by C. M. Albert
I put my ear to her belly and started singing Michael Bublé’s cover of the song we’d heard him play in person earlier. “Birds flying high, you know how I feel . . .”
Brighton swung around, resting his head on the side of Olivia’s stomach. “It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life . . .”
Olivia shimmied between us. “Mmm, and I feel so good,” she finished sweetly.
I got up, turned on my Bublé playlist from my phone, and turned off the lights in our hotel room. Then I joined Brighton and Liv in bed and helped them both know just how little I cared about the Kimber situation, and just how good my new little family really made me feel.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Olivia
THE NEXT TWO months flew by fast. I was enjoying getting back into the swing of things with my work, and Live Well Interiors was doing better than ever. Ryan had studiously avoided Kimber since returning home. Not without her trying, though. Ryan said he didn’t care if anyone found out, but I had my reservations. It’s one thing if it was just us to consider. But it was a small town, and I was already protective of Baby T.
One weekend, about five weeks before our expected due date, Brighton and Ryan decided it was finally time to decorate the nursery. Fear had held me back from decorating it sooner. Even though I knew it would make things easier if it was done before the baby’s arrival, it became all too real when we moved out the few items we’d stored in the near-empty room. All the loss I’d experienced with Laelynn rushed back. I thought it would paralyze me, but I felt oddly at peace. Maybe because I was no longer so empty inside. I’d made room for love this past year, even after unspeakable grief. It was time to make room for our new daughter, too. She deserved that.
Dr. Chavez moved me to every-two-weeks visits a month ago and every appointment was a blessing because it made me feel that much more confident in her safe arrival. I was finally letting myself feel hope. And Brighton was living with us all the time now. He and Ryan were getting even closer, and the two often teamed up to make sure I wasn’t overdoing things.
So, I let them install the tall, cottage-inspired chair rail I’d dreamed of using in a nursery someday. They painted it white, and I paired it with the fairest of blush pinks for the walls above. A pale cream rug covered most of the hardwoods, and Ryan already hung the wispy ivory curtains I ordered. Everything I chose was in soft shades of peaceful neutrals, including the club chair that doubled as a gliding rocker and the modern, faux-leather ottoman I found. The pallet made me feel calm and happy when I finally saw how it all came together.
But the pièce de résistance was the modern white crib Brighton handmade for Baby T. I walked over, running my hand over the smooth side rail, my heart heavy with gratitude for this gift of love from father to daughter. Fathers. Ryan had a hand in it, too, creating the custom rails and legs for Brighton’s design. It all worked in perfect harmony.
I turned, overwhelmed with the emotions flooding over me. “You guys . . . this is beyond anything I dreamed of.”
“She deserves it,” Brighton said, looking relieved. “I also made the dresser, the small bookcase, the changing table, and the toy chest. I thought it might be nice to add one to a collection that has happier connotations.”
A tiny woodland bunny in soft beige, blush pink, and cream was hand painted on the toy chest above the opening clasp. I ran my hand over the top of it.
“The inside hinges self-close slowly, so you won’t have to worry about it slamming down on top of her. And Ryan helped with all the detail work. Couldn’t have done it in time without him,” Brighton said, cramming his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Is it everything you wanted?” Ryan asked.
“More,” I breathed out, inspecting all the items I’d ordered but hadn’t seen in person until today. The table next to the rocker was a wooden tree trunk, the bark completely removed and the pale, cream-colored wood inside sanded and soft. A lamp shaped like a bronze rabbit with its tall ears poking through the top of the shade added whimsy without losing design aesthetic.
There was a set of six pictures framed in white that hung rows of three above the changing table. Each frame held a painting of a woodland animal’s face, as if popping up from the bottom of the frame to say hello. They were painted in watercolors and matched the neutrals in the room. “Where did you get these?” I asked. I hadn’t picked them out, but they went perfectly with the nursery.
“Becca painted them as a baby gift. She’s very artistic and wanted to do something special for her new niece.”
Niece. It suddenly dawned on me that because of Brighton, our baby was inheriting a small brood of cousins. She would grow up with even more love surrounding her than I ever thought possible. The idea warmed me. She’d have cousins to play with and spend Christmas with. Goose bumps ran over my arms in a good way.
The last thing my eyes landed on was another print, this one standing on top of the bookcase and resting against the wall. The bookcase already had a few books on its shelves, as well as some baskets for toy storage. Whitewashed bookends spelled out the word LOVE, with LO on one side and the VE on the other. I couldn’t help but smile.
But the print was what drew me closer. It was framed in a soft, natural wood, much like the end table, but a few shades richer. The print had geometric gold lines surrounding a special quote I’d always loved, with delicately painted flowers of all shades, like the ones I’d carried at both weddings. God is within her. She will not fall. Psalm 46:5.
It had been years since I’d been to church, but that didn’t mean that god wasn’t with me every day. I knew that. I also knew I wouldn’t have survived the last few years without that knowledge. Even on my darkest days, when I was fatigued from crying and broken with pain, that tiny seed of buried truth was what held me from splintering completely apart.
“This is beautiful,” I whispered, running my hand over the frame. “Whose idea was this?”
