by Nikki Ash
“You’re the father,” my mom says before he can finish his question. “Make sure you take tons of pictures and come get us once you can.” She gives him a hug then walks over to me. “Everything is going to be fine.” She kisses my temple. “I love you, sweet girl.”
With her words, it hits me. I’m about to become a mom. The doctor is going to cut me open and take my baby out of me. My baby, who is in distress.
“Mom,” I cry out. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You’re not,” she says. “Ryan will be there, and as soon as you’re approved for visitors, we’ll come visit. I’m not going anywhere.”
I glance at Ryan, who’s frowning at me, and my heart sinks. “But I’m scared,” I admit, tears stinging my eyes. “I need you.” I know I’m working myself up, but I’m freaking out. What if something’s wrong with the baby? I can’t do this on my own.
“It’s going to be okay,” my mom says, tears welling in her eyes. She gives me another kiss, then looks at Ryan before she leaves. “Take care of our girl, please.” Ryan’s eyes widen, but he nods.
The nurse comes back in with another nurse. “Put those on,” she says to Ryan, pointing at the scrubs. “Nurse Rose is going to walk you to the OR while I wheel Micaela down and get her situated. Once she’s prepped, we’ll let you come in.”
A few minutes later, I’m in a cold room with a blue separator blocking my view of my belly. The doctor walks me through what he’s doing, but I’m not absorbing anything he’s saying, almost positive I’m having a panic attack.
“Hey,” a gravelly voice says. I turn my face slightly and find Ryan’s face only a hairbreadth away from mine. “Breathe, Micaela, you got this.” He takes my hand in his and squeezes it softly. “I’m here with you.”
“I’m really freaking scared,” I say through a sob.
“What do you need from me?” he asks in a voice that reminds me of our time together at the beach house.
“Can you stand and watch? Make sure the baby is okay, and take pictures?”
“I can do that.”
“All right, Dad,” the doctor says. “Get your camera ready.”
Ryan stands and pulls his phone out of his pocket. I can’t see the doctor or anyone else, so my eyes are trained on Ryan, watching his expression.
“And it’s a… boy,” the doctor says.
A boy. I have a baby boy. Ryan and I have a baby boy.
Ryan’s eyes fill with emotion, but he doesn’t take any pictures. And then it hits me. The baby isn’t crying.
“Ryan,” I say nervously. “Why isn’t the baby crying?” My heart is beating out of my chest, and it’s hard to breathe. Something is wrong. On every TV show I’ve ever seen, the baby comes out crying.
I hear the doctor and nurses talking, but it’s hard to make out what they’re saying.
“Ryan…”
“Everything is okay,” Ryan says tightly, his eyes never leaving whatever it is he’s looking at.
“I can’t hear him,” I cry. “He should be crying.”
“It’s okay,” Ryan says softly. “They’re working on him. He’s beautiful… perfect.”
“But he’s not—”
And then I hear it. The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my life. My son crying. Tears drip down Ryan’s face as he holds the phone up and snaps some pictures.
A minute later, a nurse walks over with the bundled up baby. “Here he is,” she says. “Say hello to your baby boy.”
She holds him next to me and I lift my face mask to give him a soft kiss on his cheek. “Is he okay?”
“He was having a little trouble adapting to the world. I’m going to take him to the NICU to get him checked out. Once you’re out of recovery, we’ll take you to see him.” And with those parting words, she whisks my baby away.
“Ryan, go with them, please,” I plead.
“What about you?” he asks, his tone filled with concern and uncertainty.
“I’m fine.” I lock eyes with him. “Go make sure our son is okay, please.”
“Okay.”
I lie, staring at the ceiling while the doctor closes me back up. It feels like hours before I’m finally rolled back to my room. When I get there, Ryan is waiting. I glance around, but there’s no baby.
“Where is he?” I ask, panicking.
