“Brice!” My voice comes out sharper than intended, but I need her to stay with me. “Come on, baby, you need to drink this.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into me, as I try to brace myself halfway in and out of the car. I raise the tiny cup to her mouth, finally breathing again as she swallows the life-saving liquid.
20
Surprise!
I pull into the rocky driveway, my heart racing again. I’ve worked so hard on this, spent so much time here. Every swipe of a paintbrush, every hammered nail done with uncertainty. Some days, I can’t see past the haze of trepidation that lingers like the last stubborn wisps of fog once the sun has fully risen—its heat enough to eradicate it from the air, yet it remains. Most of the time, I can tamp it down, but sometimes it sneaks up on me, turning my mood sour for days. I’ve never been unsure of her love. I feel it body and soul, the reality of it so concrete there’s never been room for doubt.
No, my uncertainty doesn’t belong to the love we share—it lies solely with time. I try to put it out of my head, but it’s there, always—the fear that she could be snatched from me without a moment’s notice. Last week, her mom called. She never calls me. So, when I saw her name on the screen, my heart lodged so firmly in my throat, I couldn’t speak. I hit talk, and I turned to ash and drifted away as I waited for her to break the silence. It had been nothing—Julie confirming the time for the family dinner. I know the way I’m feeling isn’t healthy, and I know I need to get over it. But living with her every day is frightening. Seeing how it wears on her. Feeling her get up in the middle of the night—her side of the bed ablaze with heat. I always give her a couple minutes before I go to the kitchen. Sometimes, I think my presence throws things off, and it’s actually easier for her if I don’t interfere. But, what if I didn’t get up, and she didn’t make it to the kitchen?
“What are we waiting for?” Her question pulls me from my relentless thoughts.
“Dramatic buildup,” I joke. “Are you ready for this?”
“Yes,” she replies, putting her hand on her door to open it.
“Wait.” I open my door and rush to her side. I’m trying to decide whether I should take off the blindfold now or wait until we’re inside. But, I want her to see this. All of it. I pull the door wide, the cool night air connecting with her skin, causing a ripple of goosebumps on her exposed shoulders. I slip off my suit jacket and drape it over her as I help her to her feet.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” I whisper, my words causing a second ripple of goosebumps. I let my hand slide up to the wrap, untying the loose knot holding it over her eyes.
I revel in the sudden intake of breath as our new home fills her vision. The simple white farmhouse is everything she has always wanted in a home. All the touches I’ve added over the last few months are what make it something more—the solid wood rockers sitting under the covered porch, the large welcome sign that sits in the corner by the front door, the gerbera daisy’s I know are her favorite, filling the old wash bins flanking either side of the stairs. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and I feel a low hum of satisfaction as she rubs her hand across the rail. I know there is no chance for a splinter. I feel the ever-present ache of hard work between my shoulder blades, but it was all worth it—all the sanding, scraping, and resurfacing. I’d do it all a thousand times over just to be able to give her this.
“Would you like to see the inside?”
Her eyes are a mixture of fear and wonder. I want to alleviate her fear, but I also want to save the best part for last. As much as I know that she will fall in love with every last detail of this house, I also fully expect her to tell me no. She’ll change her mind, of course, but I see the list of reasons why she wants to tell me no forming behind her as she traces the W on the welcome sign I painted on leftover barn wood.
There was a barely standing old barn in the back when I bought the property. Jesse and I planned a man’s camping trip one weekend, but really came over here and pulled the whole thing down. I repurposed most of it back into the restoration of the house. There are parts of it everywhere. It became a sort of game for us—who could find the best use for old wood.
“Did you?” she pauses, her eyes brimming with tears. “How? How did you do this?”
I shrug as I turn the knob and give the door a little push. I paid the neighbor kid to come light all the candles I had placed along the floor, and the effect is magical. Tiny gold flames light the way through the house and fresh roses fragrant the air—a confetti of petals decorating the trail of candlelight.
She stands on the threshold of our home, the flickering light dancing in her clear, green eyes. She wants this so badly, but because of her love for another, she is preparing herself to walk away from it. I scoop her into my arms, causing a burst of laughter to escape her.
“Harrison, I don’t even know what to say. How did you do this? How could you afford this? How did you keep this big of a secret? You know he won’t come, and I can’t leave him, I’d never leave him…” Her words break away, tears rimming her eyes for the second time tonight.
I set her on her feet. Cupping her face in my hands, I let myself get lost in her eyes for a moment, my never-ending desire for her taking over as I lean down and taste her red lips. I hate that she’s sad on our wedding night. I can’t stand to let her linger in despair any longer.
“There’s more.” I scoop her off her feet, walking quickly through the house. I should have started at the back and saved her this senseless heartache. “I’ll answer your questions after you see it,” I whisper, as she lays her head on my chest.
