by C. M. Albert
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brighton
“GO ON, HONEY,” Mom said, kissing me on the cheek. “Olivia needs you.”
Guilt stabbed at my heart. It was Christmas, and my family had come to town for me. No, I thought. They’d come to town for us. For our wedding. They’d embraced Ryan and Olivia and our unusual relationship, showing us more grace and dignity than I ever imagined possible in such a short amount of time. Paige must’ve had something to do with smoothing things over ahead of time because she’d known about us the longest and had busted my chops the most when I first told her. Since then, she’d come around. She even befriended Olivia. The two were scheming ways they might be able to work together in the future. And by scheming, I mean Paige had all kinds of creative ideas swirling around in her mind and was not so subtly hinting at how amazing a collaboration could be.
“Are you sure? I feel terrible. And Ryan’s with her, so she’s not really alone,” I said, my heart torn as I thought of Olivia struggling and me not being there for her. How could I sit around the Christmas table and make small talk while Olivia was mourning the loss of Laelynn?
My mother put her hand on my shoulder and smiled sympathetically. “But you’re not there. And if anything is clear to me after these last few days, it’s that you belong with her. She’s hurting right now, but you not being there with her is causing you to hurt too. I can see it in your eyes, sweetie.”
“I love her, Mom. More than I’ve ever loved a woman.”
“I know,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “Now, don’t worry about us. We have a full table, lots of good food, and an amazing library to keep us busy. Now that you’re married, you’re going to learn fast that Olivia and Ryan are now your family. It doesn’t mean that we aren’t, or that we won’t be here for you. But they’re your people. And when your baby is born, it’s just going to become more so. Nothing should be more important than your family now. Not even us. It’s a rite of passage, Brighton. And I couldn’t think of a better Christmas gift than to know how much love you have surrounding you. Don’t ever let it go.”
I was too choked up to speak, so I pulled my mom in with one arm and hugged her close. “Thanks, Mom. Tell everyone I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Now go.”
WE SPENT OUR first Christmas together talking long into the night about our lost babies. We imagined what they would be like if they were still with us. Sam would be well into elementary school by now. I wondered if he would like engineering and building like me. Would he have my dirty blond hair, or his mother’s raven locks? I had an image in my mind of what Sam would look like, since I got to hold him after Caroline.
For as long I lived, I would never be able to erase the memory of feeling helpless as I glanced down at my newborn son, knowing I couldn’t save him. Parents are supposed to protect their children. Yet there he was, small and perfect in my arms—only he wasn’t wiggling or crying like he should have been. Or looking up at me with the blue eyes most babies are born with.
He wasn’t there with me at all. I was left holding what could have been, a blanket full of broken dreams and love that I had no idea how to piece back together.
I tried to be there for Caroline afterward, but it soon became clear that we’d only stayed together for Sam. Instead of someone to lean on, I was left driftless in my grief. My sister Becca was the one who talked me into counseling, and it was what saved my life. I’d had the dark days Olivia was experiencing before I met her. I knew a little of what it was like to mourn what would never be. But I hadn’t carried Sam in my body. My body wasn’t responsible for giving him life. And I’d never know the miracles of pregnancy that only a mother can feel while growing a miniature human in her body.
So, I listened while Olivia shared her grief. I held her in my arms when she told me about visiting Laelynn’s graveside. And I cried with them both when they talked about her funeral and how hard it was to walk away when it was over, knowing their baby was laying there alone, beneath the freshly turned earth.
Nothing can prepare a heart for that kind of grief.
Even though I’d gone through something similar, hearing their story gave me more perspective around their individual grief. You never value life more fully than you do when you realize how suddenly it can be snatched away.
We made a pact that night, the three of us. That no matter what happened—with our baby, or in our lives—we would be there for one another. To hold each other up if we broke, to love one another back from the brink. It wasn’t something any of us wanted to think about, but it was our reality, based on shared experiences.
When we were all talked out, and no tears were left to cry, we climbed the stairs to go to bed. Then we did what came naturally to us—we leaned on each other. We made love well into the early morning hours, making promises and commitments with our bodies.
If Christmas Eve was mine and Olivia’s wedding night, this had been mine and Ryan’s. Finally, the three of us felt truly united in matrimony, tethered by our hearts, and rooted in a love so strong I knew nothing could ever shake it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Olivia
“YOU BOUGHT HER a freaking minivan for Christmas?” Brighton sputtered to Ryan as we stepped into the frigid morning air.
“Oh, did I forget to mention it?” I teased, blowing him a kiss. I was letting Brighton drive today because he had a surprise for us. We had less than a week left till Ryan’s classes resumed, and Brighton wanted to take us on what he called a “babymoon”—which he explained was like a mini-honeymoon and a last romantic trip rolled into one before the baby came.
Even though we still had lots left to do to prepare for Baby T’s arrival, it was better than sitting around at home. I’d had more than my fair share of that over the last six months. It felt nice to get away and take road trips again. It was something Ryan and I used to love doing together. Though, our road trips with Brighton were exponentially more interesting, with him having come from a large family and knowing from experience how to keep long trips fun.
