by Kallie Frost
“That was not green beans,” Brooks muttered. I nodded in agreement, even though he couldn't see me.
“Next,” Tessa said cheerily.
I dipped the spoon in a new cup and poised it carefully in front of my lips. It already smelled nasty.
“Peaches again!” Brooks cried in delight. I swear, I could actually hear him shoveling it into his mouth.
While peaches were not satisfying some strange pregnancy craving, they weren’t nearly as bad as the green beans had been, so I went ahead and ate my mouthful. It was not peaches. “Oh!” I cried, spitting it out. “Why is it chunky!?”
“It's chicken noodle little bit,” my sister said patiently.
“It's an abomination,” I told her. “And not peaches,” I added, inclining my head to Brooks.
“Well I'm not going to give a pregnant man little bits; he did get peaches.”
I felt her replacing the cup with another one.
“How many more are there?” I groaned.
“Just two,” she laughed.
This one wasn't bad… but it wasn't good either. “Something fruity,” I said.
“Ugh! It's awful!” Brooks cried. “Oh God, I want to puke!”
“I'm sorry,” Tessa said, laughter dampening her apology.
“What was it?” Brooks demanded.
“Bananas.”
“That was not bananas. I love bananas, that was in no way, shape, or form bananas.”
“Okay, last one.”
I heard Brooks groan as Tessa set it in front of us. I cautiously raised the spoon to my mouth and took a taste. If this was baby food, it was the greatest baby food ever made.
“It tastes like chocolate pudding!” Brooks said.
“Surprise,” Tessa laughed. “It is chocolate pudding. You can take off the blindfolds.”
There was indeed a little cup of chocolate pudding in front of me. I blinked at it as my eyes adjusted to the light, and took in the faces of all of our friends and family grinning in amusement.
“Come on,” Tessa said eagerly. “The pudding is a clue for what we're doing next.”
“And that would be?”
My question was answered as Dell and Rion rolled a cart in front of us. The cart had a cake on it. An incredible cake.
Each tier was frosted in pale blues and greens, then decorated with brightly colored frosting balloons, swirls, and sprinkles. Perched on top were three amazingly intricate little figurines. It was a trio of wolves, two big and one little, all wearing hockey jerseys.
“Oh Tessa,” I breathed. “You've outdone yourself!”
“It’s beautiful,” said Brooks. “Thank you!”
“And the wolves on top may look like frosting, but they're actually made out of clay. So, when it's all over you can keep them!”
“When did you start sculpting with clay?” I asked in surprise.
My sister beamed, as only a proud parent could, and nodded toward her son.
Ford smiled sheepishly. “It was my idea. I always hate making all these fancy frosting things and watching them get eaten. I have a few icing figures from baking school and it keeps well enough, but it’s so fragile… I figured fondant can’t be that much different from clay, so I gave it a try. There was a bit of a learning curve, but I got used to it.”
“You made these?” My nephew was a wizard at baking, but I always thought my sister was the decoration master.
Ford nodded.
“They’re amazing, I think you outdid yourself!”
“I know it's no wedding, but if you boys would like to cut the cake…” Tessa held out a little spatula and a knife.
Holding it together, Brooks and I carefully cut a slice off it.
“Should I shove some of this in your face?” I teased.
“Please, I'm pregnant, I'm about to shove the whole thing into my own face,” he laughed, but I didn't miss a slight wrinkle in his nose as he said it. I don't know if it was the true mate bond or what, but somehow in just a couple of short months I knew my mate more intimately than I had ever known anyone.
“What's wrong?” I whispered.
“I just… don't like yellow cake all that much,” he muttered. I'm sure he was hoping that Tessa wouldn’t hear him, but she did.
“What kind of sister would I be, never mind what kind of baker it makes me, if I don't provide for all of my guests?” she asked. She plucked the utensils from our hands and swiftly cut a slice off another tier, pulling it back to reveal the darkest chocolate cake I had ever seen. “There's a reason I make a point to ask everyone I know what their favorite type of cake is.” With a smile, she placed it on a plate and handed it to my mate.
