by Bella Grant
Having him next to me was nice as we caught the bus to our final destination before he had to go in for the evening. He was still on call and had rounds to make, both responsibilities he couldn't let go of just yet to aid his patients through transition, whether they would be staying on him with or not.
I was one of the patients who had made the transfer successfully to another psychiatrist in a private practice and closer to Josh’s condo. Josh had chosen the woman I would see for my first appointment in a few weeks. Until then, he overlooked my status and ensured my antidepressants weren’t affecting the baby.
The bus reached our stop, and with a big breath and the courage Josh held in his hand for me, we stepped off.
“You okay?” he asked, and I squeezed his hand.
“I’m okay.”
I peered at the ultrasound picture clutched tightly in my other hand and started the descent down the hill. Josh guided me through the maze of flowers and names that caught my eye, but I was busy looking for a particular surname. I stopped, and it felt like the world around us had stopped as well.
Here lies beloved parents, husband and wife: Dale and Cynthia Sims.
Josh wrapped an arm around me as I covered my mouth before the sob could even come out. I hadn’t had the guts to visit them since the day they were buried. Today I had a reason though, and that reason was next to me and clutched in my hand. I dropped to my knees, and Josh followed me to rub soothing circles into my back like he did the day I’d had a fit in his office.
“Mom, Dad, this is Dr. Josh Sullivan,” I choked out and looked at Josh, who smiled lovingly at me. He nodded for me to continue. “We have good news.” I put the ultrasound picture on the large headstone. “We’re gonna have a baby.”
I had never felt happier than when sharing the news, and even when the dam of tears broke, Josh’s hand stayed interlaced with mine and I knew my parents would be proud of the man I had chosen to be by my side.
CHAPTER 25
Balloons and streamers greeted me as I stepped into the break room where all the employees were waiting for me with a large cake and a number of champagne bottles popped off throughout the large room as I entered.
‘Congratulations, Dr. Sullivan!’ the cake read in bright blue frosting. I thanked each and every one as a plastic champagne flute was placed in my hand, overflowing with Brut champagne. A smack on the back here and a handshake there lost me a few sloshes, but most of it was down my throat before another hand refilled my cup.
My eyes continued to scan the crowd as I made my way out into the hallway where more people leaned along the beige walls and talked amongst themselves. Pop music played over the speakers throughout the office building. I weaved through more congrats and cheers among the horde and started to wonder if I would ever find the one person I was looking for when I heard her laugh. I followed the light, bubbly sound and stopped in my tracks when I did see her. I watched her in awe. She hadn’t noticed me yet as she roamed about the main waiting room. She held everyone’s attention with her smile, and I felt a pang of jealousy when she hadn’t spotted me as she danced around.
It wasn’t her fault she was the most beautiful and sought out human being in my entire practice, and I had to remind myself one day, I would have to give her up to another. That wouldn’t happen for a long, long time.
“Callie, look who’s here!” I heard the other familiar voice of my personal life, but my attention was all on her. Callie. My daughter. I squatted down before she turned around and watched as her whole face lit up.
“Daddy! Daddy!” She waddled away from her mother and into my arms, and her soft, curly pigtails rubbed against my jawline. She had light brown curls like her mother and blue eyes like her daddy.
“Callie girl, what are you doing here?” I asked, going an octave higher to talk to her as I stood and heaved her up with me. Her pudgy arms wrapped around my neck as she planted a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Mama say we ʼbrate you today.” Her voice was infectious, cute and small like her.
“Oh, she did, did she? Did she tell you why?” I walked over to the other love of my life who was to thank for Callie’s good nature and heart of gold.
“Mama say it’s cuz you did good for a whole year, Daddy!” she exclaimed as if I was silly for not understanding why we were “ʼbrating” me today.
“One year, Callie girl. I did good for one whole year,” I corrected her, but my smile was directed at her mother, my light, my everything, Fiona. She stood in front of me in a little black number that showed off her long legs I loved so much and a plunging neckline, revealing her collarbone. She noticed my wandering eye and folded her arms.
“Did Daddy tell you why he did so good?” Fiona asked in what I called her “mommy” voice and it rivaled my “daddy” one. “It’s because Daddy made his dreams come true, and in one year, all these wonderful things happened, starting with you being born and ending with a bunch of people coming to see Daddy and all his helpers. You see, Daddy fixes people, and that’s why we are celebrating him today,” she explained and held her arms out to gather Callie into them. I smiled as Callie snuggled into her mother’s wavy hair. Her attention had moved on to the sparkle of Fiona’s dangling earrings.
“Congratulations, baby, on your one year anniversary.”
I pulled them both into an embrace and kissed Fiona on the lips and Callie on her chubby cheek. “You know I couldn’t have done it without you,” I replied.
“Nor could I have done this without you.” She motioned to our daughter who was observing the fish in the nearby fish tank in the waiting room.
I was about to tell her she would never have to be alone when my receptionist tugged my sleeve and told me some reporters were waiting outside for a public statement from me.