I reach the back door, the trail of candles forgotten as the excitement for what lies ahead takes over. The large, wood deck that connects the back to the front is lit by little white lights that are strung from the lowest branches of the big maple tree sitting in the center of our yard. I sail down the stairs, the anticipation adding a quickness to my step.
“Is that…” she pauses, her eyebrows scrunching together, uncertainty and hope at war for a place in her expression. “A house? Is there another house?” Her voice is ringed with excitement, now that hope has placed its victory flag.
“That one’s not ours.” I linger as I memorize her face in this moment. “That one belongs to Bernard.”
She’s radiant, and this time I know the tears are ones of joy.
“You want to see?”
Her only response is a giggle that erupts from her as she begins kicking her feet until I put her down on the brick trail that leads from our home to his. As soon as her boots hit the ground, she’s off at a sprint to reach the lit porch of the little house. I made sure the square footage was the same as his apartment. I didn’t want to take anything away from him, and I know with the shelves I installed in the front room, he’ll have more room than he’s had in a long time.
Out of all of the things I’ve done since I bought this property, this is what I’m most proud of. I brought Bernard out here last week. At first, he tried to tell me no. They’re so much alike—he and Brice. He kept saying that the last thing two newlyweds need around is an old man. But once I got him to see the inside, the reality of my seriousness became apparent to him, and he knew… It was meant to be. The place was literally made for him.
“Come on!” She claps her hands, and the smile she’s wearing shines more brightly than the full moon hanging above her in the sky. She’s always been a small person, but what she lacks in mass, she makes up for in spirit. Right now, I feel her everywhere.
I leave my place on the brick path and climb the steps to my love. “He’ll be happy here, Rice,” I whisper, before sliding the key in the lock.
The squeal that erupts from her is better suited to the seven-year-old girl I met all those years ago. But I suppose that’s the magic of joy—it has the ability to transport us through time, back to the days of carefree youth. She rarely lets go of the seriousness that has always consumed her. Seeing her so lost in the moment fills my soul in a way I’ve never felt befo
re. I’m responsible for her happiness, and this is just the beginning. I want to see this kind of smile every day.
21
I’m Not the Only One with a Surprise…
I’m spent—lying naked on the blanket I laid on the floor in front of the fireplace. She’s draped across my chest, her cheek resting in her palm, and she’s gazing down at me. The firelight that’s dancing through her eyes is making me hunger for her again, but I still haven’t shown her the bedroom.
“This is going to make everything so much easier.”
She has a habit of doing this—saying half a thought, expecting that I’ll know the other half. Most of the time I follow pretty well, but I don’t have any idea what she’s referring to now. “What’s going to make everything easier?”
“This house—our home. It’s going to make it so much easier to raise this baby.”
The satisfied smirk on her face is almost too much as I let her words take hold.
“What are you saying, Rice?” I need to hear her say it again. My mind is racing with everything this means. “Is it okay? Are you going to be okay?”
“When did you find out?”
“A few weeks ago. I went to see Dr. Banting because of all the nighttime lows I’ve been having. Turns out, it’s because of this little bean,” she says, resting her free hand over her stomach.
She’s known for a few weeks and was able to keep it from me? I can’t even process that. Every time I look in her eyes, I feel like I know everything—she’s the other half of me. How did I not know? This house. I’ve spent every last free moment finishing the house.
She clears her throat, her eyes cast down, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long.
I pull myself up, gathering her in my lap. “This is going to be great for our sex life,” I whisper, causing the smile that lights my life to bloom on her face.
“You’re such a pig.” She slaps me playfully before our mouths collide, and I lose myself in her silent chaos.
Her quiet breathing is the only noise in the still house. I finally got to show her the bedroom. My thoughts are racing, and I know sleep won’t happen for me tonight. She’s already twelve weeks along. Normal gestation is forty weeks, but they will induce her at thirty-eight…something about diabetics having big babies. Which means, in just twenty-six weeks, we’ll be parents. I can’t sleep with news like that on my mind.
I pull the covers back, pausing to make sure I don’t wake her. Her mouth is still fluttering lightly, with the easy breath of night. Good. Grabbing a pair of sweats out of my bag, I slip them on and make my way to the door. If I stay in here staring at the ceiling all night, I’ll go mad.
The nightlight in the hall is just bright enough to guide me toward the bathroom. I cringe as my footfall causes the floor to creak loudly. I stand motionless outside our bedroom door for what feels like an eternity before I chance moving again.
Reaching the bathroom, I flip on the light. My reflection makes me pause, ashamed of what I see. I should be elated, ecstatic, overjoyed by Brice’s news. But I can’t shake the fear from my heart, and I’m wearing it all over my face. My mom has always said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. The dark brown orbs staring back at me are heavy, weighted…on what started as the happiest day of my life.
I reach down, opening the cupboard beneath the sink, and grab a washcloth. I need to let go of this feeling, shake it off, wash it away—before my beautiful wife sees it written all over me.
