by Lexi Whitlow
Maddox swallows hard, and I see tears at the corners of his eyes. For a tough-as-nails marine, he’s already insanely emotional about his daughter.
“She’ll never have to tolerate any of your parents’ bullshit.”
“I know. I’m not planning to let them have a visit any time soon.”
“I doubt they’ll be able to lift their own heads out of all this crap. It’s all about them. It always has been,” Ella says.
“And this — this baby — she’ll know unconditional love.”
“She already does,” Maddox says.
I hold his hand, and for once in my life, everything seems absolutely perfect.
Chapter Thirty
Maddox - January 10, 2019
“Avery, hurry up.” I stand at the door of our bathroom apartment, and I’m taken back to the memory of Avery, hiding in the bathroom and getting ready for her mother’s ridiculous foundation dinner. “We’re down to the wire here.”
“Just a second,” she says.
Inside, the water stops running. I hear her blow drying her hair — for the second time, and then there are the clicks of make up jars and whatever the hell else women do to their faces. Who knows? Tweezers and all sorts of other torture devices.
At eight months pregnant, Avery still doesn’t need any of it. In fact, she looks more beautiful than ever. Her hair is thicker and wilder, her breasts fuller, her ass even more delicious.
I listen as she rustles around in the bathroom, and I have visions of her falling to the floor, unable to move. I try to keep the panic out of my mind. It was her idea to get married at thirty-six weeks pregnant. And she and Ella had me agreeing to go along with it, since it was the only time Salvatore could make it up here.
“Dammit, woman,” I say. I adjust the bow tie of my tuxedo and rap on the door again. I’ve found that at this stage of her pregnancy, I’m not 100% comfortable with her being alone anywhere, especially given her propensity to tumble down stairs and trip over cracks in the street. Or smash her bike into lampposts.
“Hold your horses,” she says. “You have to let me get dressed by myself. You’re not my bodyguard anymore, and you can’t see me in my wedding dress.”
“You are already knocked up, and we’re riding over to the courthouse together.”
“Well, we’ll hook you up with a blindfold. It’s bad luck. My pregnancy doesn’t have anything to do with anything,” she quips. After thirty more seconds, the door opens, and there she is — my very pregnant, very beautiful fiancée. Her deep red hair falls in cascades over her shoulders, falling beneath her white strapless bra and touching the top of her very round belly. Besides that, she has on lacy white boy short panties.
I catch myself staring at her. “Ave, you look —”
“Pregnant? Whale-like? Gigantic.” She pauses and bites her lip. “Oh — actually. Like a hippopotamus with red hair.”
She laughs and pulls me into her arms. Inconveniently, my cock responds. I feel myself starting to swell against her, which is not entirely appropriate for the situation. “If Ella weren’t in the other room, I’d give you a run for your money right about now,” I say, nuzzling into the delicious scent of her hair. “You are fucking incredible.”
She lets out a peel of laughter. “Okay, settle down, marine. At ease,” she whispers back, her hand going to my cock.
“Hey now, if you actually want to get married before our daughter is born, I’d say you need to let go of my equipment.”
We both descend into laughter, and Ella marches out of the guest room, hands on hips. “Alright, you two. Lay off of the cutesy stuff. We need to get a move on. Avery is naked, and the wedding is in half an hour. Chop chop,” she says.
Before I know what’s happening, Ella has Avery by the arm and is dragging her back to her bedroom. “You,” Ella says to me. “Get on the couch and put on your blindfold. You are not allowed to see this woman in her wedding dress. Bad luck.”
“I heard.” I sit on the couch and put on the damn blindfold Ella has laid out for me. In a matter of minutes, the two of them are bustling me out of the door. I can hear the swishes of Avery’s dress, and I can’t believe I still haven’t seen it. Our apartment in Vancouver is all of eight hundred square feet, and we share a closet. I don’t know where she’s been hiding that thing.
“We’re leading you for once,” Avery says, taking my arm.
“I really don’t know why I agreed to this. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. That dress stuff is an old wives’ tale.”
