by Gage Grayson
“Thanks, Pops.”
He pulls me in for a quick, firm hug, and a lot of my apprehension washes away.
“Now, go in there and don’t come back out until my grandchild is born.”
I slip into the delivery room where Brooke is surrounded by her doctor and some nurses.
She looks more beautiful now than I’ve ever seen her before.
I take my place at her side, and she takes my hand in hers. She looks up with her incredible blue eyes filled with love.
“You ready for this, Pickle?”
“Are you?”
She nods, and I lean down to kiss her forehead.
“You’ve got this, baby. And I’m right here for you.”
It’s shortly after nine at night when our baby girl is delivered into this world. Brooke is exhausted, and tears of joy stream down her face, but she is positively bouncing on the bed with excitement.
The two of us spend some time together as a family, with our little bundle cuddled together on Brooke’s bed as our little girl feeds.
I find myself swelling with indescribable jubilation. I have absolutely everything I could’ve dreamed of right here in this room and then some.
A loving, beautiful, and incredible wife.
A wondrously beautiful baby girl.
And I know that beyond the doors to this room, I have even more to be thankful for and to hold dear. I’ve spent so much of life running away from this town—this state—that it prevented me from seeing the truth of what I have around me the whole time.
My fingers run through Brooke’s damp locks as she looks up at me and wipes away a stray tear running down my cheek.
“We did it, Dylan.”
“No, you did it. I was just along for the ride.”
She chuckles and smiles warmly before giving me a quick kiss.
“Should we bring them in?”
“I think so.”
I get up from the bed and venture out into the waiting room where everyone is still anxiously waiting.
“So?” Jessie exclaims.
“Come and see for yourselves.”
Everyone rushes into the room and gushes over the sleeping baby held in Brooke’s arms.
Whatever composure Brooke had is lost as Jessie immediately begins to cry as she hugs her friend.
“She’s so beautiful, guys,” Eric says, wiping away budding tears of his own.
Everyone begins to move along the ledge of the bed to congratulate Brooke and greet our baby girl—all but my father. Instead, he stands at my side and places his hand firmly on my shoulder.
“So, do you have a name for my granddaughter?” he asks with beaming pride.
“Yeah.” I pause to look my father in the eyes and place my own hand upon his shoulder. “Meredith.”
