As the sun starts to go down on the green lawn, I feel my eyes start to droop. I may have been able to stay up late a year ago, but now that I’m baking another human being, I can barely get to nine o’clock.
Nick leads me to Bria, and I scoop her up and into my arms, which is a difficult task. She hugs me lovingly, and we walk back to our car. Nick holds my hand as we drive through the campus and into Portland, towards our house. I am barely awake as I put Bria to bed and waddle to the bedroom.
I’m asleep before I even register what time it is.
*
I wake suddenly with a sidesplitting pain in my abdomen. My loud gasp wakes Nick, and suddenly he’s cradling me as I take a few calming breaths. My eyes flick to the clock—3:15 a.m.
“Nick,” I whine, suddenly starting to panic, “I think that was a contraction.”
“Shh, it’s okay, sweetie. Just breathe.” He begins to rub my back, and a few minutes later, another one hits.
“Oh my god,” I say, starting to cry. “He’s early!”
“I know. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. Let’s wait it out for a few minutes. I’ll call Cecelia.”
He gets up and walks over to the phone. I hear him murmur something as another contraction racks my body with pain. I do the math in my head—our son will be five weeks early. And then reality hits me.
I am about to have a baby.
“Nick!” I yell.
He runs in, and Bria is close behind him. I haven’t gotten up off the bed, but I know I should. They say it helps to walk around. But now I’m paralyzed with fear. I’m having this baby today.
“Evi? Is the baby coming?” Bria asks sleepily. I see Nick move to the closet and begin to pack a hospital bag for us.
“Yes. He’s coming,” I say, and I awkwardly heave myself off of the bed. “Grandma Ceecee is on her way,” I explain, and then I’m hit with another contraction, and I have to bend over the bed and make some sort of guttural sound that I know for a fact I’ve never made before and will probably never make again.
I dub the sound my “birthing yowl.”
When I feel the contraction ebb, Bria’s eyes are wide with fear.
“Is that normal?” she asks, clearly horrified.
“I wouldn’t know,” I say, smiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll be—”
Another contraction rips through me.
“Nick,” I say urgently. I feel a gush of liquid between my legs. “My water just broke.”
Nick leads Bria out of the room and comes over to me. I can feel sweat starting to form on my forehead, and I feel so hot. I need to change. As if Nick read my mind, he gently starts to pull my pants down. I close my eyes as he pulls my sleep shirt over my head.
“You can do this, Evi,” he says, handing me a pair of maternity leggings and a baggy tunic. He knows me so well.
In the middle of pulling my pants on, I feel another wave hit me, and I grip the side of the bed, rapidly blowing air through my lips.
In and out.
In and out.
I finish getting dressed, throw my hair into a bun, and go to brush my teeth. When I’m finished, I’m relieved to see Cecelia’s headlights in our driveway.
Nick opens the door as she rushes in, and she runs to me, pulling me into a tight embrace.
“I can’t wait to meet him,” she says, her eyes twinkling. Frank passed away last year, and in the aftermath, Cecelia moved just down the street. I love having her around.
“I’ll call you,” Nick says to Cecelia. He smiles widely, and he looks nervous and excited.
Bria runs over to me, and even though I’m sure another contraction will hit soon, I lift her up onto me. She’s almost eight, but I can’t help but love carrying her in my arms.
“I’ll see you soon, baby girl. You can come meet your brother very soon.”
Just as I set her down, I feel another contraction, and I grip the stairwell as I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on breathing. Once it’s over, Nick leads me to the door. I see him bend down and hug Bria.
The drive to the hospital feels like it takes years. I have four contractions in the car, and even though I tell him to, Nick doesn’t speed or run any lights. We pull into the guest parking lot, and I waddle next to him, stopping once to breathe through a contraction.
When we get all settled in, I’m informed that I’m already eight centimeters dilated, so I’ll have to start pushing soon. I silently thank my mother for her Puerto Rican, quick-labor genes. She had both Elijah and I in less than two hours.
Nick is quiet next to me, and even though we’ve been married for two years, I’m sure being here, watching me give birth to our son is a little weird for him. I reach out and squeeze his hand, and he gives me a heart-stopping grin. His smile still makes my heart go pitter-patter.
“You okay?” I ask, and he nods lovingly. He brushes my face with his hands.
“I’m just thinking about how proud I am to be your husband. And even though I’ve done this twice before, it still amazes me that I was blessed with not one, but two beautiful women who have had my babies. And on top of it, I was blessed with not one, not two, but three babies.”
His words bring tears to my eyes, and I suddenly feel very emotional.
“Nick…”
“Shh,” he says. “Focus on birthing our son. I just wanted you to know that you are amazing.”
The doctor comes in shortly after that and reads through my chart, spouting off medical terms to Nick. She checks me so see how far along I am. She looks at me, and I feel a sudden pressure in my lower abdomen.
“Umm…” I sit up, and I have the urge to push.
“Okay, Evianna. It’s time. You’re ten centimeters.”
