One to Tell the Grandkids

by Kristina M Sanchez

  Oh.

  Caleb breathed in deep as consciousness took a firmer hold. He pressed his palm against the swell of Taryn’s belly where the baby stirred beneath her skin. There was enough distance between their bodies that his skin wasn’t clammy from the heat of the night. Still, he was warm and content where he was. Closing the small distance between them, he buried his nose in her hair and pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

  In the last five weeks, Caleb had discovered many inconsequential things about Taryn Sato. For instance, if he nuzzled his nose against her hair and let his breath tickle her skin, she would come alive under his hands. When he woke her like this, she made the softest whimper, like mews from the tiniest of kittens. She squirmed; she rubbed her feet together and arched her shoulders.

  Taryn brought her hand down to rest over his. “She’s an early riser,” Caleb rumbled in her ear.

  “Just my luck.” She shifted, and her body brushed against his. “Though it looks like she’s not the only early riser here.”

  Caleb smirked and brushed her hair back so he could kiss the sensitive spot behind her ear. For minutes, the morning was quiet except for the smack of his lips against her skin and the rustle of the blankets when she reached her hand back to run her fingers along his length. When laziness gave way to lust, they moved again, a dance they had gotten good at the last five weeks. Caleb rolled onto his back and helped her find her balance when she straddled him.

  What a pretty picture she made. Her hair was hectic from sleep, her cheeks pink with exertion. The curves of her body pleased him. This early in the morning, he could get no more poetic than that. He liked the way her hips filled his hands, the bounce of her breasts as she moved over him, and, of course, the thickening at her midsection. She was at that adorable stage where her bump was perfectly rounded.

  He would have been happy just to look on her, but he wasn’t going to complain about morning sex.

  “You have an early appointment today?” Caleb asked when she had collapsed against him again, sweaty body to sweaty body.

  She laughed. It wasn’t the first time she’d told him his ability to segue right into the middle of a conversation post-coitus was disconcerting. “Um.” She rubbed her eyes, still tittering. “Eleven. I have to be at work by eleven today.”

  Anything Caleb was about to say fell away when her tummy growled. They both giggled, and Caleb wondered why they had skipped the whole stage where they pretended to be embarrassed by their bodies, if it was because they were more friends than lovers, or if it was just Taryn. She stroked her belly, not self-conscious at all about the gurgles.

  “Patch-monster is hungry,” he said.

  She yawned. “I suppose I should feed her before she starts devouring my insides.”

  He slid down her body and pressed his ear to her belly. “Monster says leftovers are fine. Warmed or not?”

  “Seriously? You’re going to feed me day-old Chinese?” She smacked the back of his head playfully. “Take a shower. Forget what the monster wants. Momma wants eggs and pancakes.”

  “I can make you pancakes.”

  “It’s fine. You’re better at French toast.”

  He pushed himself up. “I’m better at French kisses,” he said, waggling his eyebrows a split second before he claimed her lips.

  Her protest was drowned against his mouth. She pushed at his shoulders, but they were halfhearted shoves at best. She sighed when she gave in and tangled her fingers in his hair for a morning-breath make-out session.

  Minutes later Caleb was alone in the shower. There, his thoughts caught up with him. This was the other problem with mornings. In the nighttime, when the world was most quiet, anything was possible. In the harsh light of day, there was no hiding from reality. That day it struck Caleb as he hefted his shampoo from where it sat beside Taryn’s.

  After Ann’s funeral, Caleb had turned around from watching his friends leave, headed back to LA and their normal lives, only to see his father being engulfed by the family he’d replaced him and Ann with. The sight didn’t make him angry as much as lonely. The only arms he had to return to were those of the recliner in his living room. Even though he’d lived in that house alone for years, the idea seemed terrible.

  Then Taryn had been at his side. Her hand found his, and when she asked if he wanted to stay with her, it was the easiest thing in the world to accept. They both had the most innocent of intentions. Taryn was midway through the traditional spiel about where the towels and extra blankets were when Caleb pulled her down on the bed in the guest bedroom.

  Five weeks had passed since then. They’d long ago dropped the pretense he was just a guest. Except for the days Slate visited, Caleb was at Taryn’s house. On the weekends when she visited Slate, Caleb now slid in his bed beside her instead of sleeping on the couch as he had been. His shampoo and body wash stood with hers in her shower, but they had yet to talk about what was going on between them.

  The aftermath of death was tying off loose ends. Caleb had those in spades. It wasn’t only Anne’s life he had to settle, but he was left to tidy the remnants of their mother’s life and sweep up whatever was left of the family they’d once been. There was the house to sell and belongings to sort. He had to find Spencer because the little boy should have something to prove he’d had a mother.

  He could have called it comfort coming home to Taryn. She seemed to be able to read when he needed to be distracted and when he needed to sit quietly with his head on her shoulder and her fingers running through his hair. He wasn’t without his uses to her, either. He knew how to take care of a pregnant woman. He massaged away her aches, satisfied her cravings, and kept the place cleaner than it had been. It was all very comforting, but this wasn’t only about comfort. He didn’t want to think about it, but he knew.

