by R. C. Martin
TS: Can’t talk right now. I’m fine. See you when you get home.
It was bullshit, and there was no doubt in my mind about it. Sometimes, it amazed me what she thought she could hide from me. Her silence always meant something was wrong, and there was only one thing that could convince me otherwise—her voice. She knew it, and I knew it, which is how I found myself checking the time. I wondered if I could get away with leaving work early.
“That’s quite the expression marring your handsome face,” said Aunt Eddalyn as she filled my open doorway.
I discarded my phone onto my desk and looked up at her, but I couldn’t smooth out my brow. Teddy had all but laughed off my worry about her current mental state after I returned from my trip. While I couldn’t deny she seemed in good spirits the previous couple of days, I hadn’t forgotten when her doctor’s appointment was scheduled. For her visit to be followed by silence and some bullshit text that she was fine was difficult to shove into the back of my mind.
“Is everything all right?” asked my aunt.
Her question was my reminder that I hadn’t responded to her first comment. I leaned back in my chair and ran a hand down my face. “I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
“What’s this about?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. I didn’t want to stir up more worry than was necessary. Until I knew what was going on, it was no one else’s business—including hers. “Did you need something?” I asked, not unkindly.
“Nothing urgent. But if you think I can’t see right through you, you’re mistaken. What’s bothering you?”
“I—I have something I need to take care of.” As I stood and gathered my things, I informed her, “I’ll be back online this evening, but I’m not going to get anything done until I handle this.”
“You’re not typically cryptic, Judah.”
“If there’s anything to worry about, you’ll be among the first to know,” I promised on my way out the door.
It was a warm afternoon. Before I folded myself behind the wheel of my Porsche, I shrugged my way out of my suit jacket and draped it neatly over the passenger seat. The early hour allowed me the ease of turning down our street a few minutes before the usual evening rush hour traffic began. When I commanded the garage door open and noticed Teddy’s car was gone, I muttered a curse under my breath.
I headed inside, more impatient than I was fifteen minutes earlier. In need of a distraction, I went first to the closet in order to change out of my suit. Just as I was tucking a white polo shirt into my khaki slacks, I heard the garage door open. I glanced out the door, hesitating only long enough to be sure I wasn’t hearing things. At the sound of Teddy’s footsteps, I went to greet her. We both stopped short when we came face to face at the mouth of the hallway.
“You’re—you’re home,” she stammered.
I took a step toward her and gently pinched her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Staring into her pretty, hazel-brown eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, I replied, “I’m not an idiot, Teddy. Don’t treat me like one.”
It was all I said. It was all I had to say. When she nodded, I knew she understood exactly what I meant.
“Um—I…” She hesitated, and I watched as her eyes glossed over with tears. “Remember when I told you I might have more conditions about—about our deal to move? Well—turns out, I thought of another.”
“Theodora?” I mumbled impatiently.
“Our new house—it’s going to need a nursery. And I know you wouldn’t settle for anything less, but I expect it to be the best nursery in the world, designed with only the love and care a father can—” She hiccupped, as if her emotions had robbed her of breath, and then finished, “—
a father can give.”
By the time she was finished speaking, tears cascaded down her cheeks unchecked. I stared at her for a long while and replayed what she’d said in my head over and over. Still, I needed to be sure I understood her correctly, but all I could manage was, “What?”
“I’m pregnant. Apparently, it’s why I’m tired all the time. We won’t know for sure until next week, but—but Dr. Murphy thinks I’m thirteen weeks.”
Again, I stared, my fingers still at her chin while my mind tried to make what she said make sense.
“I thought—”
“Me, too,” she interrupted as she cried a little harder. “And I know you didn’t ask for this. I know the timing is insane, and this wasn’t part of our plan—but I really want this baby.” Teddy’s body jolted as she chocked on a sob. “Even if it means it’s just the three of us, totally in over our heads, I don’t care. I want our little family, and I want you to want it, too.”
“What?” I muttered as my gaze danced around her face. With every word she spoke, it was harder for me to decode what she’d said. No sooner had the news of a baby began to settle in my mind than she questioned whether or not such news was a truth with which I could live. In her brief moment of silence, I was jarred by my own sudden clarity. Only, before I could give voice to my thoughts, she spoke again.
“You always said you didn’t want kids. And we’ve never talked about—”
“Baby, stop talking,” I demanded.
I needed her silence. In a way I never imagined I would, I longed for it.
“Fuck,” I mumbled.
As I stared at her, I took her face in my hands and leaned down until my forehead was pressed against hers. After a moment, I closed my eyes and pulled in a deep breath. My lungs filled with air and the delicate scent of my woman’s perfume as I worked to find the words to wrap around what I felt.
She spoke of timing and plans and the future. All I had the capacity to wrap my head around was the current moment. What I thought might be wrong couldn’t have been further from the truth. And if what she said was real—what lived inside of her was the manifestation of hope the likes of which I’d never seen. Whatever happened next, I didn’t care, so long as the mother of my child was happy.
“Fuck,” I repeated.
Theodora St. Michaels was the mother of my child.