It’s time.
I look at Nick, and his face remains happy and upbeat. I am so grateful that he’s here with me. He reaches his hand out, and I hold it tightly as I try to push.
Nothing happens.
“This doesn’t happen like it does in movies, Evianna. You have to keep pushing. More than once or twice. Try to hold each push for ten seconds. Put your all into those ten seconds. Okay?”
“Okay!” I yell. I feel the sweat dripping from my forehead.
“You’re doing great,” Nick says, brushing the hair away from my face. “You can do it. Come on. Let’s meet our son.”
Our son.
His words are motivating, and during the next push, I feel the pressure ease slightly. I can feel him—our son. He’s almost out.
“One more big push, Evianna,” the doctor shouts. “His head is almost out. He has brown hair, just like his father.”
What happens next can only be described as something animalistic and primal. I yell, using my “birthing yowl,” and suddenly, I know he’s out. I feel empty physically, but also so fulfilled emotionally.
“Oh my god,” Nick says, his eyes brimming with tears. “Evi, he’s beautiful.”
I glance down at my baby—our son—and my heart fills with something I’ve never felt before. It’s like my soul was one, and now it’s two. This baby boy is mine, ours, and I’ve never been happier. I instinctively reach my arms out, and the doctor places him on my chest.
Almost immediately, he latches on to my breast, and I’m filled with motherly pride. I am a mother. I had a baby. And now I am feeding my baby.
I look over at Nick, and tears are streaming down his face.
“I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful,” he says. Instead of replying with a sarcastic remark, I just smile and look down at our baby. The tears flow… and flow, and flow. The doctor tells me he is nursing successfully, and I hear something about a lactation consultant. Once he’s finished, they cut the cord and whisk him away to wash him and make sure everything is okay.
I can’t think… I can’t speak… until he’s back. It’s only a matter of minutes, but I experience my first worrying thought as a mother.
I’m sure I’ll experience a million more.
Soon, the doctor is
back with our son.
“He’s perfect,” the doctor coos, placing him into Nick’s arms. I see Nick rock him back and forth. “Six pounds, three ounces. Eighteen inches long. He’s a little early, but he’s perfectly healthy.”
I feel relief wash over me.
The doctor leaves, and Nick and I are alone with our new son. I watch Nick, and the adoration is so apparent on his face. I could cry forever out of happiness.
“What should we name him?” Nick asks, and he places him back in my arms. I inhale his scent. I’d heard about the new baby scent, but I never expected it to be so wonderful. They should find a way to bottle this and sell it, because I’m positive it’s the best scent in the world.
“I was thinking… Franklin Elijah Wilder.”
Nicks looks down at me, and his face scrunches up with emotion.
“Franklin?”
“After Frank…”
“I love it.” He bends down and kisses me gently on the lips.
“I love you,” I whisper.
I lean back in my hospital bed, and Nick gently gets in next to me. We watch our son feed, and I can’t help but feel so proud and happy.
I did it.
We did it. All the heartache and all the turmoil led us here, and I wouldn’t change a thing about our past.
Because without our past, we wouldn’t be here.
And here is so good.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Becky, Melissa, and Tali, thank you for being my beta readers and for your excellent feedback. I couldn’t have done this without you all.
Lynn and Susie, thank you for making my sometimes garbled and often repetitive words sound better. Your services are invaluable.
Dad, thank you for the support that made this book happen, and also for being my “number one fan.” Also, since this is my third full-length novel, I guess it might be time to actually call myself a writer, and I have you to thank for that. Remember back in 2012 or 2013 when I was going through the awful “quarter-life crisis?” You asked me what I would do if money were no object. My answer: “I’d be a writer.” And look at me now! Thank you for asking me. I love you!
Peter, thank you for everything… but especially the late nights I spent ignoring you while I wrote this, the dinners that went uncooked, and the laundry that piled up. Thank you for helping me with plot holes, character flaws, and all of your suggestions after you read it when it was still just a shitty first draft. Without you, I wouldn’t be here typing this out. Thank you for inspiring me day in and day out. You are my always.
About the Author
Amanda Richardson is an award-winning travel writer turned indie author living in Los Angeles with her fiancé and two cats. When she’s not writing or reading (which, let’s be honest, accounts for 95% of her free time), she can be found Googling cheap flights to places she’s never been, talking to her cats, or obsessing over the British Royal Family. Fun fact: her first novel is about the Tudors. One day maybe, after a lot of wine, she might find the courage within her to publish it!
You can visit her website here: http://www.amandarichardsonauthor.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/amandawritesbooks
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*If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a spoiler-free review!