“That was all Ryan. Well, Ryan and Becca. But his doing.”
Ryan crossed the room and folded me into his arms. “This has been a long time coming, Liv. I never wanted you to forget that this baby girl is going to be so loved and so strong. She already is. She’ll be okay. She will not fall. We won’t let her. She has a whole family to catch her.
“Here, I got you this, too. I know you’ve always loved that quote, and I want you to remember that no matter where you are or what you’re going through, it applies to you, too. My girls will be protected, no matter what. This past year has proven that,” Ryan said, holding out a small gold cuff bracelet. The same psalm was engraved on it, bringing tears to my eyes. I put it on my wrist before throwing my arms around Ryan. After the longest, tenderest embrace, I opened one side of our hug and waved for Brighton to join us.
“I was so scared to walk in here,” I admitted. “Afraid it would remind me of everything we lost with Laelynn. It does make me think of her, but it makes me happy, too. And relieved knowing that when we bring our daughter home, she’ll have her own beautiful room waiting for her already.”
“We have one more fun surprise,” Brighton said, heading to the closet. He opened the door with great flourish. Even though it was an old house, the closet was deep and square. It used to be a boring brown wood—one of the few spaces we hadn’t worried about updating until we converted the room to a nursery.
Floating white shelves now lined the three closet walls making a U-shaped bookcase for more toy storage. Behind those, the walls were painted a rich shade of dusty rose, brightening it up. A fluffy, soft-white carpet now covered the closet floor, creating a mini reading nook or special place to hang out. Two rods were installed higher, making room for the baby’s new clothes.
“You can rearrange anything you want. And we can return any of the clothes if you don’t like them. I asked Paige for help. And Ryan and I picked out some together online from stores we don’t have here.”
I fingered through the soft material, and my heart hitched
for the first time. I had to bite back the melancholy that fought for real estate, focusing instead on how lucky I was to have two men who loved our baby this much already. But the tender ache that pinched my heart was there, under all the joy. I knew it always would be. I would never not think of Laelynn. I flipped through the clothes just to see what they’d picked and burst out laughing. At the end was a white onesie that had a tiny blue tutu sewn around the waist that said “Duke” in cursive across the chest. Next to it was a matching one with “Syracuse” and the tutu was a warm tangerine.
“You guys get serious points for this,” I said, turning to face them. “These are great.”
“She can wear the Duke one home from the hospital,” Brighton said.
“And by Duke, he means SU,” Ryan said.
“Or maybe the other cute outfit you have in here, with the tiny sage flowers on it.”
Brighton rolled his eyes and smacked Ryan’s arm. “Of course she’d pick one of Becca’s.”
I lifted my hands in the air as if surrendering. “Switzerland,” I joked. It was best to remain a neutral territory when you had two confident husbands who loved making you happy and outdoing one another.
“I know you wanted to have the baby’s name spelled out over the crib, but since we haven’t agreed on one yet, we’ll let you figure that out after we bring her home.”
“It’s hard with three different opinions,” I joked.
When we were in the city for New Year’s, Ryan, Brighton, and I popped into a local bookstore (because, books). Ryan found two first-edition childrens’ books he wanted to buy for the baby. We also picked up a baby name book, a sleep solution guide, and What to Expect the First Year. On the ride home, we had a heated, good-natured debate over possible names. It helped keep my mind off the whole Kimber situation and passed the long car ride home.
She was always in the back of my mind, though, and I couldn’t help but wonder when she was going to use this to her advantage. I placed my hands over my much larger bump and rubbed. I would do anything to protect this little girl. As days passed, and we got closer to her due date, I became increasingly more aware of our unusual situation and how difficult it was going to be every step of the way as the baby grew older.
More than that, it was unfair—once again—to Brighton. To the outside world, everyone would naturally assume she was Ryan’s daughter. We still didn’t know how to have conversations with her in a couple years when she became confused over who to call Dada, or to explain why she called them both that.
Then there was a more pressing matter. One we continued to disagree on about how to best handle: Who’s name would we list as the father on her birth certificate?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ryan
IT WAS A beautiful Sunday afternoon, the kind that felt almost holy. I woke up to the most beautiful sunrise, and the weather was expected to hit almost fifty degrees—a veritable heatwave for upstate at the beginning of March. I’d been a little fatigued the past two weeks, but I chalked it up to sympathy exhaustion and everything I had on my plate at work. I was taking at least two weeks off when the baby was born, so I was busy getting everything ready for the sub—who was luckily a retired professor I knew who would be able to slip right in and cover for me without a hiccup.
On top of that, Brighton and I decided to babyproof both houses before the baby came, just in case. We might’ve gone a little overboard, as Olivia pointed out that the baby wouldn’t be able to do anything for the first few months—especially not Houdini her way into our toilets. Still . . . better safe than sorry.
But today I felt great. We did what we did most Sunday mornings: brewed coffee, made a big breakfast, and curled up together in the sunroom to read for a bit—Olivia had a new rom-com paperback from one of her favorite indie authors; Brighton liked to read news on his CNN app; and I still enjoyed looking through an actual newspaper, even though I got grief for it.