  Happiness was too fragile for words.

  When Caleb emerged from the bedroom, dressed and minty fresh, he followed the delicious smell of breakfast to the kitchen. Taryn had her back to him. Her hair was piled on her head, and she stood at the stove pouring eggs into a pan. A stack of pancakes sat off to the side along with a plate of bacon. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her back against him and tucking her head under his chin.

  Only then did the stiff way she held her body seep into his consciousness. It took him another second to realize she had her Bluetooth in her ear. The low buzz he heard was someone talking.

  Taryn huffed. “Mike, come on. I don’t mind having lunch with my brother. I mind having lunch with the pain in my ass who scrutinizes everything I eat.”

  Caleb moved his hand to her back and rubbed in slow circles. Taryn threw him a grateful glance over her shoulder before she returned her attention to the eggs. She sighed. “You don’t have to treat me. I—” She rolled her eyes, but when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  “Lunch date?” Caleb asked. “What does darling brother want?”

  “The usual.” Taryn transferred the hot eggs from the pan to a plate and handed it to him. “He wants to gloat because he has all the answers and I don’t.”

  Caleb snorted to show his disapproval. “Sit. I’ll serve.”

  He wanted to be the good friend who asked the right questions. She was in her final trimester now. For the last five weeks, he hadn’t been very attentive to what was going on with her, Slate, and the baby. They had to be pinning down final arrangements. But talking about their plans, or lack thereof, would open up a conversation Caleb wasn’t sure he was ready to have yet.

  Happiness was fleeting, and he was going to hold on to this tiny slice of it for as long as he could.

  “What are you doing?” Taryn raised an eyebrow as she watched Slate drag the coffee table closer to the couch.

  “You’ll see.” He slid down on the floor, his back against the couch, and opened a plastic case. Taryn peered over his shoulder to see markers of every conceivable color. His brows knitted with a level of seriousness she’d never s
een on his face as he looked over the colors.

  When he had selected five markers, he twisted. His eyes flicked up to hers and he held her gaze as he pushed her shirt up to expose her belly. Trusting that he wasn’t up to anything nefarious, she only watched him with curiosity. He winked. “Blank canvas.”

  “Yeah, that’s a tactful word for what I am. A canvas. Has a better ring to it than a whale.” She ruffled his hair. “We’re supposed to be having a serious conversation.”

  “I’m using hands and only a very small portion of my brain. We can talk serious.” He touched the tip of a blue marker to the apex of her belly. Taryn sucked in a breath but managed to keep relatively still despite the tickle against her skin. “I think we need to settle on a name.”

  “You really think that’s the most important conversation to have?”

  “How is that not the most important conversation? Kid’s going to be stuck with the name all her life.” He put down the blue and picked up a metallic purple marker.

  “At least until she’s eighteen and can legally change it.”

  “Eighteen years is a long time.” Slate pressed his lips together, concentrating for a moment as he worked a loping design around the blue dot he’d drawn first. “I think we should settle things based on longevity. Living situations, visitation—all of that could change at any time, right? Her name will be with her for a long time if not forever.” His eyes found hers briefly before he looked back to his work. “And whatever it is, I’m going to get some kind of tattoo. That will be forever.”

  “You’re going to get a tattoo?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course. That’s kind of mandatory. This is the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. If I don’t get a tattoo to commemorate this . . .” He shook his head and switched to next marker. “My tats are important to me. Each of them has a special meaning. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about names. I have this idea in my head. I don’t want a name tat. I’d like to do something more symbolic.”

  “Like your drawings.”

  “Right. Which means if you were thinking of some of the more traditional names, you’d be making my life difficult.”

  “Hard to find a symbol for Mary, Elizabeth, or Emily.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced at her. “That and I like unique. But if you like traditional names, we can talk about that.”

  “I was pretty happy to never have a kid with my name in my class. To be honest, I don’t even know how to begin thinking about this. How unique are we talking?”

  “Nothing spacey. Something beautiful and strong.”

  “Zena. Warrior princess.”

  Slate grinned. “Xena. With an X. That’s a name to live up to.”

  “Plus you could get a Lucy Lawless tat.”

  “Tempting. Ruby? I could do a lot with Ruby.”

  “That’s an interesting thought. Gemstones. Rocks. Like Slate.” She touched the tip of his nose.

  “Hadn’t thought of it like that, but I like that.”

  “What else have you thought about?”

  He laughed. “Everything pops out to me right now, you know? A lot of the brands I work with are looking interesting to me. Micky. Koi. Sailor.”

  “Oh, Sailor.”

  “Sailor Jerry is a classic brand.”

  “Definitely not Jerry.”

  “No Geraldine?”

  “No.”

  Slate hummed his agreement and switched to a marker with a deep green shade. “You really don’t have any ideas?”

  Taryn watched the intricate pattern Slate was bringing to life on her skin for a while before she answered. “I always liked Raine.”

  “Raine. Now there’s a lot of imagery to be played with there.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t work well with very many middle names.”

  “She doesn’t need a middle name.”

  “No, but I like the idea of one.”

