Reckless Surrender

by R. C. Martin

  I’ve been working diligently to tap into what I know about them and mentally redesign their home. Rome has talked me off the ledge a couple times, helping me to keep from going overboard. I’m happy to say that I managed to put this project together under budget and without compromising the integrity of my vision.

  Their master bedroom is going to be shades of gray with orange accents. Since their kitchen, dining room, and living room are one big space, I’m going to toss in an assortment of colors, keeping it warm but playful, with the perfect balance of print and solids. We’re going to put in shelves and fill them with Daphne’s books, which have been in boxes since she moved in—I’m sure Daph cries a little every time she walks by them. Then Grace and Harvey are going to ransack Trevor’s drawing room and pick some of his sketches for us to frame and hang on the walls, along with pictures of the two of them and our family of friends. For the most part, I’m going to leave his creative space alone—but I am going to put a writing desk in there for Daph.

  Then…the nursery. Every bone in my body wants to paint that spare room pink! But I know better. I know that, no matter how beautiful it turned out to be, Trevor would balk at the idea. Instead, I’m going to stick with the gray bedroom theme and sprinkle it with white and pale pink accents. It’s going to be perfect—understated, elegant, dainty, and perfect.

  It’s been a lot of work, ordering everything we need, finding someplace to store it, keeping the details from Daphne—but the hardest part was getting those two out of town! It took some convincing—because they are, apparently, the definition of homebodies—but we managed to talk them into a babymoon for Trevor’s birthday. They didn’t get a honeymoon and once the baby comes, who knows when they’ll want to travel again. We told them to go someplace far and someplace fun. Tomorrow, they will be going to Austin, Texas. That certainly wouldn’t be my first choice, but I guess it’s the best place to go if you love music. In any case, I’m just glad that they’ll be gone so we can sneak into their house and transform it.

  I’ll be relieved when it’s done for two reasons. First, because I’m dying for Daphne to see it. Second, because then Roman will stop worrying so much about my eating habits.

  “Don’t you have homework to be doing or something?” I ask, looking at the books open on his desk. “You don’t have time to worry about me.”

  “You’re right. Get up. Go away,” he says, smacking my backside. I roll my eyes as I start to stand, but he pulls me back down, sliding his hand around the back of my neck before he draws me in for a kiss. “No, don’t go.” His eyes dance around my face. For a moment, I simply enjoy his stare.

  I’m beautiful. I know that I’m beautiful—but when Roman looks at me like he’s looking at me now, he makes me feel like he sees through my beauty. I know that whatever it is he finds beyond my exterior is even more than I could ever see in myself. No one has ever made me feel as desirable as he does with just one look. I hope and pray that he looks at me like this for the rest of our lives. When he does, my body tingles all over. It’s like a reminder that happily-ever-afters are possible for anyone.

  It’s our relationship that brought me to God. I don’t mean that in the sense that being connected to Roman got me into church, which was my exposer to God and all that He is—no, it’s literally us that made me believe in a higher power that is love embodied. For so long I’ve wanted more. I could say it over and over again but not be able to define exactly what I meant. Then Roman happened and I fell in love and being with him took me to this place…it was like I was behind this barrier and on the other side was this untapped and elusive more.

  I realized that I couldn’t love him enough without God. But with God, with this new awareness of how grand and unconditional and sacrificial love can be, with the feeling of completion that I get because I’m in a relationship with my Creator, I not only love Roman better, but he loves me better and we love the Lord together and that…THAT is more than the more I imagined. I know it sounds unrealistically romantic; every time I write it in my journal, it’s as if I’m waxing poetic about a dream.

  But it’s not a dream.

  It’s my life.

  Roman and I are getting married. Married! Just thinking about it makes me so happy I could cry. Six months ago, I could hardly stand to be alone in a room with him. Now, I can hardly stand to be in a room without him. We’re like my own little personal miracle.

  “For the record, I’ll always have time to worry about you, so don’t even try to fight it,” he murmurs, coaxing me from my thoughts.

  “Fine, but—”

  “Hey,” he silences me as he softly tickles the nape of my neck with the tips of his fingers. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you? For what?”

  “For doing this for them.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, knitting my eyebrows together. “You don’t have to thank me. She’s my best friend and in a few months they’ll be my siblings. I’ve never had siblings before,” I say with a smile. “Anyway, it’s downright sinful for them to live in a house with so little color—especially considering the artistic minds that call it home.”

  “Yeah, well, thank you anyway. For putting it all together and sacrificing so much of your time to make this happen.”

  “Rome, I—”

  “Shh,” he hushes me, inching his face closer to mine. “Just let me say thank you. The way you love my sister, the way you’ve always loved her, it means a lot to me. It always has. She’s been my favorite person her whole life and your devotion to her is everything. It makes me proud to know you—proud to love you. It’s the reason I got the chance to fall in love you in the first place. So, thank you.”

  I want to tell him that moments like these are my favorite part about the honesty that exists between us. I want to tell him that I admire him for never being afraid to tell me what’s on his heart. I want to tell him that I’m proud to know him, too—to be claimed by him…but I can’t find my words. It’s his damn eyes. His gorgeous, dark brown eyes. They do something to me.

