Them (Him #3)

by Carey Heywood

  Straightening back up, I push a pad and pen across the island to him. “You need to come up with at least five things.”

  I’ve never seen a kid so scared to admit he wants stuff. He needs to get over that right now. Sure, I love the fact that he isn’t greedy, but I’d like some balance on him getting or at least feeling confident enough to ask Will or me for the things he needs.

  “And,” I continue. “After you’re done with that, we’re going to the mall. You need new shoes and some new clothes.”

  “No, I don’t,” he tries to argue.

  “Listen,” I cut him off before he says anything else. “I don’t know if you don’t want to get rid of what you currently have because of any memories, or if you think you might somehow wear out your welcome if we buy you stuff. Let me be clear, you don’t have to get rid of any of the things you came here with. That stuff belongs to you, and only you get to decide what happens to any of it. Secondly, you’re outgrowing the stuff you have. We can go to the stores you like. I’m not going to pretend you’re a doll and make you wear stuff I like.”

  “That’s what she has me for,” Will jokes.

  Luckily, his joke seems to relax Logan.

  “Okay, Mrs. Price.”

  While Logan works on his list, I start the dishwasher and work on my own list for the grocery store. “Will, do you want to go with us to the mall, or do you want to go to the grocery store?”

  “I’ll go with you guys and grocery shop after.”

  His response is one hundred percent for Logan’s benefit. Will isn’t a fan of clothes shopping. He was telling the truth earlier about being my doll. I end up buying most of his clothes for him. Otherwise, he’d live in ratty old t-shirts, and I need those to sleep in.

  Once Logan is done with his list, I take a look at it.

  - Lacrosse stick

  - Other lacrosse stuff

  - Xbox points

  - Sketch pads

  - New pencils

  I can put Will in charge of figuring out the lacrosse stuff. The sketch pads and pencils are practically school supplies, not Christmas presents in my opinion.

  “All right, let’s go,” I order.

  Poor Logan looks terrified while Will tries not to laugh. You’d think shopping with me was a punishment or something. The mall I grew up with has long since been replaced by an open air, shopping center-type mall. During spring, summer and fall it’s great, unless it’s raining. I’m not a fan of the open-air concept in the wintertime, though.

  “What are the stores that are popular with teenagers?” I whisper-ask Will when Logan isn’t looking.

  Will gives me a panicked look and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  That means we’ll have to walk around and try to figure it out on our own. “Hey. Do you like H&M?” I ask, seeing it on the right.

  Logan doesn’t reply so I pull him into the store to escape the cold, and also because I like their stuff and have shopped for myself here plenty of times.

  “All the guys’ stuff is upstairs. You two go look around up there while I take a quick peek at stuff down here.”

  Will gives me a look. He knows me well enough to know the phrase ‘quick look’ was a wild exaggeration.

  “I swear, I’ll be fast,” I add.

  They head upstairs while I look around at their new stuff for me. They have great long sweaters for layering over leggings. I like their dresses but wish the hemlines were longer. They look great on someone more petite, like Sawyer, but for me I’m scared about flashing my ass if I ever need to bend over. I find a few sweaters I like and head upstairs to check on Will and Logan.

  So far, they’ve each picked out four t-shirts. “Come on, what about pants and sweaters?” I ask.

  Will doesn’t need anything, so he directs Logan over to the racks with stuff his size on them. I know sweaters aren’t the most popular article of clothing for a teenage boy and because of this, they’re not something that will make a kid excited to pick them out. I follow Will to see what size t-shirts Logan picked out and use that to grab some sweaters for him.

  Once we have a decent pile, we send him off to the dressing room to try everything on. He pops out for a moment after each outfit change. He hasn’t said much but I think, based on his body language, he’s excited about his new clothes. On the way to the register, I make him stop to try on a nice, thick pea coat. It won’t work for playing in the snow, but it’s warmer than the hoodies he’s been claiming are good enough.

