“I can think of a dozen positions I’d love to have you in, and that’s just off the top of my head.” She giggled, lowering her head to my chest. “I love you. That means I love you no matter what, full bush or not!” She playfully elbowed me. “I love you,” I said again, placing my hand on her belly. “Both of you.”
She was smiling when her lips landed on mine. And that smile didn’t leave her face until she fell asleep in my arms, naked and satisfied and completely loved.
*
We spent the entire next day confined to my apartment. I wish I could say we had sex non-stop, but she was six months pregnant. The second trimester is known for making women horny as hell, but she’d just started her third. I missed the boat. There would be plenty of time to make up for it later, and the couple times we did have sex were off the charts. It didn’t matter that it was slower and sweeter. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t bang her against the wall. All that mattered was that we were finally together.
“Lulu,” she said. “What do you think of the name Lulu?”
“I love it,” I said, placing her legs in my lap, attempting to paint her toenails for her, since she could no longer reach them.
“Holt,” she whispered, reaching up, her fingers playing with my hair. “What happens tomorrow? When we both go back to work? What happens with Brent? With us?”
“What do you want to happen?” I asked.
“I don’t want to tell him. It’s going to be terrible.”
“I’ll tell him,” I said.
“I wish we could just stay like this,” she said, smiling down at the one toe I managed to get done.
“We can keep it like this for a little while,” I said.
“How long?” she asked.
I shrugged. “A few weeks, a month. I’d like to tell my family, though.”
She smiled. “You’re such a momma’s boy.”
Chuckling, I ran my fingertips along the skin of her legs. “I think my mom will be happy I’ve found someone. I want to give her that before . . .”
“What about the baby?” Celeste asked, tilting her head. “You want to tell them?”
“I think I should.”
Her eyes lowered. “They aren’t going to think I’m good enough. No mother would want her son dating a woman pregnant with another . . .”
“Stop saying that,” I said, placing the polish on the table. “She’ll be my daughter, and that’s what I’ll tell my family.”
Her head darted up and asked, “You’re going to tell them she’s your baby?”
“I think of her as mine,” I said.
“You do?”
I kissed her again. I couldn’t stop kissing her. We waited so long. “I want us to be a family. I want you here with me. After the baby is born, I want us to get married. I want you to move home to Little Rock with me when I’m done with residency. I’ve had months thinking about you, us, my life without you versus with you.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“We can take a few weeks to settle into things, but I’m not Brent. I know what I want. I’m not scared of this,” I said.
“Then yes,” she said, leaning up to hug me tightly. “Yes to everything you just said. Yes!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HOLT
I’ll never get used to Annalyse waking up before me, especially because it’s some ungodly hour, and I’ve been called to the hospital to deliver a baby. I like watching her sleep in my arms, leaving breakfast next to the bed for her. That’s the way it should be. She should be in bed next to me, but she’s not.
“Fuck!” I hear her curse. The bathroom door is closed, but I still hear her plain as day.
“Annalyse,” I call out. She sticks her head out of the bathroom door. “Why are you in the bathroom screaming?”
“No reason. Did the hospital call?” she asks, and I give her a tired nod. “Go to work. I’ll see you later.”
Women are the most confusing creatures on the planet. I turn to leave then hear her saying, “No, no, no.”
What the hell is she so upset about? Turning around, I stop outside the bathroom door, hoping she’s alright.
“That can’t be right. Let’s do this again.” I hear her say.
What is she doing in there that she has to do again? And why is she doing it in the middle of the night? Scratching my head, I put my ear closer to the door, hearing a tinkling noise. She’s going to kill me if she knows I heard that. A huge grin on my face, I try not to laugh, but then my heart stops.
She’s taking a pregnancy test!
I put my hand on the knob but can’t turn it. Let me just think for one damn minute. She’s upset, said it can’t be right, doing it again. Holy fuck, she’s not taking a pregnancy test. She’s taking another pregnancy test. Because the first one was positive? My head starts to spin; my heart still hasn’t started beating. She just had her period. Unless she lied about that, not wanting to freak me out.
“You’re not right!” she yells.
I bust through the door, seeing her standing totally naked, and her head turns to me. “Get out!” she yells, but I don’t listen.
Normally, my eyes would be all over her curvy, naked body, but this time I hold her eyes. I pull her in my arms and stroke her cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. I know what you’re doing in here.”
“You do?”
Nodding, I say, “I’m shocked as hell, but you don’t have to worry. The timing isn’t the greatest, and I’m sure Meg is going to cut my balls off, but . . .”
“What’re you talking about? Meg will be thrilled,” she says.
“I’m not sure about that.”
“I look that bad?” Annalyse asks. “It really shows?”
I gently put my hand on her belly. “No, you can’t tell at all, but you’re so beautiful.”
“Holt . . .”
I kiss her softly on the lips then stare into her eyes. “Choose happy.”
“Happy? I feel fat,” Annalyse says.
“What?” I ask. What is the deal with pregnant women? Attention, all pregnant women in the world: you are making a person. You are not fat. Shaking my head, I say, “That’s just silly, but you should probably sit down and let me make you something to eat.”