  When I feel like I might combust if I spend another second under his gaze without his touch, I press my lips against his. He instantly tightens his hold around me and I seduce his mouth open with my tongue. He returns my affection passionately and as we get lost in this moment, I desperately wonder how we’re ever going to last until June without ripping each other’s clothes off and making love as often as possible. We promised each other we would wait. He’s gone this long without sex and I don’t want to take that from him—I want him to give his first time to me on our wedding night. I want him to give me the gift he’s been saving for that one special woman. I am that woman, but I want to be his wife first. Officially.

  As his fingertips sneak under the hem of my shirt, I know I’m too tired to practice any sort of self-control unless we stop right now. Reluctantly, I pull away from him and stand to my feet.

  “What—no,” he protests, cupping his hands around my waist.

  “You, homework. Me, espresso.” He grins up at me, clearly amused that he’s kissed away my ability to talk in complete sentences.

  “Fine,” he grunts as he drops his hands.

  I make my way to the door and stop to look back at him. I giggle when I catch him staring me down as I go. “Focus,” I playfully chastise, pointing at his books.

  “I am,” he replies with a wink.

  April 2016

  When I walk up to the shop, I spot Coder through the front door, sitting behind the counter. He looks bored out of his mind. I don’t blame him. He’s been stuck manning the front for as long as Grace is out. It’s been about three weeks now and I think it’s safe to say that the both of them are going a little nuts. Although, being a pregnant woman myself, I don’t really have a whole lot of sympathy for Coder. At least he doesn’t have a little boy dancing on his bladder or giving him wicked heartburn while he gets to hang out with his friends all day.

  Grace has been put on bed rest. She went into premature labor, which
gave all of us a scare; but her doctor said she’d be fine, as long as she took it easy. Of course, Harvey has taken that quite literally and she’s been practically chained to the bed. I’ve been splitting my time between the shop and Grace’s bedside most days. As horrible as it might sound, I thank God that I’m not in Grace’s condition. I can only imagine how much worse than Harvey Trevor’d be and I couldn’t handle him being any more protective than he already is.

  I tease him about it all the time, but in reality I love it. When I got pregnant the first time, I felt alone. I know that I had Roman and Logan, but they didn’t understand what I was going through; and the baby that grew inside me, I forced myself to be detached from him. It felt like he was invading my body rather than me keeping him safe and warm while he grew. By the time I realized that he was a miracle, it was too late.

  This time, it’s not like that.

  Little Worm—our baby girl—she’s ours. She was made with love and there hasn’t been a second that I haven’t been grateful for her and the chance I’ve had to carry her and help her grow. We talk to her and we dance with her and we read to her. Trevor kisses my belly every morning and he’ll drop whatever it is he’s doing to feel her kick. He’s very attentive and it makes me anxious for her to come out because I want him to have the chance to hold her and kiss her himself.

  I’ve realized that the joy and excitement that we harbor for our child is what I couldn’t give my little boy. This is why I couldn’t be his mother. This is why I let them take him from the room that day, even though it killed me—because there were people waiting for him; people who felt exactly like Trevor and I feel now. He deserved that kind of love and attention. Every child does.

  The bible says that God does all things for the good of those who love Him. Lately, I’ve been wondering how the sum of my choices and my circumstances have all worked together for my good. I won’t claim that I understand God’s intentions but, I know it was better for my son to grow up with a family that was ready for him. I’m sure they aren’t perfect, because nobody is, but he was a blessing to them as much as they are a blessing to him. At least, I have to believe that’s true.

  As for me…if a part of me hadn’t died in that delivery room, I would have never met Trevor. Without Trevor, I would have never known this love that’s all consuming and unconditional and never-ending. Without this love, there would be no Little Worm. And where it comes full circle? There’s no way I would have known to appreciate every single moment of this child’s life the way that I have had I not done it the wrong way the first time.

  Then, of course, there’s the irony that the circumstances of my pregnancy are not only what helped contribute to me turning my back on God in the first place, but also what helped me decide to come back to Him. The life that I’m carrying is a reminder of redemption. The life that I carry is a gift that speaks of how well I am known by the Giver of life. Not just me, but Trevor, too. Together, we’ve come to see this blessing as our fresh start. The bad decisions that we made in our past, the ones that broke us in ways we never foresaw, they have been forgiven through Christ. Our sweet girl is the gift of our second chance. My second chance to be a mother; Trevor’s second chance at having a family.

  I won’t lie and say it’s been a walk in the park. I’m a different person now than I was before. My faith looks different; feels different. Instead of wearing Christianity the way my parents taught me, I’m exploring it—with Trevor. It’s not that God has changed, because He doesn’t do that; but the world has changed and religion is a messy business. I am intrigued, challenged, and inspired getting reacquainted with God with Trevor by my side. He questions everything and he likes to dive into the gray areas where right and wrong seem confusing. His skepticism is a beautiful thing, for it always leads us to the conclusion that we are covered by grace, not any sort of law or rule book that we could never possibly live up to. I love his determination to search and find the truth above all else.