“I'm sorry for doubting you,” he said with a grin.
“Now, use that cake to get the taste of baby food out of your mouths, and after everyone else is served and settled, we are going to start opening presents!”
Feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, I savored the delicious cake, as Brooks and I watch Tessa and Ford divide cake up among the guests. It seemed that my sister was an expert at gauging the room, as well as in baking. I was just eating my last bite as the final slice was served, and my mother swept in and shuffled Brooks and I over to the gift table.
I felt a little self-conscious as everyone watched me unwrapping presents. I wasn't sure how many decades it been since I had done such a thing for an audience.
Soon, Brooks and I had a shitload of baby stuff. There were tons of clothes, a full set of matching nursery furniture, toys, bottles, towels and blankets, and linens of every size and shape. With each new present I unwrapped and added the pile, I felt more and more unprepared for what was happening.
We got down to the final two presents and my mother handed tiny a box to me and a larger box to Brooks.
“Open them at the same time,” she said with a mischievous smile.
I quickly opened the box and pulled out a tiny pair of red and black plaid pajamas.
“Where did you find some this size?” I asked.
In spite of my delight, Brooks looked quite confused as he pulled out a matching pair of pajamas in his own size. “Thanks?” he volunteered. I could tell he was grateful, but not entirely sure of the significance, considering my reaction.
“Everyone in the family has a pair of matching pajamas we wear on Christmas Eve. My mom makes it a point to buy a pair for new family members. Babies,” I put my hand on his knee, “and mates get a pair of family pajamas to welcome them to the Silvanus clan.”
“Oh,” my mother exclaimed. “I shouldn't have given them to you now, because Elliott's feelings will be hurt. Not to worry, I'll go get yours,” she said to Elliott. She bustled off before he could protest and was back in a flash with a box, this one wrapped in Christmas paper instead of new baby paper.
“Thank you, Verona,” Elliott said. He looked amused and touched.
“Mom,” she corrected firmly. “But neither of you can put them on until Christmas Eve.”
“So, we all wear matching pajamas all day on Christmas Eve?” Brooks asked in amusement.
“Not all day,” I laughed. “Anyone who's here spends the morning baking cookies and making gingerbread houses. Then, if you have the family pajamas, you change into them in the evening, and we eat the cookies, and everyone gets to open up one present. If you don’t have the pajamas, or need a new pair, that's your present. And then everyone wears them when we wake up on Christmas morning for the presents.”
“But don't worry,” my mother said quickly, “I've got new presents for both of you, since you opened your pajamas early. And I'll get one for you too, Elliott.”
“I'm honestly fine with this one, seriously,” Elliott protested.
As if a switch had been flipped, my mother went from doting, borderline overbearing mama bear, to alpha matriarch. “You'll have to present open on Christmas Eve!” she said.
“Okay,” Elliott laughed, holding up his hands in defense. “I would love a present to open on Christmas Eve, thank you, Mom.”
<
br /> When all the presents were opened, the baby shower wound down and turned back into a Christmas party. There was still a sizable group of guests when Brooks decided he was ready to turn in for the night. Even though he assured me I could stay at the party as long as I wanted, I went up with him. We settled down on the bed. I had a feeling he felt as overwhelmed as I was.
“Your family is so generous, I don't even know what to say,” Brooks told me.
“I can honestly admit, I was not expecting that. I hope you're not too overwhelmed.”
“Not too,” he chuckled. “I always wanted a big family. I just never expected such a massive one.”
“That's not even everyone,” I reminded him.
He leaned back with a content sigh. “Well, if the rest of them are half as wonderful as the ones I’ve already met, I think fate picked a pretty good mate for me indeed.”
I smiled at the praise and reached a hand over to gently rub his stomach. The baby gave me several good kicks in a row before settling back down.