“What’s on your plate today?” I asked Olivia.
Brighton was taking a shower and getting dressed so he could meet his sister, Becca, at a couple properties she and Joey were considering buying. Since she owned her own event planning company and Joey managed the business side of it, they could work from anywhere. Many of her clients were from all over upstate, and she had connections with just about everyone. We often joked that she and Paige were the Kevin Bacons of our area because everyone we knew could easily be mapped back to one of them in fewer than six degrees.
Now that Brighton was staying, for good, she was also thinking of moving her family here, so our kids could grow up closer to each other. The conversation choked up Liv and me, since Baby T’s only cousins were coming from his side of the family.
We still hadn’t chosen a first name for our little one, but I had an idea I wanted to run by Olivia this morning after Brighton left. Stitch’s ears perked up and he cocked his head, but he stayed by her side. Lately he was glued to her, and we all noticed the change. I hoped he would adjust once the baby came.
Stitch started wagging his tail, and I turned to see Brighton standing in the doorframe, his muscular arms stretched out like a T. My eyes trailed over his biceps to his chest, which strained against his shirt. At least he was wearing one today. I’d never met anyone who liked to go shirtless so much.
“You heading out?” I asked.
“Yeah, but we had a change of plans. I was supposed to meet Becca and Joey at the first property, but he’s staying home with the kids since one of ’em has a low-grade fever. It’ll be easier to drive together now. We might stop somewhere and grab lunch afterward, so don’t wait for me to run.”
“Sorry to hear that. Hope the kids feel better.”
“Thanks. It’ll give Becca and me some quality time, anyway. I rarely see her without Joey or the kids glued to her side.”
Brighton crossed the room and leaned against the arm of my chair. He ran his palm over my upper back, rubbing it as he glanced over at Olivia. “Becca wants to throw you a baby shower, but I told her I didn’t know how you’d feel about that. You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it, okay?”
Olivia visibly paled. She hesitated, but finally said, “That was nice of her. Tell her I’ll think about it. And give her our best. Hey, does she want to join us for dinner? I was thinking of making Ryan’s favorite lasagna.”
“As long as you don’t try to sneak spinach in there again like last time,” I joked. “Lasagna’s no place for greens.”
Brighton chuckled, squeezing my shoulder before he stood up to leave. He leaned down and planted one firmly on my lips first.
“What was that for?”
“Just miss you,” he said.
He’d worked late every night this week on an issue at the new residential community his company, Brighton Design and Build, was constructing in town. It was like his gated community in Watertown with exclusive lakeside access. But a few problems were piling up. He came home exhausted, sometimes crashing in the guestroom so he wouldn’t wake Livy.
Sunday afternoons were normally reserved for hours of lazy lovemaking and a chance for all three of us to connect. We knew once the baby came, it would be harder to have afternoons like this. So, we were bummed when we found out he needed to meet his sister so early. Otherwise, I would’ve dragged his ass upstairs and made love to him till we were all sweaty and breathless. My love for Brighton, separate of Olivia, had only grown deeper since our babymoon. I still couldn’t believe the turnabout since that first day I’d met him—when I mistakenly thought he was a young punk—cocky and too handsome for his own good. Now I knew all the complexities and layers that made Brighton the anomaly that he was.
I stood and wove my hand in his hair, pulling him to me. We stopped just millimeters from one another’s lips and stared into each other’s eyes. We both loved the tension and the precipice right before we kissed—a sacred moment that feels a little taboo—then the freefall that comes from following your heart and giving into your desires, letti
ng your warm lips meet.
With the late morning sun streaming in through the sunroom windows, Brighton’s eyes were an even more beautiful and translucent green than normal. “Goddamn you make it hard to say goodbye.”
“Then don’t,” I said simply.
I could feel his breath warm on my lips and couldn’t wait any longer. I crashed my mouth to his, tightening my grip on his head. My heart rate accelerated, thumping wildly as I opened wider, taking, pulling all I could from this one kiss. I wanted to be seared on his lips while he was with Becca, making it hard to think of anything but coming home to Liv and me. The truth was, I’d missed him this week, too.
Over dinner, I planned on asking him to sell his home and come live with us for good. Now that we knew for sure that Becca was serious about moving here, I wanted to ask him before he left. Maybe, if the properties didn’t pan out, Becca could buy Brighton’s place so they could keep it in the family. Nothing would make Liv happier.
Brighton cupped my ass and growled into my mouth, nipping at my lower lip. He ended the kiss, but we stayed forehead to forehead, our chests rising and falling with exertion and promise.
“Thanks a lot. My sister’s here, and now I have a boner for days,” he growled.
He adjusted his pants, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s your own fault. You should’ve told her a later time.”
“I’ll make up for it when I get back,” he promised, kissing my lips more gently this time. He held the side of my face. My beard was significantly shorter now because I was trying out a new look. His fingers scratched through the scruff and he groaned, adjusting his jeans again.
I laughed, swatting him on the ass as he made his way over to Olivia.
“Screw you, Wells. I’m glad my discomfort gets you off.”
“That’s not exactly what gets me off, Kerrington,” I chaffed. “But I’ll show you what does when you get back.”
