The Flight of Hope

by HJ Bellus

  The sun is high above the mountains before the front door swings open. My sexy lumberjack fiancé waltzes out in a red flannel button up, cargo jeans, and a magnificent beard growing in. Jed Bryant is the ideal poster child for lumbersexual.

  “Off to work, baby.” He leans down and kisses my forehead, handing me a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast.

  The eggs are perfect sunny side up, the bacon is crispy but not burned, and the toast is buttered with ample amounts. I’m one lucky lady.

  “Jed, you are going to make someone a one fine piece of ass someday.”

  He shakes his head. He’s heard this compliment a few dozen times from me. He leans down one more time aware of the plate balanced on my belly, catching my lower lip with his teeth. I don’t miss the silent growl vibrating against my teeth.

  “One day,” he whispers before kissing the hell out of me.

  “Ready, Daddy.” The front door slams followed by a mini version of Jed walking out.

  Fender in his red flannel and cargo pants. He has a mini hammer dangling on the side of his leg. “Time to get our lumbersexual on, Dad.”

  “I swear between you and Caleb razzing me about this damn bet I’m going to have to sink some serious money into Fender’s future counseling.”

  “Get on with it.” I squeeze his bulging bicep. “You sexy lumber beast.”

  He stands, shaking his head. “Only for you, my queen. Your future castle is awaiting.”

  He grabs Fender’s hand and trails off in the direction of our future home. Jed is adamant about building everything he can with his own two hands. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know it’s his own kind of therapy.

  I roll my head to peer over at Luke who is also studying the pair retreating.

  “Thank you, Luke,” I whisper.

  He glances over at me.

  “Thank you for giving me him.”

  35

  “If you have only one smile in you give it to the people you love.” -Maya Angelou

  “‘Cuse me, my mom has an appointment with doctor at one fordy.”

  The receptionist behind the desk winks at Fender. “What is her name?”

  “Marwee Foster.”

  “Let’s see here.” She taps her neon green mechanical pencil against the counter, looking down at a stack of papers, which is in no way shape or form a calendar. “Yep, got her. I’ll check her in if you want to take a seat.”

  “I got you, Mommy.” Fender grabs my hand, leading me to a seat.

  There hasn’t been one day that goes by where he’s had a difficult time digesting the fact he’s going to be a big brother. Jed and I keep waiting for the fallout, but it’s never come. Nana and my mom, now known as Grams, have supplied him with endless picture books on being a big brother.

  “Sissy, hang in there. A few more minutes,” Fender whispers into my belly after settling down.

  A few other expectant couples stare at us. I smile and look back at Fender who is now petting my belly which is the size of Texas. He’s convinced that all I need to do is hop up and down on one leg, wink, and clap to get his sister out. We don’t know the sex of the baby. Jed and I both chose to wait, but Fender is for sure it’s a little girl.

  I wince in pain. The Braxton Hicks are becoming stronger every day. I’ve already nested or at least that’s what Martha and Mom thought. Her and Dad have visited two times since I told them I was expecting and like I predicted, they fell in love with the Bryants.

  “Farts?” Fender asks, peering up at me with concern.

  I nod, easing his tension. Although he’s on board with having a sibling, health is always front and center on his mind. His tiny palm sneaks up the front of my black maternity top. He traces circles, triangles, and then begins writing his alphabet. It always relaxes me no matter how uncomfortable the situation is. I see him before Fender does. His eyebrows are growing back in. The swelling in his face has vanished. His head is still covered in his favorite beanie, but that damn tight as hell black t-shirt is hugging his chest.

  He kisses the top of Fender’s head before taking a seat on my other side. Fender only stops for a second, sending his dad a toothy grin.

  “How’d it go?” I ask.

  “All is good. Real good, baby.” He laces his fingers in mine.

  We’ve coordinated our trips to Boise since it’s almost a two-hour drive. Jed hates it because he doesn’t want to miss an appointment. His cancer is in remission, and we are at the stage of check-ins and check-ups. It will never be gone or too far from our thoughts. We aren’t fools and know at any time it can make its presence known.