Brighton’s youngest sister, Kendra, agreed to stay at his house for a few more days while we took our trip, which meant Stitch had a closer, more familiar place to stay than Regina’s farm. Neither Ryan nor I had a clue where we were going, but that was half the fun.
“What’s one of the best dates you’ve ever been on, or taken someone on?” Brighton asked as we drove. We often played games like “what if” or twenty questions. It passed the time and helped us get to know each other even better. “If yours is with each other, you have to name separate ones if your first pick is already taken.”
“Hmm,” said Ryan, considering. I was in the front with Brighton, and Ryan was in the second row behind me. I pulled down my visor so I could see him in the little mirror. It wasn’t quite as easy to twist anymore now that I was nearing the end of my second trimester.
“For me, I’d have to say it was the time I rented out a movie theater for a private prescreening of The Hunger Games. We had the whole theater to ourselves. They even let us go behind the counter and taught us how to use the popcorn machine. We made a huge tub of popcorn, got to pick out some candy, and watched the movie before anyone else. It was pretty cool. When we were done, we went and had dinner in the lobby. I had them set up a romantic table for two, complete with candles and Liv’s favorite flowers.”
I swallowed, and Brighton squeezed my hand. Peonies had been my favorite flowers for years. It was mostly because Ryan always gave them to me, and they came with a lot of love. One day, when Brighton and I were struggling with our growing feelings for one another at the beginning of all this, he admitted he loved me. It was a day that was both my wreckage and my salvation, because I loved him, too. But I would never betray my marriage to Ryan or risk breaking Brighton’s heart any worse by admitting my feelings or making promises I couldn’t keep. My heart had ached to say the words back, but I simply couldn’t. So, I did the next best thing. I tol
d Brighton how I loved tulips more than anything else, even though I also loved peonies. And it killed me that I couldn’t have them planted all around me so I could enjoy them every single day. He understood exactly what my heart was saying, even though I didn’t dare come right out and say it.
The next week, he planted hundreds and hundreds of plum-colored tulips all around the inside border of our fence. It was a visual explosion of his love for me, and something I would never forget. Now, when I thought of my favorite flower, it was always the tulips of my heart.
Brighton was laughing at some part of Ryan’s recount of our date, pulling me from my memories. “You’re up next,” he said.
“Well . . . it was kinda hard to top that date, for sure.”
“I didn’t realize you liked movies like The Hunger Games,” Brighton said. “We need to talk movies next.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ryan piped in from the back seat. “Olivia’s never met a young adult post-apocalyptic or dystopian movie she didn’t like. Isn’t that right, Livy?”
I laughed. “He has a point.”
“Interesting,” Brighton said. “And here I thought I really knew you.”
I smacked his arm playfully. “Moving on to my best date. I guess Ryan setting up a threesome doesn’t count?”
The guys burst out laughing.
“I mean . . .” I scrolled through all the best, most romantic memories I had with Ryan over the years. There had been so many it was hard to choose. “Okay. I’ve got one. When Ryan and I first started living together, he made me get up early one morning—like at the butt crack of dawn. I’m not a morning person, but he promised it would be worth it. He ended up driving me to this nearly empty pasture in the middle of nowhere. The sun was coming up, and we saw the most breathtaking sunrise. All these brilliant pinks and purples and dusky blues. Then we went around the back of this barn. I had no clue where we were going. That’s when I saw this giant hot air balloon lying on its side in the grass. We got to help hold it while this guy and his crew lit the fire and righted the balloon—which is a lot more work than you’d think. I’d never flown in a hot air balloon before, so I was a little intimidated with how small the basket was. But it was breathtaking once we got in the air,” I said dreamily, transported back to that morning.
“Have you ever been in a hot air balloon?” I asked Brighton.
“Can’t say I have. Though it’s a bucket-list item.”
“I hate that term,” said Ryan, laughing.
“How come?” Brighton asked.
“You’re making a list of things to do before you die. I mean—how morbid is that? I’d rather make a carpe diem list or something.”
“It’s pretty much the same thing, isn’t it?” I asked.
He leaned forward between our seats. “Not at all. One’s focusing on the fear of dying, making you feel like you’re running out of time. So, the items become things you think you should do, if you had no time left, rather than the things you want to do, knowing you have this huge, glorious, open life ahead of you. It’s about possibilities, instead of fear.”
“Hmm. A carpe diem list. I like that. We need to make one then,” Brighton said. “One for just the three of us, and one for our family once the baby comes. Let’s carpe the fucking diem out of this beautiful life we’ve been given!”
The rest of the drive flew by with both meaningful conversations, and silly ones. We spent more time than I cared to admit discussing the pros and cons of whether we’d rather walk around for the rest of our lives with two noses or live with no ears. I chose two noses.
I found out that Ryan’s favorite flower was a hydrangea because his grandmother grew them in her yard when he was growing up. And Brighton’s were sunflowers because they never failed to make him happy. Now I understood why he’d bought them for me the first time the three of us were intimate together. We laughed as Brighton recounted his story of standing in the grocery store, stumped over what flowers were best to bring for a threesome. He went with what made him happy.