“Eat?” Annalyse says, throwing her shirt on. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“I really don’t want nine months of arguing about this,” I say.
“What are you talking about?”
“Pregnant women need to eat and . . .”
She starts to laugh. “You think I’m pregnant?”
“You’re not?”
“No, why would you think that?”
“You’re in here yelling that something can’t be right and then I hear you yell let’s do this again, and then you pee and then you yell you’re not right.”
She points down at her feet, and I look down. “I was yelling at the scale. I gained three pounds. Who gains weight when they just had the flu?”
I stare down at the scale. “Why’d you pee?”
“I thought I’d be lighter after I peed. You know, morning skinny.”
“But you said Meg would be happy,” I say. “Why would she be happy you gained weight?”
“She’s like a mother, always thinks I’m too skinny. She needs her eyes checked.”
I collapse to the edge of the tub. “Jesus Christ, I thought I was going to be a dad.”
She steps down off the scale, twirling the ends of her hair. “Sorry, three pounds is a lot.”
“No, it’s really not,” I say, feeling my heart returning to a normal rhythm.
“You were so calm,” she says. “Why weren’t you more freaked out?”
“Huh, I almost shit myself.” She shakes her head. “It’s probably because I deliver babies every week. I’m used to hearing pregnancy news. It’s just that usually I’m giving it.”
“No,” she says, rubbing the scar on her belly through her shirt. “You looked happy.”
Did I? I like kids, babies, but I don’t think I looked happy. Still, there’s a better question here. Why does she look so sad? “What birth control do you use?” I ask. Her eyes dart to mine. “It’s not the pill because I’ve never seen you take one.”
“Why does it matter?” she asks, her voice soft.
“That first night we had sex, you told me you had it taken care of,” I say. “I probably should’ve asked sooner.” She can’t even look at me. I glance around. There’s no pregnancy test box or stick, and I truly believe she really was in here bitching about her weight. She was standing on the scale. “Annalyse?”
“Isn’t there a woman in labor waiting or . . .”
“No woman is more important than you,” I say.
“You should read my medical chart,” Annalyse says.
I release a deep breath. “I’m not going to read your chart. It doesn’t matter how badly I want to know something. That’s your private medical records, and you aren’t my patient.”
“Please, just read . . .”
“No. I don’t want to know something about you because I read your blog or your chart. You tell me yourself.”
“This coming from the man who doesn’t tell me a damn thing.” Her eyes close, and I know she regrets those words and wants to take them back. I also know she’s trying to turn the tables on me to avoid her own fear. “October 31st,” she whispers.
“I already read that one,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “That was your anniversary blog post.”
“October 31st, five years ago,” she says, struggling out of my arms.
“Your blog is less than a year . . .”
She turns around. “Not my blog. My medical chart. Read my records from October 31st.”
The hospital files were put on an online database several years ago, so I can log in from home. Otherwise, I would have to go to the office and pull her paper file. And I don’t trust Annalyse not to have a bus ticket out of town if I let her out of my sight.
I scan her files. She’s sitting on my sofa across from me, her hands folded together on her stomach, looking like I’m about to give her the worst news of her life. And I hate reading her records. I know she gave me verbal permission, but technically, I should have it in writing. But that’s not what’s bothering me.
What’s bothering me is that I have to read something about her, something that she won’t just tell me herself. I mean, I told her my dream. The whole time I’ve known her, she’s wanted me to open up, but when I want to know something about her, I have to read it. She’s a young, healthy woman, what could possibly . . .
The records from Halloween five years ago pop up. She never told me about her injuries, only about Logan’s. How stupid of me not to ask, even after I’d seen her scar. I flip through the pages, reading the entire surgical report, Dr. Barbara’s follow-ups, etc. A piece of metal had lodged in her abdomen during the car accident. She’d gone into shock at the scene.
I remember Annalyse saying she sat on the side of the road holding Logan. I remember that part vividly.
I glance up at her, curled into a little ball, trying to hide from the truth, the part of her she told me can’t be fixed. She sat there holding him the whole time while she was hurt herself. I keep reading. Jesus Christ, she lost her spleen, had to have a kidney surgically repaired, and a host of other issues. She made it sound like she hopped on a plane the next day, but she must have been in the hospital for weeks.
“I almost missed Logan’s funeral,” she whispers. “I had to beg Dr. Barbara to let me go.”
She can’t finish, and I know why. A few days after her first surgery, she was rushed into a second surgery when a cyst ruptured on one of her ovaries. Dr. Barbara had to remove it.
“I’ve got a lot of issues. Dr. Barbara thinks my chances of being able to get pregnant are pretty low.”
I’m a doctor; I know the odds. I know it’s not good. “But you still have one, and women with one ovary can still . . .”
“And no spleen, a fucked-up kidney, huge amounts of scar tissue, adhesions.”
“It could happen,” I say. “What ever happened to all that preaching about hope?”
“Sometimes it’s just too hard to hope,” she says. “It’s better to accept things as they are.”
“There’s always surrogates. You still have one working ovary, so . . .”