  “What about Raine as a middle name? You could still call her Raine if you wanted to. People do that.”

  “Which still leaves us with the question of first name.”

  “You know . . . my mom raised me on She-Ra and He-Man videos. Did you ever watch those shows?”

  “Are you trying to tell me you want to name our daughter She-Ra?”

  “No. He-Man.” He winked at her. “Her name was Aurora.”

  “Aurora. That’s beautiful.”

  “We could call her Rory for short. I always liked that name. Plus I— Hey!” Slate drew his hand back and glared at her belly.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Slate’s frown turned into a rueful smile. “Kid messed me up.” He tapped at the spot on the side of her stomach he’d been working on, and Taryn could see where the design had been thrown off. “That was a strong kick.”

  Taryn put her hand to where their daughter kicked again. “What do you think? She might be making her opinion known.”

  “Aurora Raine?”

  “Aurora Raine Sato-McKenzie?” Taryn made her tone unassuming, testing the waters in case he found the idea of a hyphenated name distasteful. She wanted them both to be represented, but she didn’t want to make it a fight unless she had to.

  Slate took her hand and squeezed. “I can definitely work with that.”

  They grinned at each other, and Taryn laid back on the couch, stunned. She was having a baby, a daughter named Aurora Raine.

  For a few minutes, they sat in silence, Slate still making beautiful art on the canvas of her skin. Her eyes wandered to the tats visible to her and wondered at their meaning. Had he designed all his tats? It was a reasonable assumption. Slate’s work was gorgeous.

  Her thoughts turned to the tattoo she was most intimately familiar with. Caleb’s trinity knot. She knew he’d caught her staring at it more than once, and each time, it seemed to her that he wanted to say something. He never did, though.

  “Hey, Slate?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did . . . does . . . did Caleb have a daughter?”

  Slate sucked in a breath. He didn’t look at her, Taryn noticed, and after a moment, he went back to his work. “Um, why would you think that?”

  “You talked about a Trinity once, and his tattoo—”

  At that, Slate did look up. “You’ve seen his tattoo?”

  “Yes. It’s perfect by the way.”

  “I, uh . . . thank you, but how did you see his tattoo? He never shows it to anyone.”

  Taryn froze and dropped her gaze. She scrambled for some explanation.

  “Oh. Oh. Wow. Wow.”

  Taryn couldn’t read Slate’s tone. She knew he’d made the connection. The only way she could have seen Caleb’s tattoo was if he’d had his shirt off. Caleb wasn’t the kind of guy to go shirtless on a whim. “Slate.”

  He stood, and when she had the courage to look, he had his hand in his hair.

  Taryn sat up on the couch. “Slate, I . . . ah, hell.”

  “Yeah. Whoa. Just whoa.”

  She couldn’t read him at all. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but—”

  “You and Caleb? Really?” His face was pinched, but Taryn couldn’t tell if he was registering more surprise or pain.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He’d worked his hair out of his ponytail by then. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “I really don’t know. Are you together?”

  “It isn’t like that.”

  His eyes went wide. “What’s it like? You said you didn’t do onetime things, and I know you weren’t drunk.”

  “Of course I wasn’t.”

  “So it’s not a onetime thing.”

  “I . . . no.”

  “But you aren’t together?”

  “Uh. No?” She knew how stupid and small her voice sounded. She wanted to be indignant. He was not her boyfriend, and he had no voice in what she did or didn’t do with her body. She was just uncertain of the protocol. He wasn’t yelling or being accusatory
. He seemed blown away and confused. She stood and took a step toward him, but he held his hand out.

  “I think I need a minute,” he said.

  “Slate, are—”

  “No. We’re okay. I think. I’m not sure. I just . . .” He made a spinning motion at his head with one finger. “I need a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  He nodded, his hands on his hips. “Okay.”

  They stood and stared at each other in awkward silence for a handful of tense moments, then Slate huffed. “Yeah. Okay. I’m just going to take a drive.”

  “Okay,” Taryn said, and because she had no idea what else she should do, she stood still and watched as he walked out the door.

  When he was gone, she sank back down on the couch with her head in her hands. Another thing in her long list of questions to be answered was going to be checked off tonight, she could feel it.

  Somehow, she didn’t think it would go as smoothly as choosing her daughter’s name.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Slate didn’t come back that night, and Taryn fell asleep waiting for the world to come crashing down around her. She woke up with a pounding headache to go along with the rap, rap, rapping at her door. Her head spun as she tried to orient herself. She wondered why Caleb wasn’t in bed beside her.

  Right. Slate had come to her for the weekend because he wanted to be there for her doctor’s appointment on Monday. Caleb was in LA.

  Taryn sat bolt upright as the events from the previous night came back to her. The persistent knock at the door had her scrambling to untangle herself from the blankets that had wound around her legs. It had been a restless night.

  Still muddled, she threw open the door and was surprised to find not Slate or Caleb but Mike standing on her stoop. She groaned and leaned her head against the jamb. “Mike, I’m pretty sure I don’t have the energy from a surprise visit from you.”

  His eyes glinted, but he sighed instead of arguing. “I’m not here to lecture you.”