  “I knew it.” I kiss his cheek, and when he turns his head, I take full advantage of his lips.

  I wince again. The cramp seizing my lower back is intense. It’s like a period cramp, but on damn steroids. I only have a brief moment to realize they’ve never been that close before the door to the waiting room flies open.

  “Marlee Foster.”

  “Here.” Fender shoots up his hand.

  Hell, you’d think the kid won a raffle or a door prize. He’s a part of every step. The nurse weighs me in then Fender. I get my blood pressure taken then Fender. His Uncle Caleb is out to play when it comes to the nurses.

  “Jesus.” I grab my lower back, freezing in the middle of climbing up on the paper cover table.

  Fender gives me the eyebrow stare. Nana has been on potty language patrol, cracking down, and laying out the law.

  “I meant, we should have Jell-O tonight.”

  “Lime. Only lime Jell-O.” Fender continues digging around in my purse in search of his Matchbox cars.

  “You okay?” Jed asks, helping me up on the table.

  Each day he gains a bit back of his old self. The muscles and flesh filling back in. Jed was adamant about hiring a midwife to live in Moore, so I wouldn’t have to travel once we found out I was pregnant. I refused to let fear control me any longer. It was a battle that I won. Once the chemo treatments ended, Jed Bryant, country music king, slowly came back to life. I’d catch him singing around the house and humming a tune when he thought no one was listening. It hasn’t been easy, but with the escape of time, he’s coming back stronger and better. Just like I knew he would.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “The Braxton things are getting more intense.”

  “Mom said they would. You are thirty-eight weeks pregnant though, it could be the real thing.”

  “And you could be Santa Claus. I’m not going early, Jed, don’t try to get my hopes up.”

  “I do have a big package.”

  “Jes…Darn, I want some Jell-O.” I clutch my back, but this time it’s the searing paining creeping up the inside of my thighs up into my lower stomach. It’s a slow burn that reveals pain I’ve never experienced before.

  “Marlee?” Jed whispers, kissing my neck.

  “I want my mommy.”

  The door to our small room whips open. Dr. Vandergriff walks in, face in his open laptop, hair skewed, and looking a hot mess like he always does. Once the nurses and staff on the oncology floor found out we were expecting, they set us up with their favorite OB/GYN doctor. They had warned us about first impressions and to ignore his dry humor. After six females gushed over him while Jed received his chemotherapy, I knew he was a good one.

  “How are we today?” Dr. Vandergriff takes a seat on the rolling stool, still never making eye contact. “Let me guess, nearing nine months pregnant, miserable, and ready to bust that watermelon out of your lemon.”

  He snorts at his joke. I typically would offer up a half laugh or at least a smile but not today.

  “Jell-O!” I scream, trying like hell not to.

  “Lime,” Fender chirps with his racecars all lined up on the floor.

  “I think my girl is in labor,” Jed offers.

  “I am not!” I slap the paper covering on the table then dig my nails into it, battling through the pain. “You can’t say that.”

  Warm liquid. Oh, so warm seeps down the inside
of my thighs. It darkens my beige leggings and soaks into the paper.

  “Oy vey. Baby Foster/Bryant is coming today.” Dr. Vandergriff stands in complete confidence and walks out of the room.

  “Did he leave?” My question comes out as a hiss and curse.

  Jed has the phone pressed to his ear. “Mom, it’s happening.”

  “You are calling your mom right now?” I yell, then another one hits, and I’m paralyzed with pain.

  Fender’s favorite nurse comes in, coaxing him out with a lab coat and set of scrubs. He doesn’t blink an eye before ditching us.

  “It hurts. It hurts.” Once the door is closed, I let it all out. “It motherfucking hurts.”

  Jed is in my face, his hands cup my cheeks, forcing me to look at him as he talks slowly and deliberately. At first, it pisses me the fuck off.

  “You have to calm down. Marlee, breathe. Calm down.”

  “You calm down, wildcat,” I holler in his face. “Your vag isn’t being split open by a watermelon.”