“Shall we?” I held my arm out for Fiona like I had years ago. She took it willingly, and as a family, we walked outside to address the crowded masses in the front of the building. For the second time in my life, I would be nominated and announced Doctor of the Year, not because of my show of seeing as many patients as I could in a short amount of time. I had been nominated this time for not only my dedication to mental health but also to my community. I was the first psychiatrist locally to go off on his own and start his first private practice for the sake of a non-profit. Usually, it was done as a team, but the one teammate I needed was beside me, holding my beautiful daughter and smiling for the flashing cameras.
One reporter asked how I could so easily empathize with those who were in critical situations I had never been in myself. Was it ever difficult to treat the ones I could not connect with?
“I always strive to connect with my patients, and if I’m not the right fit for them, I recommend them to a colleague,” I answered.
Another reporter in the back piped up. “What about your reputation as one of the best? Doesn’t that limit your success when you fail to help a more intensive case?”
I glanced at Fiona, who smirked sideways at me. My eyes on her, I made the next statement. “No, because I found someone I can come home to at the end of the day and reminds me I gave it my best shot. We all can’t all be winners, but we can damn sure try until we find the right victories.”
I winked at Fiona and she winked back before she placed a kiss on Callie’s crown and bounced her up and down to keep her happy. I knew she would make the perfect doctor’s wife, and as the cameras continued to flash, I made the mental note to pick up a bottle of champagne for home.
******
“I swear that little girl thinks she’s going to miss out on something if she even thinks about closing her eyes.” Fiona padded into our bedroom and yawned into one hand, the other pulling out the temporary ponytail from atop her head. The black cocktail dress and earrings were long gone, replaced with a white nightie that reached her mid thighs and flowed about her as she moved through the room.
She picked up the toys strewn about the bedroom when I stopped her. “Fiona, it’s been a long day. Leave th
ose for the morning and I’ll pick them up before work.”
She dropped a stuffed animal in mid-air without even a rebuttal and crawled into our king-size bed. She settled into the crook of my arm, and her hand rubbed my bare chest. “You were great today, Josh. I don’t think it could have gone any smoother. Though I’m sure you gave Vickie a heart attack by announcing her as assistant office manager in front of everyone,” she commented.
I held her closer. “Well, I figured it was worth the embarrassment. I’ve been waiting to give her the title since she quit the hospital to come work for me and now that we have the funds, well, I wanted to make it a big deal. She has always been so good to me,” I explained and traced circles on her elbow. “But the day’s not over.”
“Are you asking for a quickie not-so-subtly?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
I laughed. “That doesn't sound like a bad way to end this night, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind.” I patted her bottom to let me sit up. I leaned over and opened the dresser drawer next to me to retrieve a small black box. I heard the gasp behind me before I turned around to reveal a gold band with a single large diamond.
“I know it’s not the dream proposal of getting down on bended knee and having a choir singing behind me in the middle of Golden Gate Park, but we never did anything the conventional way and I wanted to do this my way. So…” I took the ring out of the box and reached for her hand. She held it out, and I slipped the band onto her slender ring finger. “Fiona Sims, you have given me so much. Hope. A daughter. A family. And a dream come true. Now, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Her eyes caught mine, and I saw the tears in the corner of hers as she nodded her head rapidly. “Of course, of course I will. Nothing would make me happier, Josh.”
She threw her arms around me, and our lips met in a flurry of quick kisses and smiles. I held her in my arms, and the happiness bubbling up inside of me felt too good to be true. I had worked hard to keep my career successful and was rewarded with the perfect girl in my arms who had given me a family to come home to. We might have had some bumps along the road and some still to come, but Fiona was my everything.
Even Fiona had come a long way in two years. With the joy of Callie running around our house in a fit of giggles and curiosity, the black cloud of depression no longer hung over her. She was too busy being a mom, a non-profit organizer, and a loving girlfriend to allow the depression to seep in. Though she still saw Dr. Anderson on a monthly basis, the meds were long gone, along with many of her self-doubts. She still cried over her parents from time to time, but with love and patience, we held on to each other during those dark times. They might not be there, but they were always with us and surrounded our family with love. What was once a lonely, empty condo was now filled with our chats and Callie’s giggles.
“You know what would make this night better?” she asked, and I hugged her into my chest.
“The ring wasn’t enough for you?” I teased.
She peered at me with the determination I loved so much, and I knew what was coming.
“Me beating you in Smash Brothers,” she declared. With a peck on my lips, she hopped off the bed to retrieve the controllers.
I turned on the TV and grabbed a controller from her as she scooted next to me, her eyes glued to the screen, the gleam of the ring shining upon her hand.
“Bring it, cutie.”
<<<<>>>>
HIS BABY DUTY
CHAPTER 1
Amelia’s heart pounded when she heard the bell clang in the clock tower. Late again. How did she lose track of time like this? As the clock chimed, she grabbed her bookbag and made a mad dash across the sprawling front lawn of the university, leaving the brilliant red canopy of the trees behind. “Crap!” she muttered, hurrying towards the literature building, her bag thumping painfully against her leg with every step.
