of truly doing something on your own is ... not always so pretty. It means long days and nights, of facing a lot of battles on your own. Yes, I will have so much help, but in the middle of the night, when I haven't slept well in weeks, I can't roll over and tell Jude to take that feeding or rock the baby to sleep because I'm exhausted." I exhaled slowly. "I can do it. And I will do it. But it's not a fun truth to face, and that's not always something I'm very good at."
Isabel hummed. "Are any of us good at that, though? I think you need to give yourself a little grace, Lee. What you're going through is really fucking tough. And it's understandable that this part—the closing of this door—is bringing up a lot."
The closing of the door. With Jude.
"I still miss him," I said quietly. "And I'm a little annoyed with myself about it."
"Be nice to my sister," Isabel insisted. "She got boinked by a hot footballer with an accent, resulting in a child that will probably be so genetically blessed that all who gaze upon it will turn into a walking happy sigh emoji."
I laughed even as I struggled not to go all weepy again. Pregnancy hormones were so weird. "You're right."
Isabel leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "I'm always right. It's my best quality."
I leaned my head on her shoulder with a smile and tried not to think about the growing ocean of space between me and Jude.
I tried not to think about what it would be like when I talked to him next.
I tried not to think about when I'd see him next, probably waddling around like a giant, puffy-ankled mess.
And as we watched movie after movie after movie, took more naps than I thought capable of in one long day of travel, I tried not to think about how long it would take me not to miss him.
When the plane touched down at Sea-Tac, and I powered my phone back up, I felt my heart skip a beat at the sight of his name.
Jude: Let me know when you've made it home safely. Precious cargo and all.
"What an ass," I whispered as my eyes welled up. He was not going to make any of it easy, and he couldn't even help it. He was sweet and thoughtful and stupid and sorta damaged, and I wanted to hug him as I waited to get out of my seat. I liked it better when I was trying not to think about it. When I was thinking about the army of people about to greet us with screams and tears, and oh, my word, they were going to be so obnoxious, and I couldn't wait.
But there I was, staring at his text, feeling my eighty-fourth emotion for the day. And a long day it had been.
Isabel helped me stand and kept a tight grip on my hand as we got off the plane and made our way down to where they'd be waiting.
I saw the balloons first. Isabel shot me a grin.
"It's gonna be so bad," she said with utter and obvious glee.
Everything I'd worried about, everything I'd been sad about, everything I'd been trying to hold in poured out of my stupid, pregnant eyeballs as I saw the Welcome Home Lia and Baby sign next. The screams and squeals started as soon as Claire and I made eye contact, and by that point, I was openly weeping.
She broke away from the group and reached me in a few long strides, about knocking me over when she flung her arms around me.
"You're home. Oh, you're home," she cried into my shoulder. My heart felt complete like it hadn't since the day I left. "We're having a baby!"
I couldn't even talk. I made no sense. Whatever words tried to come out of my mouth for the next few minutes were incoherent babbling and snot.
But they passed me around all the same. First Molly, who cupped my face and told me I was gorgeous. Emmett clung to my waist and informed me he'd grown two inches since I left.
Paige came next, tears coursing down her face (which did not go splotchy when she cried). "I hope you're okay with me hugging you a thousand times for the next two days."
"Y-Yes, please," I hiccupped, holding her so tight that my arms ached. "I missed you guys so much."
"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered. "We missed you too."
Paige pulled back and slid a motherly hand over my hair. "I think your brother has waited patiently enough, huh?"
I nodded, wiping super attractive ugly-cry snot off my face with the back of my hand and saw Logan behind us, his hands jammed tight in the pockets of his dark jeans, and his eyes suspiciously bright.
When Paige let me go, he looked at my stomach, and his jaw clenched. Then he held his arms open. "Come 'ere, kid," he said in a rough, uneven voice.
He folded me into his arms, and I left about a gallon of everything in that hug. All the fear, the disappointment, and heartache went onto my brother's shoulders. Someone rubbed my back, but I wasn't sure who. I didn't care.
"It'll be okay," he whispered into my ear, tightening his hold on me. My big brother could hold up the entire world with those arms, and if I'd ever doubted it, I didn't doubt it now. "You're going to be the best mom, Lia, and that kid is already so loved."
I heard sniffling from behind me.
Or maybe that was just me.
I was home. And that was all that mattered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lia
"But it doesn't make sense," Emmett said, staring at the fruit basket.
I grinned at Paige, then finished my bite of oatmeal. "What doesn't?"
"The whole fruit thing." He held up an apple and a banana. "How can the baby be compared to these two incredibly different fruits and still have it make sense. One is a sphere, and one is oblong."
My eyebrows popped up. "Mighty big word for a nine-year-old."
"We do have to learn 3D shapes, Lia. I'm almost ten."
Paige snorted, holding out his backpack once she had his lunch finished. "Does that mean you're going to start paying rent soon?"
"You're changing the subject." He pointed at my stomach. "You're telling me that right now it's a ..."
"Sweet potato," I supplied helpfully. "I felt a hiccup yesterday too."
Paige gasped. "You did? When?"
"Last night." I rubbed my bump. "Super weird."
Emmett ignored Paige's oohing and aahing. "And in a few weeks, it's going to be a carrot, Lia." He held out his hands. "A frickin’ carrot."
"You're right."
I sighed. "It doesn't make sense."
"Thank you." He grabbed the backpack from Paige and hugged her around the waist. "Do I need my coat today?"
She pointed at the windows overlooking the backyard. "Do you see the snow outside? It's January, bro."
"Is that a yes?"
I laughed into my last bite of oatmeal. Paige walked to the mudroom and shoved his winter coat over his giggling face.
"That's a yes. I don't need your school sending your ass back home because I'm an inept parent." She yanked a winter hat over his head once his coat was over his arms. "Especially since I'm just around the corner from being a non-grandma grandma," she cried.
I shook my head while Emmett dissolved into laughter at her mock-crying. Paige was having an identity crisis over what her “grandparent name” was going to be, as she'd unilaterally dismissed the actual label of Grandma.
"Language," I said.
She blinked. "What did I say?"
"Ass," Emmett answered, pushing the winter hat up his forehead.
"That hardly counts," said Paige.
The school bus driver honked her horn from the front of the house, and Emmett shouted his goodbyes to us, then disappeared.
"I frickin’ love that kid," she said, peeking out the windows by the front door as the bus drove off.
"Me too." I picked up the apple he'd discarded and started slicing it up. My new rule was one piece of fruit for every sweet or carb I wanted to shove in my face.
"What's on the calendar today?" Paige asked.
"I have some reading to do. I've slacked off this week since I finally started organizing all that stuff from Christmas."
"All that stuff from Christmas," she mused happily. "Your face was priceless."
The apple was crisp and sweet and crunchy, and I finished swallowing before I answered. "I'm going to have to move out simply because there's not enough room in the house for me, little Sweet Potato, and all the shit you're buying for it."
Her face shuttered, and I had a momentary pang of regret for bringing it up again. But I made a promise to myself the first week home from England. No more avoiding the hard. It was not allowed.
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