“Whoa, calm down. They want him to stay in the NICU so they can monitor him to be on the safe side, but he’s perfect, Micaela. I promise.” Ryan takes my hand in his and brings my knuckles to his lips. “He’s so fucking perfect. He’s eight pounds exactly. Twenty-two inches. He has a full head of curly brown hair. His eyes are a dark blue like mine, but the nurse said they can change… and his lips…” He traces my lips with his finger. “They’re heart-shaped like yours. He’s the perfect combination of us.”
Chills run down my spine when he touches me. I’ve missed Ryan so much. When I was alone, I would imagine what it would be like if things were different. If he wasn’t in the military and in Afghanistan. We would’ve taken the pregnancy test together. He would’ve gathered me into his arms and told me he loved me and couldn’t wait for the baby. We would’ve moved in together and spent months decorating the baby’s nursery.
Ryan pulls his phone out and turns the screen so I can see the pictures he took of our sweet baby boy. My heart swells with a love so strong I can barely breathe. “You got to hold him?” I ask, when he gets to a picture of him holding our son.
“Yeah. Your mom took the picture. She’s with him now.”
“I want to see him.”
“The nurse said you have to wait for the epidural to wear off and then I can wheel you to the NICU.”
“I want to see him now.” I pout, my emotions getting the better of me. “I’m fine.”
“That’s because you’re numb from the epidural,” the nurse says, strolling in. “And once it wears off, you will feel everything. You will be prescribed something so you’re not in pain, but it won’t numb you.”
“I want to see my baby.”
“And you will, but we can’t let you get up yet.”
“Can you bring him here? Aren’t babies supposed to stay in the room with their moms?”
“Because he was struggling when he arrived, he will have to stay in the NICU. It’s hospital policy.”
“For how long?”
“Until you both are released. The good news is you’ll get some rest, so take advantage of it, but you will have to go visit him. Are you planning to breastfeed?”
“Yes, for as long as I can, then I’m going to try to pump.”
“Okay, as soon as we can, we’ll get you over to your baby.”
I close my eyes in frustration. I want to see him now. He needs to see me, to know who I am.
Ryan
I watch as Micaela struggles to remain in bed and not try to bolt to find our son. She’s so beautiful. So strong. She just had her baby ripped from her body and was glued back together. She should be exhausted, passed out, getting some rest, yet all she cares about is getting to our son. Our son. Fuck, I have a son. With Micaela. A beautiful, perfect son. This entire day has been crazy. I came home to visit my family, hoping to see Micaela. But I never in a million years would’ve thought I would show up at her house and find out she was pregnant with my son.
While we’re waiting for her to be able to go to the NICU, our families stop in to visit. Her brother is carrying balloons, and her dad has a bouquet of flowers. My sisters each give her baby gifts, which keeps her occupied—opening the boxes of clothes and chatting about them—but I can see it in her eyes. She’s being polite, but all she wants is to get to our son.
“I hate this,” she says with the most adorable pout when everyone leaves so she can get some rest.
“I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”
She rolls her eyes, and I laugh. Fuck, I’ve missed her so much. I want to be mad at her, but my heart is too full. She gave me the most precious gift in the entire world.
“Do you have a name in mind?” I ask, trying to distract her.
“I thought of a couple, but I’m not set on one. Any names significant to you?” she asks. “Anyone you want to name him after?”
I give her question some thought. I was adopted, so I don’t know where my name comes from or why I have it. I have no middle name. I don’t know any of my biological family members. And then it hits me… This baby is the first biological relative I know. He has my blood running through his veins. I never not considered my family, my family just because we don’t share blood. But knowing my son does has my heart pumping hard against my ribcage. I don’t know who my biological father is. He was a piece of shit, and I don’t care to know him. But I know who the man who raised and loved me is: Bentley Ryan Cruz. The man who took me in, gave me his last name, and loved me like his own.
“What are you thinking?” Micaela asks.
“Um… well… my dad’s middle name is Ryan. He’s named after his dad, which coincidently is also my name.”
Micaela smiles softly. “I didn’t know that. That’s really cool. Like it was meant to be. Would you like to name him Ryan?”