She was right. I’d never asked her for a child. Even the thought of doing so felt cruel. I didn’t need offspring. I had everything I wanted—or so I thought. Turned out, I was in denial.
I swept my thumbs across her freckled cheeks in an effort to dry her tears. The feel of their wetness against my skin caused the memories of so many nights to rush to the forefront of my mind. All the nights she cried, all the pain she battled because she thought this wasn’t possible; all those times I felt helpless—powerless to do anything except love on her and hold her—they now felt powerless themselves. Whatever picture of reality they depicted, it didn’t exist anymore. Suddenly, I wasn’t helpless—I was going to be a father.
“You told me you wanted everything with me,” I finally murmured.
She sniffled and nodded her head as she grabbed hold of each of my wrists.
“Sounds like you got it.”
“Are you—are you saying—?”
“Theodora,” I interrupted as I brought my lips to hers. Speaking on a whisper, I assured her, “I want everything with you.”
A whimper spilled from her lips and into my mouth as she pressed up onto her tiptoes in search of my kiss. When she leaned into me, circling her arms around my neck, I let go of her face and folded her in my arms. She felt the same as she always did—slender and soft—and I wondered when and how her body would change.
She broke away from our kiss with a faint laugh and brought her watery gaze to mine. “Baby, we’re having a baby.”
I searched her face, as if I was unconsciously looking for her to make it more real.
“Are you happy?” Certain as I was of the answer, I wanted to hear her say it.
“Yes,” she whispered as she held me tighter. “Yes,” she repeated. “And if I forget when none of my clothes fit, or I’m dying for coffee or a glass of wine that I can’t have—remind me, okay?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of
my mouth. “Something tells me you won’t forget.”
She kissed me then—long and hard—and I didn’t stop her.
“I love you,” she declared as she came up for air. “Tell me you love me, too.”
“Mrs. St. Michaels,” I began as I dragged my mouth toward her ear. “I’ll love you both.”
Her Epilogue
Four Years Later
It was such a quiet Saturday morning. Frankie was up early, as per usual; but when she came to greet me, she was perfectly content to climb under the covers and snuggle with me for a while. We stayed in bed until we were both hungry, and then we took our time eating breakfast—Frankie as over the moon about her cup of orange juice as I was about my first dose of coffee. As mid-morning snuck up on us, we made our beds and changed out of our pajamas. When Frankie came to find me, dressed in a short-sleeved, floral print, jersey dress and a pair of polka-dot leggings, I was reminded for the millionth time that my daughter was the cutest human being in the entire world.
With her hairbrush in hand, she held it up at me and asked for my help with a braid. I agreed, instantly abandoning my own locks as I lifted her up onto the bathroom counter. After I ran the soft bristles through her gorgeous, long, wavy, dark brown hair—exactly the same shade as her father’s—I plaited a side-braid over her shoulder, the way she liked it best.
“When will daddy be home?” she asked, not for the first or dozenth time in four days.
“Tonight, Mermaid,” I assured her as I tied off her braid.
She sighed, like the wait was almost unbearable, and I kissed her cheek in complete agreement. Momentarily comforted, she then announced she intended to go play, and I helped her down onto her feet before I watched my little, independent preschooler hurry to her play room. This is how, after I weaved my own, long tresses into a side-braid, I managed to find the time to work on my latest blog post.
It took me years to really accept the fact that I had a skill people admired—and a passion that would, ultimately, be my career. Finding my place in the art scene that existed in Los Angeles wasn’t easy; but both Judah and Frankie were my constant reminders that I had fight in me. In a way I never expected, becoming a mother made going after what I wanted a little less daunting. It wasn’t simply that pregnancy, childbirth, and early motherhood helped put things into perspective. More than that, every time I looked into Frankie’s pretty, hazel-brown eyes, I knew I wanted her to grow up fully aware that she was a fighter. I wanted her to walk in the confidence that she could do anything and be anything she wanted to be. I felt responsible to not just tell her every chance I got, but to lead by example.
Yet, even as I began to find success—as my photographs started to sell more frequently, as my ambition and curiosity began to take us around the country and the world—I never dreamed of becoming a voice in the industry of landscape photography. When I started my blog, it was meant for me to document my experiences, my experiments, and the adventures behind my art. I didn’t think I’d one day have millions of followers who wanted to read about the places I’d been and the photographs I took while I was there.
I was almost done with the first draft of one of many posts I intended to write about our last trip—two weeks in Scotland—when I heard the soft pitter-patter of Frankie’s feet approaching. I looked up from my laptop, perched in front of me on the bed, and noted the sad look on my beautiful girl’s face.
“Mommy, what are you doing?” she mumbled.
“Hey, Mermaid. I’m writing. Remember a few weeks ago, when we went to Scotland and mommy took a bunch of pictures?”
She nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t particularly interested in a walk down memory lane or what I was actually doing. Smiling to myself, I reached toward her and traced my fingers along her freckled cheek. “What’s wrong, Frankie?”
“I want to see daddy. When is he coming back?”
“Oh, come ‘ere,” I insisted as I held out my arms. She came close enough for me to lift her up onto the bed with me. I set her in my lap before I wrapped both arms around her, tucking my chin between her neck and her shoulder. “He’ll be back tonight, I promise.”