Also By Amanda Richardson
Charlotte Bloom Novels:
The Foretelling — Charlotte Bloom Book 1
The Redemption — Charlotte Bloom Book 2
Begin Again — A Charlotte Bloom Short Story
In Search of Yesterday (Serial Romance):
Episode One
Episode Two
Episode Three
Episode Four
Standalone Contemporary Romances:
And Then You
Where Forever Ends (out late summer of 2015)
Excerpt from Where Forever Ends, out late summer of 2015:
“If you'd asked me two weeks ago whether or not I believed in soul mates, I would've laughed in your face. Cackled, even, because the idea was so ludicrous. But what do I say when the universe gives me a second chance with my first love? Even if it's fifteen years later? Even if we’re both marred by grief and loss? Something tells me it’s not a coincidence. Not with 7.1 billion people on the planet.”
May 2015
New York City
I walk into the Thai restaurant and bark my order at Sun, the hostess. She scribbles my order even though I come in here twice a week. Idiot.
“And rice?” she asks. It takes me a minute to realize she’s genuinely asking me.
“Brown,” I say impatiently. “I always order brown.”
The clipped tone of my voice affects her, and she nods silently before retreating into the back room. I tap my Amex card against the cheap, wooden counter and look around. There are a few business-type people around, a single woman, a family…
Just as I’m about to tap the bell on the counter, I feel something hit the back of my ankle. I turn around, ready to pounce.
“Oh dear, I am so sorry about that,” a woman says from behind a colossal stroller. I barely take in her frumpy outfit before turning back around, ignoring her.
“Whatever,” I mutter, and I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses.
“Wait…” she says, and I feel her come up right behind me. “Langley?” I spin around, sizing her up. The woman lowers her sunglasses and sizes me up with disbelief. “Oh my god. Langley Williams… is that you? It’s me, Becca.”
“Becca Waters?” I take in her mom-uniform and her stringy hair. She’s definitely due for a haircut, and possibly a good wash – and I don’t ever say that lightly. At least she’s still thin. She hasn’t lost her figure. It’s not entirely a lost cause. My eyes flick down to her shoes, and I have to hold back a visible gag. Nike sneakers. And not the cute kind you’ll find in J. Crew. “What a surprise,” I say a little too sweetly.
Before I can say something to excuse myself, she leans forward and embraces me in a tight hug. My arms are glued to my side, and I turn my head awkwardly. I bring my hands up and pat her arms gently, pulling myself away a little too quickly.
“You look great!” she says, grinning. I try and force my lips into a saccharine smile, but I have a feeling that it looks more like an uncomfortable grimace.
“Thanks,” I say, looking around. I don’t return the compliment.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m being such a bitch – because I am aware of how I’m acting. I feel my face flush as Becca’s face falters. This should be a happy reunion. We were best friends for over ten years. But something inside of me snaps, and I feel nothing but irritation and provocation.
“Are you okay?” Becca asks, bringing her arm up to mine and leaving it there. I shake it off and her face crumples. She’s just being nice, Langley, I think, and I am disappointed in myself. I’ve become so disillusioned that a kind touch from an old friend makes me uncomfortable. What’s wrong with me? Maybe it’s because she knew you before everything happened… back when I was still happy…
“Fine. I’m fine,” I say briskly, standing up straighter and brushing my hands on my dress to straighten it out. “I’m just grabbing a quick lunch before heading back to the office. It’s taking forever,” I say through gritted teeth, glaring at Sun as she hurriedly throws some chopsticks into my to-go bag.
“Lawyer, right?” she asks, and I nod quickly.
“Divorce lawyer,” I answer. “You have kids?” My eyes scan the monstrous stroller.
She smiles, as if getting knocked up and spending the day dealing with shit and vomit is somehow an accomplishment.
“Yes. Two little angels,” she coos, and I can’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy.
She is happy.
She doesn’t spend her day dealing with the dissolution of love.
She has a family.
I don’t need a family. I don’t need a husband, or children, or
a house with a goddamn white picket fence. I had a husband, and he was taken from me. Nothing and no one else will compare. All I need are my Louboutins, my happy hour vodka, and coffee. And maybe the occasional cigarette.
“How lovely,” I echo. “It must be so fulfilling.”
Her eyes watch me carefully as they ascertain the sincerity of my comment.
“Yes. It is,” she confirms. “I was actually just thinking of you, Langley,” she says quietly. I watch her as she smiles and looks down. “We're planning a family trip to Europe and, well, I haven't been back since our time there together... you, me, Abby.” I see Sun set my to-go bag on the counter and I reach for it.
Where is she going with this?
“Anyways,” she continues. “I know you probably have to get back to work, but it would be great if we could catch up over lunch sometime. I live in Queens now, so I'm just a short ride away.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Sure.” I fish around in my purse for my business card. Once I place it in her eagerly awaiting hand, her face lights up.
“I'll call you!” she says. I've already turned around and I'm almost to the exit when she says something I know I'll remember forever. “Langley?” I spin around, flummoxed. “I hope you're happy.”
I watch her through my narrowed eyes. “Of course I'm happy,” I hiss.
Before she can bombard me with more useless maternal wisdom, I am out the door and back on the busy downtown street. I pull my sunglasses down and walk away.
Away from Becca.
And Then You Page 24
