by Celeste, B.
I haven’t gotten the chance to tell her that I have every intention of getting Fletcher back, but she didn’t let me say much when she was going on about whoever spited her. It wasn’t exactly the right time to say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m still madly, stupidly in love with the man across the street and plan on apologizing and getting him back if he’ll have me.’
Escaping to the bathroom in my bedroom, I dig through the drawers.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door followed by my best friend’s voice behind the closed wood. “Your toast is cold, bitch. Did you get sick again? Because there cannot be anything left to vomit up at this point. And if it’s diarrhea or something gross like that, I don’t want to know, or I’ll start puking too. But can you at least tell me if you’re okay?”
I stare down at the positive pregnancy test in my hands and let out a shuttered breath, nodding as if she can see me. “Yeah,” I call out with a watery smile. “I’m good.”
After Vickie drags herself back to her place, I make myself shower and brush my teeth to look halfway presentable for what I know I need to do. It isn’t until I’m out, hair wrapped in a towel and body semi-dried, when I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my naked body.
Nothing has changed. It’s still soft and curvy in the same places it was before, nothing showing or changing like I’d hoped my eyes would see. I flatten my palm against the skin, caressing just above my belly button and staring into the mirror, trying to picture what it’ll look like, feel like.
What the baby will look like.
Will it have my light, Irish complexion or Fletcher’s darker, tanner one? Will it have my hazel-green eyes or his brown ones? Will its hair be dark or light? Will its features take more after me, him, or will it be a perfect mixture of the two of us like I consider myself with my parents?
Then I wonder what Fletcher will think.
Almost on cue, I hear a knock downstairs, and I barely have my bathrobe tied around my waist before it opens, and a husky voice calls out my name from below. “Stevie?”
I stare down at my stomach—my semi-flat stomach that will have a few more stretch marks added to its collection over the next nine months.
“Your daddy is home,” I whisper to the small being growing inside.
“Stevie?” Fletcher asks, the stairs creaking under the weight of his steps.
“I’m in here,” I call out, knowing this isn’t exactly what I hoped to look like but not having any chance to do anything about it now.
He walks into the bedroom the same time I step out of the bathroom, hugging the robe to my body as his eyes do a scan from the towel on my head to my bare feet. Toes curling into the carpet over his gaze, I offer a small, shy smile. “I was getting ready to come see you. You beat me to it, I guess.”
Fletcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I saw Vickie leave. Didn’t want to waste any more time by waiting. I tried giving you space, but I don’t want to give you any more.”
My breath catches. “No?”
He shakes his head.
I lick my lips. “I really was going to come see you. Vickie and I had a rough morning, so I needed to clean up first and—” I gasp, eyes widening. “Oh my God.”
Fletcher is instantly in front of me, hands scanning over me, eyes doing the same to make sure I’m okay. “What’s wrong?”
“I drank!”
He blinks slowly. “You drank?”
Tears quickly fill my eyes. “I drank, Fletcher. Vickie and I finished off two bottles together and that can’t be good.”
I used to watch birthing shows obsessively before the truth came out about where that would lead with Hunter. I know just about everything there is to know about pregnancy, including how bad excessive alcohol is during it.
And I didn’t know…
I’ve watched hours and hours of shows on pregnancy and birth, and I still had no clue I was going to join the motherhood club. None.
Before I know it, I’m crying into Fletcher’s T-shirt and he’s holding me to his body and rubbing my back despite having no clue why I’m melting down.
“What’s the matter, honey? If you’re not feeling well, I can get you some Advil and make you something to eat. Eggs. Something easy on the stomach. Get you water. Whatever you need, just tell me. Yeah?”
That only makes me sob harder, his body locking over the ugly noises I’m making. It isn’t until I clasp a handful of the tee he’s wearing and blurt, “We’re having a baby, Fletcher, and I didn’t know until this morning, and I drank. A lot. I drank, and you’re going to be a daddy again, and I didn’t know and—”
He lowers us until we’re sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands on my face, his thumbs wiping at my wet cheeks as he tries getting me to look at him. Through my blurry vision, I see shock among an array of other things on his face.
His lips are parted.
His eyes are wide.
His breath is short.
“We’re having a baby?” he repeats in a whisper.
I manage to nod, sniffing back tears.
“I’m going to be a dad again?” he asks.
Another nod.
Those lips that I want nothing more than to be on mine at some point tonight stretch into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face. “And you’re going to be a mom.” It’s not a question, but I still nod anyway.
His hands go to my stomach, his gentle touch coasting over the soft material of my robe like he’s in awe of the concept.