As the water slowly begins to warm, I let myself imagine our child. Brice can do this. I’ve never known anyone stronger, and the last thing she needs is my doubt making it harder for her. I’ve wanted a family with this girl for as long as I can remember.
The mirror begins to steam, pulling me from my thoughts. I hold the washcloth under, then turn off the stream. I wring it out, and as I feel the warmth hit my face, I tell myself that my doubts will be washed away with any grime leftover from the day. I take one last look in the mirror, trying to see what Brice sees when she looks at me. My hair is too long, but she likes it that way. She loves to run her hands through it. I feel myself harden just thinking about the way her fingers feel across my scalp. I laugh at my inability to think of her without my body reacting this way. Will that ever change? I hope not.
I make my way down the hall, past our room, and into the empty one beside it. Flipping on the light, I try to imagine it as it will be. It’s the perfect size for a nursery. I had planned on putting an office here, but there will be plenty of room for my desk downstairs. I wonder what color the walls will be—pink or blue? I shake my head, getting rid of that mindset. A light green will be the perfect shade, either way.
We leave for our honeymoon tomorrow. As soon as we get home, this is going to be my biggest priority. I would give her the moon if I could, and even though I haven’t met the little bean growing in her belly, my love for him or her has already started to take root in my heart. We can do this. We will do this.
I turn off the light and make my way back to her. I could find her in the darkest night just by following the thread that connects us so completely. As I slip back in beside her, she molds herself to me, and I let the feeling of us calm the terror in my soul. We. Will. Do. This.
22
Time to Move
“I was just thinking about the baby.” This sentence, these seven words, have saved me countless times, and I’ve only known about the baby for three weeks. Three beautiful weeks. I let go of the fear I was feeling when I first found out, and I couldn’t be happier with our current condition. Except for the tears. I could do without the tears. They’re exhausting.
I walk to her and wrap her tightly in my arms, hoping the gesture is enough to fix whatever has her so upset. I feel her relax into me.
“I just…I’m just going to miss it. I grew up here. I know, I know, it’s just a ratty old apartment, but…” The sobs take her over again, the rest of her words lost to them.
When her mom remarried, Brice took over the lease of the apartment. I think in some ways she fully intended to stay here forever. I’m sure the move would be emotional under perfect conditions. But with the storm of hormones flooding her system daily, she’s losing herself to the sadness.
“The things that matter the most are coming with us. Bernard will just be a few steps away; that’s not going to change. We have something better now.” I realize my mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth, and she starts to sob harder. “Not better because there was something wrong with the apartment, just better because there will be more room for our growing family,” I scramble, hoping the words will be enough.
“Woohoo.” Bernard laughs as he walks through the door. His step is lighter than I’ve seen it in years.
This move is exactly what he needed to rejuvenate his soul—his words, not mine. Although, this man has taught me so many of life’s lessons; I’m not sure if any of the words I speak didn’t originally come from him.
“What’s going on in here?” The glee in his tone is quickly replaced with concern as he comes further into the room.
“What’s the matter, little one?” Bernard pauses in front of us, his cane shaking slightly. For months I’ve been trying to convince him that he would be safer with a walker—something that would offer more support—but he just keeps telling me that’s nonsense. His cane does just fine. I think it’s become an accessory, like the hats.
He told me once that a cane looks cool, but a walker makes you look old. I think it’s funny that someone rounding on eighty is worried about looking old.
“Is this guy giving you trouble,” he asks, nodding in my direction, causing a smile to break through her tears. I don’t know what I’d do without this man sometimes.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Bernard.” She sniffles, which should be disgusting, but somehow, she makes it adorable. “I’m just being sentimental.”
“There’s always a touch of pain that comes from new growth, but it doesn’t last.” Bernard pauses to catch his breath. “It’ll die down, get to the point where you rarely even think about it at all. This has been your home for a really long time; it’s all right to feel bad about leaving it. But there will soon come a day when the memories will just be happy,” he finishes, and I’m not surprised when she steps out of my arms into his.
“Thank you,” she whispers to him, and I turn away, feeling like this moment isn’t mine.
Jesse walks in, his dark hair sticking through the cap he’s wearing backwards, his face smudged with grime and sweat, but he’s still sporting an easy smile. “I see how it is, me and my girl are doing the heavy work while you chill in here.” He catches my eye with a wink.
I don’t know how, but he always seems to know when he needs to show up and lighten the mood. He’s been my brother for damn near twenty years—it just wasn’t official until three weeks ago. The three years we didn’t speak was the hardest time in my life, ever. I would have walked away from any notion of being with her just to get my friend back, but that didn’t seem to matter. Not until Cassie came along and straightened him out. She walks into the room behind him, her long, dark hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She has a bandana folded and tied around her forehead, keeping the sweat out of her eyes. August in the Yakima Valley is an insane time to be moving.