“It’s definitely not,” Ella says. “My cousin’s ex-husband saw her in her wedding dress the day of the wedding. He turned gay like six weeks after that.”
Avery busts out laughing. “That’s definitely not how it works. Didn’t he marry her for a green card?”
“Yep,” Ella says. I hear a car door opening.
“Then her wedding dress was good luck, at least for him,” Avery retorts. My future wife shoves me into the car, and I feel it start up. She laughs, and pours in beside me. I feel her small, delicate hand take mine.
“We ready, Bryant?” Salvatore says from the front seat. The car pulls out before I can answer.
“Yes sir,” I say, grasping Avery’s hand.
She squeezes my hand a little too tight in response and takes a deep breath, letting it all out through her nose.
“You okay?” I whisper. My heart beats a little harder. Something tells me that breath was a little more than just a breath.
“Yep, just a Braxton Hicks contraction. The doctor said she’s not ready at all. It’ll be four more weeks at least. Calm down. I know exactly what you’re thinking.” Avery pats my hand, and I resist the temptation to pull off my blindfold.
The car pulls into the courthouse parking lot, and the four of us file out, Ella leading me by the arm into the judge’s chambers. Avery sighs heavily again, and I try to hide my nerves.
The judge snorts when we walk in. “He’s not supposed to see the bride, I take it.”
“Yeah,” Avery says. Her voice is breathy.
I feel her cool fingers at my temples, and she takes the blindfold away. What I see next is Avery — only Avery. Salvatore and Ella are standing in the background, and Avery outshines them both. Her dress was handmade by an old friend of hers named Mallory — and it’s amazing. Gathered over her splendid belly, and tailored to accent her every curve.
Behind her are Salvatore and Ella — and standing next to them are my mother and brother. My heart leaps, and I don’t know where to look next. I run and bring my mother into my arms. She still looks frail, but she’s here — and she’s alive.
“I didn’t know you’d make it,” I say, tears in my eyes.
“Anything for you, kiddo,” she says. “You got me all better, even though you went up and messed up that nice job of yours.” She laughs. “But I can see it was for a good reason. I think I’ll be in town long enough to meet my granddaughter, too.”
My brother joins us in our embrace. “Good on you, brother,” he says. “She ain’t half bad looking,” he says, gesturing to Avery. I laugh and punch him hard on the shoulder.
Avery is crying now, and there are tears streaming down my own face.
I turn to Avery. “Baby, you look beautiful,” I murmur. I pull her into my arms and kiss her deeply.
“Settle down, now,” the judge says. “I think you can wait until after the ceremony.”
Avery laughs and puts a hand to her stomach, wincing slightly. Maybe it’s because it’s our wedding day, but something about the way she’s looking makes me very nervous. “Avery —” I start.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” she says, ignoring me. “Okay, Judge Sands?”
The judge nods, and I stand up at the front of the room with Avery, holding her hand in mine. Instead of paying attention to any word the judge is saying, I stand there transfixed, trying to read the expressions on Avery’s face. Every so often, she winces, even as she’s saying her vows.
; “Mr. Bryant, do you have anything to say to the bride before the exchange of the rings?”
The judge’s voice comes to me from far away. “Huh?”
“Get it together, Bryant,” Salvatore says, clapping me on the shoulder.
I laugh it off, but something about Avery’s face hasn’t been right since we left that damn apartment. “Yeah, I do.” I keep my eyes glued to the woman who is about to be my wife, trying to gauge what’s going on inside of her. She’s assured me up and down that she won’t give birth on our wedding day, but she clutches at her belly again.
“Go on, Maddox. Unless you’re getting cold feet,” Avery says, forcing a smile. Her face is far paler than when she left the apartment.
“Are you okay, Avery?” I ask.
She nods. “Let’s just do this so we can go somewhere to eat. I want to show off my dress.”
“Okay,” I say, pulling a piece of paper from my pocket. I look at it and shove it back in there. I clear my throat. “I’m not a good writer like Avery here. But I have known this woman for a long time, so I thought I’d tell her a few things today.”