“We don’t have to,” I backtrack. “What names were you thinking?”
“I like Ryan,” she says. “It’s a good, strong name. And we could give him my dad’s middle name too. It’s Alejandro.”
“Ryan Alejandro…” I don’t finish, unsure if she’ll use my last name or hers.
“Cruz,” she finishes. “Ryan Alejandro Cruz Junior. We can call him RJ for short.”
“RJ.” I find myself grinning like a fool. “I like it.”
“Me too.”
A few minutes later, the nurse comes in with a wheelchair and lets us know Micaela can go see RJ now. We help her from the bed and into the chair, and then the nurse wheels her to the NICU.
Micaela’s mom is coming out as we’re going in. “He’s so perfect,” Bella gushes. “You two definitely made a beautiful baby.” She bends and hugs her daughter. “Congratulations, sweet girl.”
“We picked a name,” she tells her mom. “Ryan Alejandro Cruz Junior.”
Her mom smiles. “Oh, what a perfect name!”
“We’re going to call him RJ for short,” I add.
“I love it. Can I let everyone know?”
“Of course,” Micaela says, her eyes flitting to the NICU. She wants in there so badly, but she’s trying to be polite.
After washing our hands and putting on gowns, we enter the area.
The neonatal nurse smiles warmly at us and walks over. “You ready to hold Baby Boy Anderson?”
Micaela’s brows furrow in confusion right before a look of longing mars her beautiful features.
“They name them based on the mother’s last name,” I tell her, helping her out of the wheelchair and onto a leather sofa. She nods, but doesn’t say a word, most likely thinking about Ian. Briefly, I wonder if she’s wishing it were him here with her instead of me. Irrational jealously hits me like a punch to the gut, but I quickly force it aside. It’s not fair to bring those feelings into this room. He was her husband, they planned a life together, and now he’s gone. It’s pointless to be jealous of a man who is no longer alive. I’m here with Micaela and we share a son.
The nurse takes RJ from the infant warmer—as the nurse called it earlier—they have to keep him in to monitor him. “Here you go, Mom.” She sets him in Micaela’s arms, and I pull my phone out to take pictures. Tears stream down Micaela’s cheeks as she smiles down lovingly at RJ.
“Ryan,” she breathes, glancing up at me, her brown eyes filled with liquid emotion. “He’s so perfect.” She kisses his forehead and his eyes flutter open. “I can’t believe we created him,” Micaela murmurs, and my heart swells. I never planned to have kids. My life was the military. When Laura suggested we start a family, I couldn’t picture it. I didn’t want it. But as I watch Micaela love on our son, I can see it all vividly: the walks through the park with RJ, pushing him on the swings, family movie nights cuddled on the couch, family pictures, family vacations. Everything my mom and dad gave my sisters and me. I want it all. And I want it with Micaela.
“Marry me,” I blurt out.
Micaela slowly lifts her head, her eyes wide with shock. “Wh-what did you just say?”
“Marry me.”
“Because of RJ?” she questions.
I drop down onto the couch next to her. “No, because what we had during our time at the beach house was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My entire life I’ve always felt different, unsettled. I watched my parents live and love. They would laugh and smile, and there was this… calm about them. Like they were simply content just being. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t find what they had. I couldn’t figure out how to settle down.”
“You were married before,” she points out.
“And I was gone more than I was home. I kept searching for that calm, but it felt unattainable. Until you. At the beach house, I was calm, settled. It took everything in me to leave.”
“Ever think it was the beach? That’s why it’s called a vacation house. It’s meant to be relaxing.”
I shake my head, getting frustrated. She doesn’t understand, but I have to make her. “My heart and my head… they’re always racing. I feel antsy in my own body, like I have to keep moving. But when I’m with you…” Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid. “I swear my heart slows down.”
Micaela laughs. “Well, if that isn’t the best pickup line I’ve ever heard.” When I don’t laugh, she stops. “You’re being serious…”
“Yes, the last nine months in Afghanistan… I was losing my mind. All I wanted to do was get back here, back to you. I craved the calm you radiate. It’s like…” I take a deep breath, trying to remain patient. “You center me.”