“Your mother won't be insulted if I don't wear the new pajamas tonight, right?” He struggled to sit up. “I left them downstairs with the other presents!”
“Don't worry, you're not allowed to wear them until Christmas Eve.”
“What a tradition,” he laughed. “Your mother sure loves Christmas, huh? Everybody was going on and on about her amazing parties.”
“Yeah,” I said. “There are quite a few family traditions…”
He easily picked up on the note of sadness in my voice. “Something wrong, my love?”
“Not wrong, exactly. But, all the traditions and matching pajamas… well, it's a long story.”
“I'd say I have time. Besides, this is my family now. I suppose I should probably start learning all the family history.”
I sighed. “So, way back when, before I was born, my mother's sister Willow was obsessed with Christmas. Every year she had a couple of new traditions. And she wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to getting the rest of the family involved. Everyone pretty much did it to humor her. Have you met Gavil and Dovar? I can’t recall if they dropped in yet or not.” Brooks shook his head. “Anyway, they’re her true mate and son. After Dovar was born she started the pajamas tradition after buying a matching set for the three of them. The next year she got one for everyone in the family, and then got us a new set every year after that. She was a warden and one year she was killed, just after Christmas.”
“I'm so sorry,” Brooks said softly.
I smiled at him in thanks. “As the year went by and Christmas grew closer, my family basically decided that it was too painful to try and celebrate Christmas the way they had when she was alive. But then, Thanksgiving came and went, and all the little things she did, like Christmas cards, and decorating, and early presents… Every day went by without them. And my mother started to feel like every time they missed one of Willow’s traditions, Willow was dying all over again. She realized that if we didn't keep up the traditions they would just die with her sister, but in a way if we kept doing them, it was sort of like keeping her sister alive. So, she immediately started planning the annual Christmas party and gathered everything together… and after it was all over the family agreed that the best way to honor Willow's memory was to keep alive the traditions she created. I think for the first few years my mother did out of obligation, but I know she genuinely loves it now.
“I can tell,” said Brooks.
“The pajamas were the last pattern that Willow bought. She always got a new pattern every year, but my mother thought that there was something meaningful about sticking with the one that her sister chose. So, that's the Silvanus Family Plaid.”
“Well, I'm honored to have my own set. Although I feel bad the baby can’t wear his this year. Unless he’s early.”
“I’m sure Mom intended for it to be symbolic. She’ll get him a new pair next year.”
He took my hand and held it silently for a few more moments. At last, he yawned.
“I think it's time for you to get some sleep, my love,” I told him. “It’s a lot of hard work making a baby, and you had a long day.”
“Can I…” he hesitated.
“Anything,” I assured him.
“Can I have a foot rub before I go to sleep?”
I kissed him gently on the forehead and willingly slid down to the foot of the bed. “Of course.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brooks
Christmas came and went with as much pomp and circumstance as I would have expected from Carrick's mother. True to their word, everyone changed into the family pajamas, and the whole affair seemed to last a solid forty-eight hours; a major change from the short Christmas mornings of my childhood.
Despite being pregnant I had so many cookies that even I felt full. I cursed my inability to eat large meals when I saw massive spiral baked ham that Jacob set out for Christmas dinner. I expected a few presents for little Verona and maybe a couple of gifts for our upcoming child, but I didn't think any of the adult children would get very much. Boy, was I wrong. Each and every child, myself included, were spoiled beyond belief with gifts. I eventually gave up trying to insist that they didn't need to fuss about me. I was a Silvanus now, and it seemed that their matriarch took care of every single member of her pack, no matter how new.