Avery rests her hand on her belly again, but I keep on. I value my own life, and if I don’t get these vows done, I’m betting she might claw me to death in front of this judge and our friends.
“Avery was always the girl I saw myself with. I didn’t know it would be quite like this, or that I’d have a hand in bringing her parents down. Or that they’d hire me to annoy her for six months, and I’d end up getting her pregnant.”
Salvatore whistles, and Ella laughs.
“But here we are. I’m not marrying Avery because she’s pregnant. That’s just a fringe benefit. I’m marrying her because she’s the smartest, funniest, and most confident woman I’ve ever known. And baby, I promise you that I’ll always be by your side, through thick and thin, bad times and good. And all the rest of that stuff that they say. I also promise to give you a real family. One that won’t ever desert you or make you feel less than you really are. And above all, I promise that to our daughter.”
I rest my hand on her belly and feel it tighten. Avery draws in her breath sharply and gives a little moan. I had other shit to say, but it all flees from my brain. I can feel Avery’s body tensing and releasing. And that’s what they said would happen in our damn birthing class.
“Honey, are you okay?” My mother steps up next to Avery and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Are you having contractions?”
Avery shakes her head. “Nope,” she lies. “Not at all. She’s just kicking. Let’s get those rings, Salvatore. Snap to it.”
Salvatore steps up and shoves two rings into my hand. “No time for ceremony,” he says. “I’m ready for some of those weird French Fries Canadian people eat. And it looks like Avery might need to get to the doctor—”
“Nope,” Avery repeats. “But let’s get this done.”
The judge clears his throat nervously. “You may now exchange the rings.”
I put the smaller ring on Avery’s delicate finger. She’s shaking by this point, and I don’t like the look of pain coming over her face. But she manages to force the other ring on my finger.
“Okay, Judge,” Ella says, stepping forward. Avery tries to bat her away. “Let’s end this now and sign some forms.”
The judge nods. “I now pronounce you man and wife,” he says quickly. He pulls out some papers and has us sign them. As soon as Avery signs on the dotted line, she collapses onto the floor of the courtroom.
“Avery, honey,” my mom says. She sits down on the floor next to her. “Are you in labor?”
“No,” Avery moans. “Nooooo, I’m not. We need to get to the restaurant. We have reservations and a string quartet — nooooo. I’m not in labor.”
“Aves, I’m going to go ahead and say I think that’s total bullshit,” Ella says.
“Nope,” Avery says. She puts her hand in mine and stands up. “We’re going to lunch.”
As soon as the word comes out of her mouth, the six of us all hear an audible pop, and a flood of water comes rushing down Avery’s legs and onto the floor.
“Noooo,” she moans again. “My dress!”
“I’ll phone for an ambulance,” the judge says. “Hang on.”
The next minutes all happen in a blur. Somewhere along the way, Avery passes out from the pain, and Salvatore and I help get her onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance headed for downtown Vancouver. Avery flutters in and out of consciousness, and I hold her hand as the ambulance flies down through traffic.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” I keep repeating. I rest my other hand on her belly.
“They’re going to have to cut the dress,” she says, crying. “I wanted to keep it for Abby.”
“Abby.” I test it out. “That’s —”
“That’s her name,” Avery moans. “Oh my God — I feel —”
“What do you feel?”
“I feel her. The head. I think I feel the head. Could I feel the head? Oh my God —”
The ambulance pulls up in front of the hospital, and the young EMT riding with us looks like he’s about to pass out. “Please hold on, ma’am. We need to get you to labor and delivery.”
Avery moans long and loud, and she starts involuntarily moving her body, lifting her legs and pushing hard. “Oh, nope. This baby is — this baby is coming —”
A doctor rushes out to greet us, and as soon as she hops inside the ambulance with us, Avery groans again. A head is born, and after that, a tiny pair of shoulders.
The doctor, without saying a word, delivers the baby. She nods at me to cut the cord. I do it, my hands shaking. The doctor places the baby on Avery’s chest. “Let’s get you inside, honey,” the doctor says.