  “Now, now.” Dr. Vandergriff walks back in followed by a team of nurses. “Ain’t nobody going to be splitting anything right now, watermelons included. Marlee, the hospital is waiting your arrival. We’ll get you transported over there.”

  “It’s an elevator ride down two floors and three hallways away,” I argue because the pain is turning me into a monster. It’s irrational, but holy shit.

  “Yeah, I know.” Dr. Vandergriff reaches for the doorknob. “Would you rather hoverboard down there?”

  “Fuc…”

  Jed covers my mouth before I can get the rest out. A sensation that grips the base of my spine and hips takes over. Screw menstrual cramps, this is a tsunami of wreckage. I writhe under Jed’s hand, wiggling around the table, battling to find some comfort. It never comes, so I bite down and ride it out.

  “Son of a bitch.” Jed pulls back his hand, wringing it out.

  I should say sorry and I will later, but this pain is too much.

  “Hang on until six in the morning and I’m the doctor on call.” Dr. Vandergriff opens the door with a warm and familiar grin on his face.

  The evil bastard.

  “Fuck you,” I reply.

  Jed doesn’t catch it this time. The hallway absorbs the echo of it. The nurses get me in a wheelchair, soaked leggings and all. I want to ask for a blanket, but the torture brewing inside of me is too much.

  “Fender.” I reach back and clutch to Jed’s forearm.

  “He’s with his Nana and Grams.”

  I open my mouth to tell Jed how big of a dumbass he is because my mom isn’t here, but then I have to poop.

  “I’m going to shit myself,” I announce, freaked out.

  “Don’t,” a nurse racing down the hallway demands. “Don’t push. The sensation is going to be strong, but don’t push. Hold on, Marlee.”

  “But it’s a big one.”

  My inner Caleb. Not my fault.

  “I have to push!” I scream.

  I’m lifted up into bed, my leggings stripped away and the whole while Jed keeps his hand locked in mine.

  “She’s crowning. It’s time.” I hear a nurse announce.

  “Don’t even.” Jed scowls down at me. “Don’t you dare.”

  “How did you know I was going to say NO SHIT?” I place extra emphasis and pitch on those last two words.

  “Focus on me. You’ve got this, Marlee.” Jed keeps talking to me until I interrupt him.

  “It hurts so bad, Jed. God, make it go away. It’s damn horrible.”

  Jed doesn’t answer with words but starts singing a song. “Kiss An Angel Good Morning,” and I want to stab his penis. I don’t, only because of the pain coursing through me. The more he sings, the more I’m grounded into his voice. I focus on it and only it. He goes through two more songs until I’m finally instructed to push.

  The doctor between my legs isn’t Dr. Vandergriff, but a stranger. I follow instructions and push.

  “Good. A few more strong pushes. You’ve got this.”

  I roll my head to Jed. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” He gets in my face. “You will. Ready? One, two, three, and push.”

  I bare down on his hand and give it all I have.

  “One more,” the doctor instructs.

  I repeat it over and over until I hear the words.

  “It’s a girl.”

  No shrill cry fills the air. It’s dead silence. Jed lets go of my hand, rushing down toward the baby. I struggle to sit up, but only see a blur of movement down at my feet.

  “Jed,” I say.

  No response, just bustling bodies everywhere.

  “Jed!” I scream.

  A reply of the sweetest serenade comes in the form of a high-pitched scream. It never ends.

  “Want to cut the cord, Dad?”

  Jed nods.

  My baby girl continues to cry as they weigh and bundle her up. I never want to hear her quit. The sound is comforting knowing she’s here.

  “Nine pounds and six ounces,” a nurse announces.

  The doctor still between my legs nods. “Ran out of room to stay in there. Someone was excited about joining the world.”

  The doctor continues staying between my wide-spread legs, but I’m transfixed on my baby, watching the nurses every move. Jed is right by our girl’s side the entire time.

  “Here you go, Mom.”

  Mom.

  Three letters that change my life forever. They have since I so desperately wanted a baby when Fender started calling me by it, and now as a cherub of a little girl is placed in my arms. A miracle I never thought would grace my world.