“That’s too long.”
It broke my heart a little to hear her say that, but I couldn’t argue with her. In three years, Judah had never been away from her so long. He didn’t go on business trips often. When he did, they were usually to Colorado, which was all the excuse we needed to tag along with him. This time was different. Even more, it wasn’t going to be the last time in the coming months that he’d have to be away. While we had always agreed that five days was our max—four days was forever to our little one.
“How about we call him?”
“With our faces?” she gasped, sitting up straight.
“Yeah,” I giggled as I reached for my phone. “With our faces.”
I unlocked my screen, found Judah’s number, and initiated a video call. As it rang, Frankie reached for the device, and I let her have it. The hope I saw in her eyes as we stared at our reflection cast on the screen was priceless—but the tears that filled them a minute later, when Judah never picked up, were not so great.
“Oh, Mermaid, I’m sorry he didn’t answer. I promise you’ll see him before bedtime.”
“Bedtime?” she whimpered. “I have to wait for the sun to go down?”
As she started to cry, I didn’t talk her out of it. Instead, I coaxed her around until she faced me, and she wrapped me in her limbs as she shed tears on my shoulder. I rocked her from side to side and allowed her a moment. The truth was, I understood how she felt. So often, I thought—more than her eyes or her freckles or the texture of her hair—it was our hearts that bore the closest resemblance to one another. My daughter and I were kindred spirits, and Judah was her first true love, just as he was mine.
“I have an idea,” I whispered into her ear. She sniffled and I smiled to myself, positive my distraction tactic would work. At least for a couple hours. “How about we make a snack and then…” I paused for dramatic effect. “Then we can get into the pool!”
She popped her head up immediately and replied, “I want to go swimming.”
I chuckled as I dried her cheeks and replied, “You always want to go swimming.”
It was true. She loved the water. If we’d let her, she’d get in the pool every single day, all day long. When she was two, I had my first near-death experience one afternoon when I turned my back for a second. I’d opened the retractable wall between our kitchen and the backyard, and she took off, headed for the water. She almost made it, and my heart almost stopped.
“We’ll go swimming and then daddy will be home?”
The hope that came back into her big, brown eyes—surrounded by her thick, wet lashes—made my heart melt.
“We’ll have a snack, and then we’ll go swimming, and then we’ll take a nap, and then daddy will almost be home,” I said carefully. “Okay?”
She sniffled again and offered me a nod.
“I love you. You know that?”
“I love you, too, mommy,” she murmured as she rubbed at her eyes. “What’s for snack?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go see.”
Frankie didn’t let me go as I stood from the bed, and I carried her down to the kitchen. Once it was decided that grapes and cheese sounded scrumptious, my daughter kept me company on the counter while I sliced the fruit and cheddar. She popped pieces into her mouth as I cut them, humming as she chewed. We were so in our own little world, I didn’t hear him when he came into the house. It wasn’t until he spoke that Frankie and I both gasped.
“Did you save some for me?”
“Daddy!” screamed Frankie.
I knew she was out of her mind with excitement when she scrambled to her feet right there on the countertop.
“Francesca Danyele,” I cried. I gripped her hand in mine to prevent her from running across the island.
She wiggled her legs and looked down at me helplessly, distraught at having been d
etained. Before I could say another word, I felt Judah’s lips pressed against my temple, and then Frankie was whisked off the counter and into his arms.
My heart was still pounding when I heard Judah murmur into our little girl’s ear, “Hi, sweetie. Why are you crying?”
“Don’t go away ever again,” she whimpered as she clung to him with all her might.
Judah smirked at me, and my heart continued to race—only for entirely different reasons. Watching him love Frankie was my favorite thing in the whole world.
“We’ll negotiate a deal later. Can I have a kiss?”
She didn’t hesitate, but popped her head up and pecked a kiss against his lips.
“My turn,” I teased.
Judah glanced at me and then looked at Frankie as he asked, “What do you think? Should I kiss mommy?”
Frankie nodded at him emphatically. “She missed you, too.”
This made both Judah and me laugh, until he silenced me with a kiss just wet enough to leave me wanting more.
“Me and mommy are going swimming,” announced Frankie as Judah righted himself. “You’re coming, too?”
He touched his forehead to hers and replied, “Why do you think I came back early?”
Frankie frowned in contemplation. “Because you missed me?”
“I did miss you.”
“So you’re coming swimming?” she asked with a wiggle.
“Yeah, sweetie,” he chuckled. “I’ll come, too.”
His Epilogue
“Daddy?” she whispered. “Daddy, I need help.” I felt her climb up onto the bed behind me before she patted her hand against my bare shoulder. “Daddy.”
When I opened my eyes, I saw Teddy’s hair first—her head close to mine as she lay curled up next to me. I drew in a deep breath and looked beyond her sleeping figure, out the sliding glass door that opened up onto our terrace. In just one glance, I knew it was barely dawn. Francesca was a lot of things. Smart. Curious. Adventurous. Sweet—so sweet. But above all, she was an early riser.