Tears are streaming down my beautiful wife’s face, and I join her. The baby gives a hearty cry. I lean into Avery, and Abby’s little hand finds my finger and squeezes it.
“Shit,” Avery mutters. “I just wanted an uneventful day in our relationship. Like, a wedding and lunch.”
We laugh long and loud as they prep a wheelchair for Avery.
Hours later, we sit together, holding Abby. Our friends and family come and go. We don’t miss Avery’s parents at all — not on this day.
It’s the first day we are a real family, heart and soul.
And our future is oh so bright.
Epilogue
Avery - January 10, 2024
It’s funny how time passes in the blink of an eye. One moment, Abby was a tiny baby, born early at thirty-six weeks. She was five pounds, and so small that she needed to stay in the hospital three extra days. But she was strong and healthy, and by nine months old, she was in the ninety-eighth percentile for height and weight. Walking by ten months, and speaking in sentences by her first birthday.
She wowed us all.
It all happened so fast — it feels like I brought her home from the hospital in that infant car seat a week ago. And it feels like Maddox and I were just on that rooftop, drinking strawberry wine and talking about running away to Mexico. Now we’re permanently living in Vancouver, and we’re slowly convincing everyone we love to join us here.
Life has a funny way of speeding through its twists and turns.
Years pass, and it doesn’t seem like any time at all.
Today’s a big day, and everyone is here to celebrate it with us. It’s Abby’s fifth birthday, and it’s really the first birthday that I think she knows exactly what’s going on. She asked for carrot cake and cream cheese frosting (her dad’s favorite too), then insisted her entire name – Ellen Abigail Barbara Bryant – is spelled out in full above the “Happy Birthday”, and below the candles.
That little girl knows herself; not much gets past her. Maddox says she’s smart like me. I know she’s tough and wily, just like him. She’s a handful, with her mop of curly red hair and her rambunctious athletic energy, but she’s worth the effort. Even though she’s just five, she knows exactly who she’s named after, and why.
Ellen is for my best friend since freshman year in high school, Ella; who has stuck with me through thick and thin, who always tells me just how it is, and never let’s me lose focus on what really matters.
Abigail is for Maddox’s mom who passed away just a few months after Abby was born. She got to hold her grand daughter and see her smile. As sick as Abigail was by then, she still laughed and cried and sang silly songs, making Abby giggle and grin.
Barbara is for Ella’s Aunt Bebe, who’s also our aunt by adoption, choice, and default. When we were frightened and running, Bebe took us in, fed us, kept us safe, and bought me prenatal vitamins before I even knew such a thing existed, much less that I needed them. She also showed me how to breast feed, how to make stretch marks disappear, and how to help a cranky baby sleep through the night. Bebe is brilliant, along with being a crusty old soul who has all her priorities in order. She doesn’t suffer fools lightly and she cuts me and Maddox very little slack, but when it comes to Abby, there’s not much she won’t do to make sure that little girl is challenged, learning, and observing.
Bebe and Abby planted a garden in our back yard. We have tomatoes and squash, basil and oregano, hot peppers and green beans, and we’re over-run with eggplant, which Bebe turns into amazing lasagna and baked sweet breads.
Bebe lives with us, but she’s not our nanny. She’s more like our household manager, handling all the logistical and practical things that Maddox and I suck at. I don’t know what we’d do without her – which she reminds me of every single day.
My boss and his wife are at the party too, hanging out in the corner behaving like grow-ups with Lucas Salvatore and his brother. My boss is Elias Sanderson, California’s junior U.S. Senator. He ran against my mother in the last election cycle. Evelyn lost the election not just because Elias was a better candidate (he was), but because he’s a better person. That and her campaign was – in the last months before the November vote – buried in scandal, under investigation by the U.S. Attorney General’s Office, the Federal Election Commission, and the Senate Ethics Committee. It didn’t help her position that I was hired on by the Sanderson team as a strategist months before the election. The press loved that bit of turnabout, and I have to confess, I loved it too. It was great to be recruited by someone whose politics and ethics I believe in; someone I don’t have to tell lies for. Someone who appreciates my ideas and encourages them.