Micaela nods slowly, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “Ryan…”
“Please, baby. Marry me.”
Micaela
“Please, baby. Marry me.”
Ryan wants to marry me. At first I thought he was asking out of obligation because of RJ, but after his speech, I get it. Because I felt it too. Not the same way he explained it, but different. After Ian died, it felt like my heart was torn into a million pieces, but Ryan helped put it back together. He didn’t push me to move forward, but instead walked beside me while I took each step. My heart wasn’t completely put back together, but Ryan showed me that it could still be damaged and work. It would just beat differently, and that’s okay.
The problem is, being with Ryan would mean putting a strain on my heart. And while it’s working fine now, I’m not sure it could take the weight. It’s fragile, barely holding on. I need to handle it with care. Ryan’s in the military and will be leaving soon. It’s the reason I didn’t tell him about RJ. I might be fixed, but I’m not perfect, and I couldn’t handle it if something happened to Ryan over there. And yeah, he’ll be returning in a few months, but then what happens when he leaves again? It takes a certain kind of woman to be married to a man in the military, and that’s not me. I thought I was… until I lost Ian.
“Ryan,” I say slowly, hating that I’m about to hurt him. It means the world to me that he was able to find that calm with me, but I can’t be who he needs, not while trying to be who I need me to be.
Just as I’m about to explain this to him, RJ’s eyes flutter open and his sweet little face contorts into a look of pain. My heart picks up speed in worry.
A soft mewl escapes his puckered lips, getting the nurse’s attention.
“Is something wrong?” I ask nervously.
“He’s hungry,” she says. “The lactation specialist is on her way to answer any questions you have, but if you want, I can show you how to latch him on.”
“Should I… umm… leave…” Ryan mumbles, his face turning a light shade of pink.
I bark out a laugh that has RJ jumping in shock. “Sorry, little guy,” I coo, lowering my gown and exposing my breast to feed him. I re
ad all about breastfeeding, even watched how-to videos.
“What’s so funny?” Ryan asks.
“You.” I bring RJ to my breast and his lips form the cutest little O as he moves his face from side to side trying to find his source of food. When he latches on, his crying immediately stops. “You’re this big, bad, military man, but the mention of me breastfeeding has you freaking out.”
“I wasn’t freaking out,” he argues.
“You were totally blushing.”
Ryan leans in close so nobody else but me can hear him. “I know how it feels to have my lips wrapped around your breast,” he says slowly, a taunting smirk pulling on his lips. “I was just trying to give the little guy some privacy… to eat.”
“Oh my God! Ryan! You’re such a perv!”
RJ jumps again from my loudness, popping off my breast and returning to crying. Shit, I really need to work on my voice level. “Shh… it’s okay,” I tell him softly, lifting my gown back up and lifting him over my shoulder to burp him. Once he burps, I move him to my other breast, latching him on.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” I glare at Ryan, whose eyes are dancing with laughter.
“You’re a natural,” he says, nodding toward our son, whose eyes are fluttering closed, his lips barely hanging on. I remove him from my breast and lift him back up to burp again.
“I read a lot.” I shrug. “I wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing. I had no idea how much is involved in having a baby. And they grow and change so fast. The book about their first year is bigger than the damn Bible.” I laugh, but Ryan’s face falls.
“What?”
“I won’t be here,” he says, his voice full of sorrow. “I have to go back in two weeks. I’m going to miss everything.” His eyes shine. “Fuck.” His head drops into his hands.
“Hey.” I move RJ to my other arm and take Ryan’s hand in mine. “Ryan, look at me.”
He lifts his head, and my heart squeezes at how devastated he looks.
“I’ll send you pictures and videos. I have this calendar my mom got me where I can write down what he does every day. I’ll type it up for you. I promise.” I can’t imagine having to leave RJ for several months. I’m dreading putting him down to go back to my room.