  Hell, there isn’t a damn thing I don’t love about him. Even the things I don’t like, I love.

  “Hey, Daph,” greets Coder as I enter the shop. “Do you need any help?” he asks, pointing to the shopping bag I have in my hand.

  “Actually, there’s a pack-n-play in my trunk. Could you go get it and bring it back to Trevor’s room?”

  “What’s a pack-n-play?” he asks, making his way to the door.

  “It’s like a portable crib,” I call out as I start down the hallway. When I enter into Trevor’s office, he’s in the middle of inking a tattoo on his client’s chest. He glances up at me for a fraction of a second but continues with his task.

  “Hey, baby,” he mumbles.

  “Hi. Guess what came today? Our pack-n-play! Coder’s bringing it in right now.”

  The guy in the chair looks back at me as he questions, “What’s a pack-n-play?”

  “It’s a portable crib,” I repeat with a grin. I set my things down in my new favorite corner of the room just as a pain shoots through my lower back. I blow out a slow breath and wait for the uncomfortable feeling to pass.

  “Wings?”

  “I’m fine. Really. It’s nothing.” At least, I’m pretty sure it’s nothing. It feels like a contraction, but the last time I told Trevor I thought I might be having contractions, he practically carried me to the car and took me to the hospital. Clearly, it was nothing, since I still look like a walking beachball. That was a couple days ago. My due date isn’t for another two weeks so I’m guessing it’s nothing.

  “Alright, where do you want this?” Coder enters the room with the big box from my trunk.

  “By the rocking chair is fine. Thanks, Coder.”

  “Dude, I can’t believe you’re letting her do this to your office.”

  “You just wait,” Trevor mutters, his attention still focused on his work. “When you have a pregnant wife, you’ll say yes to a lot of things, too.”

  I chuckle as I set to the task of opening the box. “In all fairness, nesting is a real thing. Mother’s nest in preparation for their newborns. You guys did all my nesting for me. I mean, yes, it was, like, the best gift ever, but my nursery at home is done. It’s been done for months now. This, I can do. This is going to be her second home. She should have some things.”

  I stand and admire what I’ve done so far. Everyone except for Grace and Trevor thinks this is weird, but I think it’s smart. Besides, Trevor’s office is big—I’m only taking up a corner. Everything has been confined to the color blocked area rug that I bought and put in the space beside his desk. Trevor and I picked out an orange Eames rocking chair and Logan helped me find a little teal nightstand that I’ve filled with diapers, wipes, and extra baby clothes—just in case. I even found this perfect lamp; it’s got a rounded white base and a tall yellow lampshade with white circles patterned all the way around. I know we’re having a girl, but this is Trevor’s office and I wanted to keep it colorful but not overly pink. The last thing that we needed was a pack-n-play. I made sure to get the one that has the changing table and the cuddle cove. Then, when she gets older, she can play and nap in the playpen.

  I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Creating this little home away from home has definitely helped while we wait for this baby to drop. Early on in the pregnancy, Trevor told me that once the baby came, I didn’t have to work if I didn’t want to. He said that if I wanted to stay home with our little girl and work on my writing and figure out what I wanted to do next, that we would be more than fine. I didn’t know that being a stay at home mom was something I wanted until he suggested it. Practically speaking, it makes sense; and the closer we get to the due date, the happier I am that we decided that’s what I’m going to do. I stopped working at the beginning of the month, just before Grace was restricted to bed rest, which worked out pretty well.

  Another pain has me frozen in place, leaning over the partially opened cardboard box in front of me. This one hurts more, but I breathe through it.

  “Daphne?” Tre
vor stops what he’s doing to look over at me. I can’t help but smile. He’s so in tune with me, you’d think we shared a body. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I told you. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine. Could you at least sit down? I can put the playpen together as soon as I’m done.”

  “Okay, but—” I stop when I feel a warm, wet sensation rush down my leg. “Oh. Shit.” I look down at my soiled pants and then back up at Trevor. Suddenly nothing isn’t nothing anymore and I’m trembling with the knowledge that I’m in labor. “Um—how long before you’re done here?”

  He looks from me to his client then back at me. “Fifteen minutes. Why?”

  “And how many minutes to get to the hospital from here?”

  “Seven.”

  I do the math in my head and then nod. “Okay. Could you hurry? I mean, don’t hurry, but, you know, finish?”

  “Are you in labor?”

  “Yeah. But it’s okay, we—”

  “Harvey!” Trevor bellows.

  It takes me a bit of effort to convince my husband that we have time for him to complete his client’s tattoo. Harvey is no help, which isn’t a surprise, but my contractions are still a few minutes apart. I insist that Trevor finish. Forty minutes later, I’m in a hospital bed.

  As I try and catch my breath, Trevor rubs my lower back in an attempt to ease the pain that only has one cure—getting this girl out of me! I hear Logan before I see her, her heels clicking rapidly against the floor as she hurries to meet us. When she peeks her blonde head into the door and sees me, she sighs in relief. She grins as she enters the room, dropping her things in a chair before she comes to my side.