  There’s a shoe store around the corner where we get him a new pair of sneakers and a pair of loafers in case he needs to dress up. He surprised me by pulling his new pea coat out of the bag and wearing it as we all walked back to the car. It could have been the cold air, but I had to blink away wetness from my eyes. Will didn’t miss my reaction and drapes his arm around my shoulder, tucking me to his side.

  Logan walks ahead of us, his back straight as he carries the bags holding his new clothes and shoes.

  When we get home, I turn on the tree and read a book in the living room. Logan starts a load of laundry to wash all of his new things. I can tell he’s excited to wear them to school tomorrow. After that, he tags along with Will to the grocery store.

  Before long, they’re back and bringing stuff in. I get up to help but they stop me, telling me they’ve got it. I’m settling back down on the couch when Logan comes over to me.

  “Sarah?”

  I look up, smiling.

  “I’d like to thank you again for my new clothes.”

  I reach out to squeeze his hand. “I’m so happy you like them, honey.”

  He ducks his head, a blush creeping across his cheeks, and leaves the room.

  It reminds me I haven’t passed on his list to our family and friends. Christmas is right around the corner, so I know they want to finish their shopping. I head to my office so I can send an email.

  My desk calendar catches my eye. Luckily, December isn’t covered with blue ass prints like November was. Shaking my head at the memory I pause, my mouth opening as I look at the date. Of course I knew what day it was, I just didn’t realize what day it was: ten days after the day I should have gotten my period.

  What do I do?

  Do I get a test?

  Do I tell Will?

  What if I’m only late?

  What if I’m not late?

  I push away from my desk. Heading out into the living room, I grab my purse and coat. I send Will a text letting him know I’ll be right back and run to a convenience store near our house. I pick up a two-pack of pregnancy tests and hurry toward the register. What if the test is negative? What will I say I needed to buy at the store?

  There’s a display of greeting cards right by the register. I pick up the first one I see and set my stuff down in front of the clerk. She barely glances at them as she rings them up. I’m shaking as I walk back out to my car. When I get home, I find Will.

  He’s watching Logan play Minecraft. “Honey, can I borrow you for a couple minutes?”

  “Everything okay?” he asks, getting up.

  I nod and lead him to our bedroom, closing the door behind him. “I’m late.”

  It takes him a second to get what I’m saying.

  When he does, he moves closer to me, setting his hands on my stomach. “Do you think . . . ?”

  “I’m not sure. I got a test.”

  We read the directions together, Will standing pressed up behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder and his hands on my waist.

  “Seems pretty straight-forward,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

  I splurged on the tests and got the ones that point-blank say ‘pregnant’ or ‘not pregnant’ in the indicator window.

  “I’m so nervous.”

  His hands move from my hips to wrap around my stomach. “Stage fright?”

  He’s making a joke, lightening the mood. He knows I mean the results, but instead, he’s distracting me to calm my nerves.

  One of my
hands moves to cover his, giving it a squeeze. “The show must go on.”

  My voice shakes a bit. He had to have heard it because his grip loosens and I’m spun around and facing him the next moment, his hands on either side of my face as he peers down at me.

  “No matter what the test says, as long as we’re together, I’m already the happiest man alive.”

  I blink away the wetness that threatens to escape my eyes as I stare up into his clear-blue ones. “I love you.”

  His face softens as he leans forward to kiss my forehead. “That’s my girl.” He spins me back around so I’m facing the door to our master bath. “Now, go pee on that stick.”

  I swipe one of the test packets from our bed and giggle as I walk to the bathroom. As close and together as we are, I still prefer to pee without an audience so he waits just outside the door. My anxiety makes a reappearance the moment I’m away from Will and his calming presence.

  Be pregnant, just be pregnant, I tell myself, like thinking it will somehow will it into actuality.

  “All done,” I say, opening the door and motioning Will in.

  He glances at his watch. “And now, we wait. Two minutes, right? Have you already looked at it?”