The house was still full of the usual crowd in the weeks following, but it felt quite a bit less cramped with all the guests going back home. Nevertheless, I knew we were all going to be relieved when the wardens finally gave the all clear for us to return to our homes. I was glad that most of my time was occupied learning about shifters and practicing being in wolf form. And if I wasn't doing one of those things, I was either preparing for the baby or sleeping. Otherwise, I probably would've gone stir crazy. Carrick was being slightly overprotective, so I hadn't even left the island yet. I was looking forward to moving into a house that I had never even seen! Sometimes, I rested my hands on my massive stomach, felt the baby kicking, and wondered just how I ended up here. A few short months ago moving to Half Moon Island hadn't even been in the picture. Now I was here, with a husband, if you could call him that, and about to give birth to our baby. Not to mention I was a werewolf.
Carrick and I had taken to watching hockey games in our room. It was comfortable for me to relax in a nest of pillows on our bed. It also allowed me to fall asleep during late night games. Not only did I not have to sleep on the couch, but I could actually doze off without the sounds of half the family watching the game with us.
I didn’t particularly like either team playing tonight, but it was a close game, which made it intense. They traded points all the way to the third period, when the losing team scored a short-handed goal and tied it up. With three seconds to go they broke the tie. The horn sounded and the game was over. With the team I was cheering for on the losing end.
“Are you okay?” Carrick asked in alarm.
I was about to assure him that of course I was okay, when I realized that the tears in my eyes that escaped and slid down my cheek.
“I'm fine,” I tried to choke out.
Was I crying because a team I didn’t like just lost a hockey game to one I liked less? That was ridiculous. I was crying because of a freaking hockey game. The idea made me cry even harder, because what kind of lame person cries at the result of a hockey game that isn't even important? I mean, at least I could've cried during the Stanley Cup final or something.
Carrick was still watching me in alarm. “It was a close game,” he said, trying to reassure me.
“I'm not crying because of the game!” My frustration made the protest come out as a shout.
Carrick held up his hands helplessly. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say.” He eyed me nervously. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Peaches?” I asked.
“Of course, my love.”
Carrick slipped away, eagerly I thought, and returned a couple of minutes later with a bowl full of peaches. Af
ter a few embarrassing days of craving peach baby food, I was convinced to try something a little more adult. Fresh peaches didn't hit the spot, but something in the canned peaches was even better than the baby food. I couldn't say how many cans of peaches I had gone through in the span of a couple of weeks. Probably more than I ever had my entire life. I dug into the bowl, practically slurping up the sliced peaches. I devoured it and drank up the syrup when I was done.
“Can I…”
With an amused grin, Carrick took the bowl from me and headed down to the kitchen to get another can.
Just after he left to get more peaches I started to feel a pressure building in my abdomen. I pressed down gently on it and readjusted my penis in my boxers. The pressure was nothing new. Although, it had been getting a little more frequent in the last couple of weeks. The pressure strengthened until it was more than a little uncomfortable. I fidgeted around, rubbing my stomach and taking deep breaths. I climbed to my feet and tried to stretch, just as Carrick returned.
“Are you all right?” he asked. His eyes narrowed and I could tell he was trying to concentrate on our bond in an attempt to sense what I was feeling.
“Yeah, just one of those baby-sitting-in-the-wrong-spot things,” I said. But, even as I spoke a little nagging voice in the back of my mind wondered whether or not I was right. The pressure was stronger now, not just uncomfortable but borderline painful.
“Do you want your peaches?” asked Carrick.
I shook my head and started pacing. Slowly. The pressure was still mounting. Squeezing, intensifying. It had never felt like this before. I took several more deep breaths as the unrelenting pressure continued to build. I heaved a sigh of relief as it abruptly released.
I sat back down on the bed with a sigh. I looked over the bowl of peaches, but certainly didn't feel very hungry.
“Should I call Nolan?”
“I… I don't know,” I said. “I think I'm okay.”
Carrick picked up the remote and started flipping through channels, looking for something else to watch. We were about five minutes into a movie when I felt the tightening start again. I put my hands over my belly and waited with trepidation as the tightening increased. Once again, the pressure began to build until it was actually painful. This time, it hurt even more.