When she reached the second-floor seminar room, Amelia tried to slip in unnoticed to the senior English class, an invitation-only seminar taught by the new lecturer, Professor Bell. She sweated a little beneath her plaid, flannel shirt—dug out of the closet early because she loved October, even if it was still too warm to necessitate flannel—and the red ribbon she had used to tie back her long brown hair had come undone.
The door creaked loudly when she entered, and Amelia mentally cursed its betrayal. As she took her seat among the other eleven people at the conference table, she flushed red as she apologized for being late and scrambled to open her texts. She scanned the diagram on the board to catch up on where the discussion was leading. They had been dissecting iambic feet in… What poem was this? “We Are Seven?” Luckily, she knew this one, and she flipped to her notes from the night before with a little sigh of relief.
Despite this being a seminar class, the other students seemed completely disinterested in the readings. Professor Bell lectured at the board, carefully diagramming each fascinating point of the poem, asking questions of his unresponsive audience.
As each question fell on deaf ears, Professor Bell’s optimism seemed to waver, and Amelia hated to visibly see a professor giving up on his students. Still, he continued to ask the questions, hopeful that someone would eventually answer him. Amelia scanned her text annotations, mentally compiling a thoughtful response to each question he asked. When she looked up from her book, he was staring at her.
As the students around her doodled in their notebooks and gazed absently out the window, Amelia looked back at him, unblinking. Her face grew warm as the skin on her cheeks reddened.
Amelia told herself she was blushing because she was embarrassed for coming in late, but that wasn’t exactly it. She was often caught off guard by these moments, deeply personal moments she shared with Professor Bell as they exchanged looks through the crowded classroom. She knew he hoped she would answer and put him out of his misery. Amelia was embarrassed because she was the only student he could ever depend on to answer, and that made her feel like a teacher’s pet.
Her heart fluttered because of something else, though. Something about the way he smiled at her, a momentary lapse before he composed himself. Amelia felt as if in these moments, Professor Bell let his guard down for just a second, just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of something more exciting and less defined than their roles as student and professor.
Professor Bell looked away, turning his eyes back to the chalkboard. “Amelia, we were just discussing themes in We Are Seven,” he proposed, returning his eyes to her, his expression more composed. He gave her a hopeful look. “Would you like to weigh in?”
The guy next to her practiced twirling his pen around his thumb, and it clattered loudly on the table, making her jump a little. Professor Bell smiled steadily at her, waiting for her answer.
Amelia hated speaking in public, but she also hated the bored looks clogging the room and her lazy classmates who never contributed to the class. She hated that Professor Bell had so many interesting things to say and that she was the only one who seemed to care.
“Yes,” she replied, clearing her throat lightly, a nervous habit. “I thought the main theme was life and death, and the way the characters perceive these two states, one as a binary, the other as something more of a spectrum. It actually reminded me a lot of what Wordsworth went on to do in Lyrical Ballads.”
After she finished her thought, Amelia’s voice felt shaky. She raised one cold hand to the searing heat that had settled across her face, soothing her skin with her cool fingertips. The room was silent a moment, and when she looked up again, she saw a puzzled look on Professor Bell’s face.
He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the expression. “Well, yes, that’s exactly right,” he said. Amelia recognized from the tone in his voice that he was impressed with her response.
“Wordsworth was laying out a lot of the initial patterns that we see develop later in his canon of work. Death, life, the role of the interloper, even his portrayal of the poor,” Professor Bell continued, building
on Amelia’s comments.
Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest. She had so many thoughts on the works they read, and she couldn’t quite understand why everyone else seemed so bored by them. The lectures were fascinating. Everything Professor Bell said was fascinating. And she meant that, too, because he was brilliant. Amelia considered him the most thoughtful and intelligent professor she had ever studied with. And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous.
The class was mostly filled with girls in their early twenties, maybe a year or two younger than her. She was a twenty-three-year-old senior, turning twenty-four in December. She wasn’t older because she took a fifth-year victory lap, or diddled away her college years at parties, like the other twenty-three-year-olds she knew. Amelia had spent her teens working to save money for college. Unlike the students around her, who didn’t care what they were learning because they were riding mommy and daddy’s checkbook straight to graduation, Amelia had had to earn her own way.
Growing up an orphan had taught her to be resourceful. Amelia had been a ward of the state for as long as she could remember, and it was a long-shot that she’d ever make it to college. But she was smart and determined, and those two personality traits had landed her the scholarship that made it possible for her to achieve the things the foster system denied her.
Despite growing up in an environment where the institution disparaged her dreams, Amelia had managed to make her own way in life. She had achieved what the system told her she wasn’t capable of—a college education.
The other girls who sat around her, twirling their hair and doodling in their notebooks, had no interest in the poetry of the Romantics. Amelia suspected they had only signed up for the Wordsworth seminar because Professor Bell was hot and young, and they had to take an English course regardless, so they’d rather do it with the one sexy professor in the department.