  Her rosy-red cheek nuzzles into my chest. Jed pulls down my bra. In the midst of the chaos, I never got fully undressed. Big, bright blue eyes stare back at me as she works her little cheek against my skin.

  “Hi, sweetie. Mom and Dad have been waiting on you for a long time.”

  She turns her head, suckling to find a nipple as if she’s indicating the same thing. Her sweet, little lips latch right onto my breast.

  “I’m speechless, Jed.” I run my fingers through her baby-soft raven, black hair. She is a Fender junior, there’s no doubt about it. The Bryant genes are strong.

  Jed shakes and trembles above me, keeping his hand on our baby girl.

  “Quinn Hope Bryant,” he whispers. “Welcome to the world.”

  36

  “The course of true love never did run smooth.” -William Shakespeare

  “Banky, it’s your turn. I’m out of five dollar bills.”

  I peek around the corner to see Luke holding Quinn out at an arm’s distance. Caleb is signaling hell no with his hands, and Fender is done with the whole ordeal.

  “Is someone being mean to my baby girl?” Jed sings, striding out in his black tux pants, unbuttoned white shirt with his tie haphazardly over his shoulders.

  He takes her from his dad. Our chubby ten-month-old, Quinn, begins to babble, slapping Jed’s cheeks.

  “Dadadadada.”

  Her first and only words to date. It’s all about her dad. Quinn loves the boob, but once she sees Jed, it’s game over. Fender rolls in at a close second, Guy a clear-cut winner at third, Nana, Papa, Grams, and my dad all mingled in there. Me? I’m the boob feeding the baby, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Fender’s infatuation with having a little sister wore off overnight because of poop, wet diapers, and puking. He said to hell with it and went on about his life as Fender, which includes dirt, being curious, and Guy.

  I stare at my three humans with awe and love. Today is finally the day we are getting married. Jed is healthy, and I’m not big as a house. Fender fiddles with his black bowtie he insisted on having while Jed takes Quinn in her fluffy peach dress back into the room to change her diaper.

  “Get back here before they see you.” Martha hisses and tugs on me.

  I swat her hand away. It’s not like this is the typical wedding in the least. Hell, it’s furthest from
it. However, Mom and Martha have different plans.

  “Slip into your dress. Your mom is checking in on the food. We have about fifteen minutes to show time.”

  “Quinn pooped,” I announce. Yes, motherhood is all about dirty diapers, scraped knees, and lots and lots of loves.

  “Jed will get it.”

  I nod, pulling down the simple yet exquisite white dress from the hanger. It’s nothing fancy just a strapless white dress, fitted at the waist and flairs out, flowing to the floor. There’s a slit up the side to show a peek of my leg. There’s no intricate beadwork or lace. It’s simple and to the point.

  “Marlee, hustle up. You’re going to be late for your damn wedding.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave my hand in the air and disappear into the bathroom with my dress.

  I’m not concerned about being late since the only guests are our family members. Mom and Dad flew in last week. Maddie arrived last night. Then it’s Jed’s immediate family, so the way I see it, we can be as early or late as we want. It’s the way a wedding should be. Nothing fancy or too showy with guests who attend to judge your dress, decorations, and menu selection then gossip behind your back.

  Ours is an intimate ceremony with Quinn as my maid of honor and Fender the best man. Of course, they won’t be able to sign the marriage license. Our mothers will.

  Before slipping into my dress, I fix some of the loose beach curls with my fingers and touch up my makeup. I use the term makeup loosely as it’s merely a swipe of glitter lip-gloss and eyeliner. I hear the bedroom door open and shut and get ready for the wrath of Martha. She’s over the moon excited for her first wedding. She claims Caleb isn’t too far behind the game, but I don’t see how since he doesn’t have a girlfriend or even eyeing a woman for that fact. Caleb’s been quiet, behind the scenes, but our biggest support system at the same time, so he could have something up his sleeve. I’m not a fool and see the way he and Maddie get along, but then again Caleb could make friends with his own shadow.