  I grimace. “Yes, two minutes. You look at it; I’m too freaked out.”

  He grins and sits on the edge of the bathtub, reaching out to grasp my hand so he can tug me into his lap. There, in the warm cocoon of his arms, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and tuck my face into his neck. I still love the way he smells. He’s changed colognes over the years, but there’s always been something uniquely Will there.

  It has to be part pheromone, something that calls to the base of me, the root of who I am and tells me that he is my match. I nuzzle closer to him and smile as his arms tighten around me.

  “Want to sneak a peek?” he whispers.

  “It hasn’t even been a minute,” I whisper back.

  “I’m impatient,” he answers, still whispering.

  “Why are we whispering?” I ask, my voice still hushed.

  “So the baby won’t hear we don’t always follow directions.”

  My head snaps up, my eyes on his. “What?”

  He’s grinning, his eyes beaming, his expression possibly the most excited I’ve ever seen him.

  “You’re pregnant, Miller Lite.”

  My mouth drops. “You can’t even see the test. Why are you saying that?”

  He points to our medicine cabinet. It’s mirrored and after tilting my head, I can see the reflection of the test sitting on the counter.

  I squint at it. “You can read that?”

  He laughs. “I can tell there’s only one word.”

  I leap out of his lap and grab the test.

  Pregnant. He’s right; it only says ‘pregnant.’

  The directions said the word ‘not’ would appear first if the test was negative.

  I gulp, turning back to him. “We’re pregnant, honey.”

  I gasp as suddenly I’m lifted, crushed to his chest as his lips capture mine.

  Will

  We’re both so excited by the news I end up ravishing her in the bathroom. There was a point in time, back when we first got back together, that I wondered if the intensity of my feelings toward Sarah would go away. I knew it never dulled when she was mine the first time around, but part of me assumed that was young love, that now that we’re adults it would lessen.

  The opposite is true, though. Getting to wake up each morning with her in my arms has only made my love for her grow. Now, knowing she’s carrying my baby, a baby we’ve both been dreaming for, my love has impossibly grown even more. I’m excited to watch her body change as our son or daughter does. The actual birth part has me nervous, but I have nine months to get over that.

  Worshipping Sarah’s body has always been easy. Her skin, her curves, the way she reacts to my touch, it’s addictive. Her belly is my new obsession, though. I want to call in sick to work for her entire pregnancy and watch her body change. It’s early so of course there’s no visible change, but that doesn’t stop me from kissing every inch of her torso knowing my baby is inside her. I plan to make that a daily ritual. At night, after loving her, I will chart the changes to her body with my lips and fingertips.

  I carry her over to our bed. “I’m pregnant, Will, not disabled.”

  “Hush.” I kiss her forehead. “Let me take care of you.”

  She doesn’t argue; instead, shockingly, she blushes. My beautiful wife, the mate to my soul, and I can still make her blush.

  “Do we wait to tell people?” I ask, resting her in the sea of pillows on our bed.

  “Maybe we should see the doctor first to make sure everything is okay.”

  “Do you think we’ll get a picture of the baby?”

  She lifts her shoulder, reaching out to lace her fingers through mine. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, so we’ll go to your doctor before we tell anyone.”

  She nods, a small smile curving her lips. It’s then that I see her eyes are wet.

  I sink down next to her and hold her face in my hands, my eyes asking the question my lips don’t.

  “I’m okay,” she answers, then pauses to take a shaky breath. “I’m just so happy.”

  My hands drop to band around her and her face tucks into my neck as I hold her to my chest.

  “So happy,” she repeats, and I know she’s crying.

  My nose stings and I blink away my own tears. I hate to see her cry, but knowing they are tears of joy settles somewhere deep inside my gut.

  After my sister passed away, my family life was beyond dysfunctional. My parents both checked out. They lost themselves in their grief and not only forgot about each other, they forgot about me, as well. I’ll never understand that. Making Sarah happy is my mission in life. Knowing that I’m succeeding is what, in turn, makes me happy.