She flies into a rage. “Stop it! Just stop! I can’t. I can’t let myself want or hope or wish or dream to be a mother. I’ve lost too much!”
I’ve never seen her like this. Sure, she’s had a bitchy tone with me, been angry. But this is something entirely different. I see it all the time in labor and delivery. It’s the pain that’s yelling, demanding to be heard.
“Please, just go to work,” she says, crying.
She’s right. Babies don’t wait, but I can’t leave her like this. I wipe her face with my hands. “I don’t want to miss a tear.”
She shakes her head, smiling through her pain. Pulling her into my arms, I say, “This is the no white picket fence, fairy tale you talked about in your blog.”
“All I’ve wanted my whole life was a family of my own. I guess that’s what most foster kids want. And I was so close, and it all just disappeared.”
“No,” I say, getting up and searching my briefcase. “I know I’ve got some sample birth control packages somewhere.”
“Holt, you can read my chart. We are . . .”
“I’m not worried about that,” I say. “But I refuse to let you give up. You need to live like it’s a possibility. If you don’t believe something can happen, it won’t.” I find the pills and place them in her hand. “You’ve got to believe.”
*
ANNALYSE
“Believe,” I tell myself, as I stand in front of Holt’s bathroom sink. “Choose happy.” I pop out a pill, holding a glass of water in my hand. I haven’t been on the pill since Logan, and I was faithful about taking them every day. I haven’t visited these memories in a long time. Some places are just too dark; I might get lost there. But this was the last thing I needed to tell Holt—my last little piece of living hell. And I’m glad I did. I’m glad he knows everything now.
It seems stupid, but taking that little pill means believing pregnancy is possible. It’s hope in pill form. I’m not full of hope right now, but sometimes these things take time to grow. For now, I’m choosing to just roll with it. My cell phone rings, Holt’s name lighting up the screen. He just left, and I know he was very late. I hope his patient didn’t have to give birth without him. I know why he’s calling. He’s worried about me. Worrying about me has become a second job for him. I toss the pill in my mouth, take a drink, and swallow it down. Smiling, I answer.
“I’m walking into the hospital, but I had to check on you,” he says.
“I’m alright,” I say, glancing at the clock. “Happy Thanksgiving, by the way.”
“You, too, baby. Now go get your sexy little ass back in bed,” he orders.
The orders are the same, but there’s been a change in him. He’s not exactly open, but the door is definitely cracked a bit. “I always thought if you ordered me to bed, it wouldn’t be to sleep.” I can imagine the sexy grin on his face, but hear someone saying his name in the background. “You need to go?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Promise me you’ll go back to sleep.”
“Yes, doctor,” I say in the sexiest voice I can muster, already crawling back into his comfy bed. He hangs up with a chuckle.
My eyes close, but my heart opens, filling with hope—for me, for him, for us.
*
You ever have one of those nights when you wake up, then fall back asleep, and when you wake up again, you expect it to be just a few minutes later, but it’s really hours later? Hearing the front door open, I know Holt’s home. I hope he made it to the delivery in time. He went on call on Thanksgiving to make up for missing all that work when I had the flu.
I glance at the clock. It’s almost te
n in the morning. I’m so glad he’s home. We promised to have a lazy Turkey Day together, doing nothing but eating leftover takeout, decorating the tree, and catching a movie.
The covers slip down my body, his hands sliding up the bare flesh of my thighs. I’m only in a pair of cheeky panties. “Stay just like that,” he whispers, giving my booty a hearty squeeze. “Just got to take a quick shower.”
Rolling onto my side, I snuggle a pillow into my chest and drift back into a state of semi-sleep, hearing the shower turn on. Suddenly, the door slams open.
“Get up, you lazy piece of . . .” a guy’s voice says.
Something lands on both sides of me, bouncing me up slightly.
“Holy shit!” a different male voice says.
My eyes flash wide as I frantically reach for the sheets, screaming for Holt. First, I look to my left, then to my right. I’m seeing double. On each side of me lays a blond, blue-eyed version of Holt.
Holt bursts into the bedroom, only his scrub bottoms on. “Annalyse! What’s wrong?”
“Hey, big brother,” the two mini-hunks say in unison.
“Get out of that bed now, both of you!” Holt yells.
“Brother?” I ask.
But they just settle into the mattress, throwing their arms behind their necks. “Ethan,” the one on the left says.
“Eli,” the one on the right says.
“Annalyse,” I say, looking back and forth between them and pulling the sheet up some more.
Holt grabs Eli up by his collar. “Relax,” Eli says.
“I don’t particularly like seeing my girlfriend in bed with two other guys, especially my baby brothers,” Holt snaps.
Girlfriend? I know he catches the grin on my face, and I raise my eyebrows. “Well, me and two guys that could be . . .”
“Damn, I like her,” Ethan says.
“Me, too,” Eli agrees. “Her ass was . . .”
This time, Holt pulls Eli up and tosses him out of the bed. The menacing look on Holt’s face causes Ethan to get up before he becomes his brother’s next victim. “What are you two doing here, anyway? Didn’t I buy you plane tickets to go skiing?”
The Reason for Me Page 18