We were so engrossed in the fun we were having we didn’t notice when Brighton pulled into the main entrance at the Watkins Glen International racetrack. Ryan and I had only been one other time, though admittedly, it was for a beer festival. We camped with a few friends along the boot side of the track and, overall, the weekend was hazy.
“What in the world are we doing here?” Ryan asked. “There aren’t any races going on right now, I don’t think.”
“Nope. You’re right about that,” Brighton said mysteriously. “Come on, let’s go!”
He was jumping around like a kid, and the enthusiasm was contagious. When we approached the main entrance, a nicely dressed older woman greeted us with a golf cart. We all hopped on, even though we had no idea where we were going. She gave us a tour of the track and all the facilities—which were plentiful. According to her, it was voted the best racetrack in North America, and it was one of the original three circuits to host Formula 1 Grand Prix racing.
We still had no clue why we were there, but it was fun getting a private behind-the-scenes look at the track. We took the tunnel through to the infield and made our way to the Tower Suites, where a reserved parking spot was waiting for us. The private facility was the opposite of any experience we’d had at the track before. During race season, corporations rented it out so they could schmooze their clients and watch the races from the luxury of their own suite.
“Yo, Skippy!” Brighton hollered as we neared the two men waiting for us outside the building. There was obviously a friendship there as Skippy grabbed Brighton’s hand and shook it, slapping him on the back in a half-hug greeting. He was tall, wide, and boisterous. “These are my friends, Ryan and Olivia.”
We shook his hand and Brighton continued with the introductions. “Skip here is Becca’s old high-school sweetheart,” he explained. “He manages a bunch of shit at the track.”
He pointed to another man. “And this guy right here is why we’re here today. I want to introduce you to Russell Tierney, the head of the Upstate New York BMW High Performance Driving Academy. He’s going to teach Ryan how to safely drive an M2 around this track.”
“Are you shitting me right now?” Ryan asked.
“Nope,” said Brighton, a contagious grin taking over his face.
“You can just call me Russ,” the man said, shaking Ryan’s hand.
“Holy crap.” Ryan looked back and forth between me and Brighton. “Did you know about this, Liv?”
I shook my head. “Not a clue. You sure this is safe?” I asked Russ.
“I’ve been teaching people to drive racetracks all around the country for the last twenty-five years. Used to race myself a little back in the day. Now I focus on the upstate area exclusively, and Watkins Glen is one of our main tracks. I’ve trained hundreds of people in high-performance driving. He’s in safe hands. I won’t just throw him on the track and say good luck.”
“What do you do?” I pressed.
“I’m taking Ryan over to another building, where I’ll teach him everything he needs to know about high-performance racing, and things he specifically needs to know about driving the M2 on this course. A helmet’s required, and I have one for him, so no worries there.” Russ turned to face Ryan. “The best way to learn after that is by experience. I’ll be driving in front of you in a lead car so you know what turns are coming up and can pace easier. After you’re comfortable driving the course, we’ll pick up some speed until you’re ready to let ’er loose on the back straight.”
“Sounds amazing. Aren’t you driving too?” Ryan asked Brighton. “I’m guessing Livy shouldn’t.”
“Nah. I’ve driven with Russ more times than I can count,” Brighton explained. “While you’re in driving school, Liv and I will grab a bite to eat in the Tower Suites. You guys will meet us back here for your lunch before you start driving. We’ll watch you from up here. If it gets warmer later, we can even head to the rooftop so we can catch you on the back straight,
too. That’s the fun part.”
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” Ryan said. I could tell he wanted to say more, but he held back in front of our company.
“Carpe diem, right?”
Ryan grinned. “Hell yeah. All right, Russ. Let’s get started.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss before heading off with the driving expert.
Meanwhile, Skip opened the door to the Tower Suites, and we followed him to the viewing room Brighton reserved just for us.
“How far along are you, darling?” Skip asked.
I nearly stumbled. It was the first time anyone outside of our little enclave noticed I was pregnant. I’d done a good job hiding it from my clients so far, and I wasn’t on social media much anymore. I had no one else to tell.
“Just about six months,” I said, rounding up.
“Well, congratulations. Got four myself. All under eight. Wife started popping ’em out right after college. They’re fun. Just expensive as fuck. Noisy, too. People don’t believe me when I tell them I come to work to get a little peace and quiet.”
I laughed. It was hard not to relax around Skip.
“So, you know Becca? How’s she doing these days, Brighton? She still with that douche bag?”
“You mean her husband?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Happier than ever. Sorry.”
“No harm, no foul. I screwed up.” Skip turned to me. “Don’t ever let the right one get away. That was my lesson in life.”
“I’m sure your wife made up for it,” I said gently.
“She’s a right pain in my ass, but I do love her.”
I laughed, but the sound died on my lips when Skip opened the door to the private suite. It was bigger than I expected, and a huge window afforded us an amazing view of the racetrack. Several tables were already set up and covered with a lavish Italian spread typical of upstate New York. There was also a huge tin bucket filled with ice and a vast array of cold drinks and freshly chopped fruit in small plastic cups. My favorite part, though, was the separate table full of more sweets than I could count, including my not-so-secret weakness—Half Moon Cookies.