“I was going to come over and tell you that I’m sorry,” I tell him once I manage to calm down, using my robe sleeves to dry off my face. “I wanted to tell you how much I love you and that I don’t want us to fight anymore. Never again, Fletcher. Because I want a future with you. A big one. A long one. I had a whole speech planned in my head, but then I had this feeling, and I took the test and…” His hands are still on my stomach, but his eyes are on mine as he listens to me ramble. “I didn’t know I was pregnant. I’ve been so distracted and stressed that that’s why I thought I was late.”
It sounds lame saying it out loud, but it isn’t like my period has always been on time. There were times, especially during my divorce, when I’d been late plenty of times because of the pressure I was under.
Fletcher’s hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip before he leans in and kisses me. It’s quick, soft, and he rests his forehead against mine, looking down at where his other hand is still glued to my stomach. “You have nothing to apologize for, Stevie. I get why you were upset with me. I really thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. Had a lot of time to think about it. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably want to know too. But we’re okay now, right? We’re good?”
I breathe him in, closing my eyes and placing a hand over the one he has on my torso. “We’re better than good, Fletcher. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
He sucks in a quiet breath, the term of endearment clearly bringing more realizations front and center. “Dominic is going to be a big brother.” The smile in his tone makes mine grow as he looks up and captures my lips with his. “Christ, Stevie. There was a lot I wanted to come over and say, but this knocked me speechless. The only thing I need you to hear is that I will be here for you no matter what because I love you. I will love you and this baby for as long as you’ll let me, and I know Dominic will too.”
I let out a shaky breath and kiss him lightly, resting our lips together. “That’s all I need to hear anyway.”
His hands trail to the opening of my robe, trailing a finger under the material and touching the bare skin underneath. “I have time before Nicki starts to wonder where I am. Couldn’t wait to see you. But if you’re not feeling well…”
I stop him by untying my bathrobe and letting it fall open. “Remember what you said the first time? You told me you loved me so much that you hoped my birth control failed.”
He kisses me once, twice, another t
ime before chuckling and laying us back until he’s using one arm to hold himself above my body. “I think it worked, baby girl.”
I bite my bottom lip as he trails kisses down my body until he nudges my legs open and gives me a whole new kind of kiss. “I guess you’re right,” I moan as his tongue flattens against my clit before he starts working it with his lips, sucking it into his mouth and working a finger into the wet entrance.
Before long, he’s undressed too, pushing back inside of me and reminding me how we got to this moment to begin with.
It’s quick but gentle.
Fast but passionate.
And when he’s on the brink of coming, he readjusts us, so each thrust hits the right spot deep inside of me until I’m falling apart around him right before he buries himself hilt deep and follows suit.
We lay next to each other, my body draped partially on top of his, catching our breaths, when he laughs to himself. “He was such a fucking idiot,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t have to say who.
All I do is curl into his body and rest my head against his shoulder, thinking about how nice it’ll be to be able to do this for the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE
FLETCHER
“She kind of looks weird,” Dominic says, staring down at the small baby wrapped in a pink blanket. “Is she supposed to be that red?”
I chuckle at my son’s inquiry, looking up at the pinched expression he’s watching his sister with. “Yeah, buddy. You looked exactly like this when you were born.”
Nicki shakes his head, still staring at the little girl who’s snoozing in my cradled arms. “I didn’t look like that, Dad. It’s impossible because Stevie isn’t my mom. We have different genetics.”
I see he’s putting the knowledge he learned at school to the test. Now that he’s in sixth grade, he’s stopped calling my fiancée Ms. Foster. It took quite a bit of time to get him to start using her first name, but he’s gotten used to it by now. “You’re right, Nic. There are some differences. But you were both pretty tiny when you were born, and her coloring will even out like yours did.”
Bella Anise Miller is only a few hours and I already love everything about her. The speckles of dark hair on her head, the dark brown eyes that are nearly identical to mine. But her face is all her mom’s.
I smile down at her, completely enamored by the soft noises she makes as she sleeps. “What do you think?” I ask my firstborn.
When I move my gaze to study him, he’s lifting his shoulders. He’s sprouted a solid inch over the past few months. He’ll be taller than Stevie in no time. “She’s okay, I guess. I thought she’d be more exciting, but she’s just slept the whole time.”
As if he’s lost interest, he turns and walks over to where Stevie is laying in the hospital bed watching us. “Don’t worry, Nicki, she won’t be sleeping for long,” my soon-to-be wife tells him, an amused smile on her tired face.
