Her hand waves in front of her belly like she’s a model on a game show, showing off the big prize. “I can’t just adjust all of this, so I think you’ll manage.”
Wren starts to bend down to pick up her purse. I snatch it before she gets to it. “Nope. My girl doesn’t need to carry anything.”
Her eyes slide sideways in an expression that says she’s both annoyed and amused. I’ll take it.
“I am still finding it hard to believe that you’re a guy who will hold a purse,” she says.
I’ve never been able to understand what the big deal is about holding a purse. Those weak ass bitches who think that it makes them look weak or feminine have a narrow view. To me, it tellsthe world that I’m off the market, and my wife is wandering around somewhere.
I jerk my chin in the direction of her belly. “You’re carrying my baby, the least I can do is carry your purse. What the hell do you have in here, though?”
This thing weighs a good ten pounds. I might hold the purse, but I know better than to just go through it without asking.
Wren shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea. Parker has been putting stuff in it lately, so it could be anything.”
“I’m going to make sure she didn’t put a brick in here,” I say and open the bag.
“Well, is there a brick?” Wren asks. Then winces.
“Baby Bird?” I’ve got a roll of bubble wrap in the garage waiting to go. Not that I think it would help, but it couldn’t hurt. Right?
“It’s just my back. I don’t think I’m going to be able to pick up Parker anymore, at least not until after this one comes,” she says, while rubbing her right side.
I pull out a can of fruit cocktail from her purse. “Maybe also don’t carry the pantry around with you.”
“That kid does some weird shit,” Wren mumbles.
When she grabs her back again, I start herding her out the door. “Okay, you’re in pain. We are already late, so we should get on the road so you don’t miss this appointment.”
Once in the driver’s seat, I find myself full of nervous energy. I drum on the wheel with my thumbs and squirm in my seat. I’ve been on edge since the night I came home and found her crying. She’s tried to play it off as some weird hormonal thing, but we both know it was more than that. The thing is, neither of us wants to say it out loud. Making idle chit-chat inside the house is one thing. Something about being able to move around makes it easier to find things to talk about, plus there were props.
Inside the truck, it’s like stepping into a confessional. If we speak now, we’ll say everything, and I’m not sure how I’ll handle having confirmation that she was crying because Liam has moved on. I was so sure that what she and I had was the real thing, that I never thought she’d hold on to any feelings for him. At least, from the moment I got her back, I haven’t.
Now, I’m not sure. Can she really love me the same way I love her if she’s this upset that Liam is probably on the verge of getting engaged?
We have a beautiful, growing family. When we’re alone together, the air is practically electrified, and the sparks between us are so strong. We spend practically every moment of the day together, and it’s still not enough.
How can all of that be true, and for her to still feel something for him?
I’d rather not have this confirmed, because it won’t change anything. She’s still the love of my life, even if it turns out I’m not hers.
The doctor’sappointment feels pretty routine, until it isn’t. This isn’t her first scan this pregnancy, but it is the one when we can find out the sex of the baby. With this being our second baby, we know what to expect. Of course, I did all of this a long time ago, but a lot has changed in twenty-five years. Also, I’m not a scared shitless eighteen-year-old kid anymore either.
No, now I’m a scared shitless middle-aged man.
Dr. Carter changed everything with one statement. “I hear two heartbeats.”
I blink and realize she’d already finished the ultrasound.
“I’ll give you both a minute to digest that and for Wren to clean up the ultrasound jelly. We can talk in my office when you’re ready,” she says and walks out of the room.
I vaguely recall there being a chair right behind me. I’m operating on pure faith when my knees buckle, and I drop down into the chair, hard.
“Well, that’s some bullshit,” she finally says.
A laugh bursts free, and I can’t stop.
She balls up the gooey paper towel Dr. Carter gave her and throws it at me. “It’s not funny. I thought I was gestating a giant, or had some kind of weird pregnancy condition that would lead to some movie of the week situations.”