  “Go back down to Logan,” she whispers. “I don’t want him worrying.”

  “I know we’re not telling anyone yet, but should we tell him?” I ask, pulling back so I can see her face.

  She hesitates. “I think we should make sure everything is okay with the . . .” Her face softens. “ . . . baby first.”

  I nod, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll get your phone.”

  She looks confused and giggles. “Why?”

  “You have a doctor’s appointment to make.”

  Sarah is struggling with what to get Logan for Christmas. She’s worrying herself sick with trying to make it perfect for him. That or she’s using it as an excuse not to think about the doctor’s appointment we have scheduled tomorrow.

  “Let me handle his gift.”

  Her brows lift. “But . . .” she starts to argue.

  “Nope.” I lean down to murmur against her lips. “I’ve got this.”

  She relaxes in my arms, and I hate to leave her but Logan and I need to get to school.

  “Have you shopped for Rascal?” I ask, knowing she hasn’t.

  Her eyes light up. “She needs a stocking.”

  That’s my girl. I brush my lips softly against her again before I pull away. Logan is waiting for me by the side door.

  On the way to school, I do some sleuthing to see what he’d like for Christmas. He’s an active kid, and I’ve already planned to get him some Lacrosse gear so he can participate when I start coaching in the spring. That will be one part of his present but while I want him to learn what it feels like to be part of a team, I also want him to learn how to embrace solitude, as well.

  There’s a trick to being alone without feeling lonely. He’s had a tough year, had to deal with more than any kid his age ever should in such a short period of time. We talk, and he meets with a counselor regularly, but he isn’t dealing. There’s something he needs to work out, and my guess is he needs to do it on his own.

  When I was his age, I had my camera and my skateboard. While he thinks the pictures I have up around the house and in the classro
om are cool, he hasn’t had that spark of interest to show that photography is something he’d like to learn more about. He’s active, though, and loves to be outside. When the weather is nice and he isn’t playing Minecraft, he’s in the backyard playing with Rascal.

  I’d like to get him a bike or a skateboard, but I’m still trying to figure out which he’d be more excited about getting. Right now, it’s a toss-up. Worst-case, I’ll flip a coin if he doesn’t give me more hints soon. Christmas is ten days away, so there’s a decent chance things will be out of stock if I don’t get a move on.

  After I park, we walk in together. When we reach the main entrance, we split ways but he always waits for me to squeeze his shoulder before he takes off toward his locker. My classroom is in a hallway with the other electives like choir and band, the gym at the end of the hall. Logan has English as his homeroom, and it’s on the other side of the school.

  The week before winter break is always tough school-wise. The kids’ minds are all elsewhere, so it’s hard to keep them from getting distracted. In my advanced classes, we’re going over self-portraits. It’s amazing how the kids see themselves. For whatever reason that has to do more with psychology than art, they always highlight perceived flaws. Year after year of different students and it still surprises me.

  At the end of the session, we review self-portraits from other artists, some well-known, some not, and discuss them. It never happens right away, but at some point the kids always get it. They get that what they might feel is a flaw is also something that makes them unique and interesting. That if everyone looked the same life would be boring. That there is beauty in imperfections, that the imperfection in itself is perfect.

  Sure, there are rules when it comes to art, and technique which is my job to teach these kids. The goal, though, after all of those lessons is to give them the confidence to allow their art and their expression of it to be free. That changes the way they look not only at themselves but, I hope, at the world around them. If I have a mission, it’s to teach the kids to embrace curiosity.

  Managing all of that while stressing over Sarah’s doctor appointment and what to get Logan for Christmas is proving to be harder than I thought it would be. I’m relieved when the bell rings for lunch. Logan still eats with me most days, which is good because during my last class, I decided I was going to give up on my detective work and just ask him outright what he wants.