The labor was intense, and if Bella hadn’t decided to grace us after one more push, Stevie was going to have to be wheeled away to get a C-section. Something she’s been hyperventilating about since she decided to Google every worst-case scenario known to man as her due date got closer. But just like I knew she would, she soldiered on until we heard the first cry coming from the little bundle in my arms.
Dominic asks, “Do you think she’ll be normal or be like me?”
I frown. “Bud, we talked about this.”
“Yeah, but what if I want to have a sibling who’s like me?” His question is so innocent I have to blink and think about my response for a second.
It’s Stevie who answers. “No matter what, Bella is going to share a lot in common with you. I’m sure she’ll love dogs as much as you, enjoy all the history books you say you want to read her, and play whatever game you introduce her to.”
He contemplates that as he stares at the little girl who’s starting to wake up and squirm in my arms, her warm little body one I’m already willing to do whatever it takes to protect. “Fine, but she can’t have my marble. It’s mine.”
I grin.
Stevie stifles a laugh.
Then, Bella starts to cry.
That’s when Dominic murmurs, “Is she going to do that a lot? ‘Cause I voted we get a dog when you told me we were getting her instead. They only whine for a little while before we train them.”
My eyes pinch closed. “Nicki…”
“The pet store has more puppies like Admiral,” is what he replies with.
When I meet Stevie’s eyes, she’s smiling at my son. She loves him despite his blunt statements, and I love her all the more for it.
I look around the room at my family.
Our family.
My son, my daughter, the woman who agreed to be my wife a few months ago.
And, suddenly, I’m damn glad she decided to move across the street. The blue Cape Cod is the perfect house to mold our growing family in as the years go by. Even her mother said so when I officially met her.
“Be good to her,” is all Mary asked of me when we invited our families over to announce the pregnancy after the first trimester. The promise to her mother was one I made without hesitation.
Meanwhile her father simply shook my hand, patted my back, and asked, “Where’d you get that mower of yours, son?”
DID YOU LIKE MAKE YOU MISS ME?
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is usually where I’d put the acknowledgments, but I wanted to do something different for this story.
Make You Miss Me is a journey that I realized halfway into writing was personal to me. I always find ways to incorporate pieces of myself into each of my books. Best known to date would be Underneath the Sycamore Tree and Emery’s struggle with invisible, chronic illness.
But Stevie’s story became therapeutic to write. Sure, I’ve never been married. I can’t even tell you guys that I’ve ever been in love. But I’ve had many manipulative dating experiences in the past where I’d succumb to whatever the man I was seeing wanted without thinking about myself or what I wanted in return. It was about the control they had on my life, on my dreams, aspirations, and goals. I was naïve enough to let them get their way until I sort of lost myself.
It wasn’t until I spent about seven months with a guy who knew exactly what to say and when to say it that I realized we were going nowhere. I was stuck in the fantasy world of what-ifs that he was feeding just enough to keep me holding on. But he wasn’t following through on any of his promises. He was truly a master manipulator. He’d say the prettiest things, make me feel so cared for, so good about myself and my career and my dreams, but when it came down to it, he simply said those things to get what he wanted.
He knew what I’d wanted from our time together—what I wanted for myself and my future. Yet, he strung me along with false hope of being that man for me until I about broke.
And, the thing is, I knew the second I ended it with him that I was better off. I felt relieved to have him out of my life almost instantaneously. I felt more like myself—better than the version he knew. I was ready to take on the world and prove to him that nobody can control my life but me.
In doing so, Stevie came to life. She’s this vulnerable yet strong woman who’s navigating divorced life. A woman who’s trying to find herself, to trust people—men, especially—and to figure out how to love again. She’s buying her first house on her own, just like me, and pushing past all the demons inside her mind that want to hold her back from being happy.
Stevie Foster is flawed. Human. She’s everything I love in fictional characters because she’s so real. She makes choices she’s not proud of out of desperation, but she also moves forward knowing those choices can’t drag her down.
And in the end, she gets Fletcher. She figures out that Hunter was never the love of her life because he could never truly love her the way she deserved to be.
So, I’m not going to thank my “ex” for giving me the inspiratio
n to write this. He doesn’t deserve it. However, I do appreciate how easily he let me go because this story wouldn’t have happened otherwise.
The beautiful house I’m buying all on my own wouldn’t have happened.
And I’d be stuck in a relationship that’d make me miserable instead of thriving.
Until next time,
B. Celeste
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B. Celeste’s obsession with all things forbidden and taboo enabled her to pave a path into a new world of raw, real, emotional romance.
Her debut novel is The Truth about Heartbreak.
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