I Love You, I Hate You: Part 2

My jaw falls open. Heart skipping a beat. Logan’s gaze skirts to me for a fraction of a second and he winks. I take his hand in mine, so unbelievably excited that Nona might stay and terrified she’ll reject his offer. A part of me wants to be mad that Logan didn’t discuss this with me first, and we will have a conversation about big decisions being made as a team, but I’m too happy to ruin the moment.

Nona’s gaze bounces from Logan to mine then back to him. She sighs and lifts the corners of her lips into a sad smile. “As nice as that would be, dear, this is your home. Your family is just beginning. There won’t be room for me once you start popping out more youngin’s and I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.” Logan leans to one side and reaches into his pocket. He unlocks his phone with facial recognition and pulls up a home sales website. He clicks on a house and passes me the phone. “My buddy put his place for sale. It’s only been on the market a few days and already has three offers, but he said if we want it, it’s ours.”

“Logan,” I gasp. The house is beautiful. Seated on under a half an acre, it’s four bedrooms with a fenced in yard, pool and spacious detached office on the back half of the patio. The backyard was designed to where the office and pool deck take up most of the space, but there’s one section in the back, behind what I’m assuming is a bedroom, that has enough grass for a swing set. “It’s beautiful but it’s too much.”

I pass the phone back to Logan, who leans forward and hands it to Nona. She looks at the pictures with interest, but I know her. She won’t show how much she wants to be with us lest plans fall through. She doesn’t want us to feel obligated to anything.

“It’s not that much more than what I paid for this house.” Logan stands and walks to the center of the room. “We’re a family and this is a big decision. One we should make together. Nona, I never got to know my grandparents. My Dad’s parents died before I was born and Mom had a falling out with her mother when I was little. Their issues were never resolved and my grandmother died thinking she hated her. You, Nona, may be spunky, but you’re old.”

“Hey now.” Nona raises one finger at Logan. “I am not that old.”

We all chuckle, except Molly who appears to be in love with her doll house. She’s happily playing, tuning us and this life changing decision out.

“Still, we don’t know how many years you have left. I want Molly to spend as much time with you as she can.” The corner of Logan's lips lift as he looks over at me. “Danika too.”

I wait with baited breath for Nona’s response. I love the idea of us being together. That house, it’s beautiful and everything we need to stay together. Not to mention it’s in a great neighborhood a few blocks from here. The community isn’t gated like this one or where our parents live, but the area is still really nice.

“Fine.” A small smile tugs at Nona’s lips. I can see she’s fighting to contain her excitement but inside, I bet she’s jumping up and down like Molly did on Christmas. “But I ain’t taking a free ride. I want to help.”

Logan takes Nona’s hand and helps lift her off the floor. They hug for a moment and then break apart. Logan holds his arm out to me. I wipe happy tears from my cheeks and scoot off the couch. He wraps his arm around me and beams. “You, being here with Molly and Danika, is all the help we need.”

Epilogue

Logan

Two years later

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” Danika screams. She squeezes my fingers until the lack of blood flowing turns the tips purple. They tingle in a pins-and-needles kind of way. I let her squeeze as tight as she can while my other hand rubs circles on her back.

“I want it,” Danika cries. “Give me the epidural. I don’t care what I said earlier.”

The doctor looks up from the paper drape over Danika’s knees. She smirks in an, I told you, you’d want it, kind of way but Danika doesn’t notice. Her eyes are shut as she hunches forward and screams again.

Danika insisted on a V-back, which apparently is having a natural birth after a cesarean. Our doctor advised against it, but Danika being the stubborn woman that she insisted and threw into the mix she wanted everything to be natural. I.E. no epidural.

I think she’s regretting that now.

“We’re almost there, Danika,” Doctor Mims says. “Two more big pushes and he’ll be out.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it!” I’m trying to be as helpful as I can but the reality is that, besides being a cheerleader, I’m useless. Before, during the epically long forty-weeks it took for our son to decide his mommy’s belly was too small, I was on point.

Chicken and apple sausage with dinner? Done.

A Coca-Cola icee from the gas station twice a day to curb the nausea and headache? Got ‘em.

Chocolate covered pickles at two in the morning with pistachio ice cream? Weird, but she got that, too.

If I could, I’d take the pain and push the kid out myself but life doesn’t work that way. I’m reduced to moral support while my wife produces a miracle.

“Aaaaaggghhh!” Danika screams again. Tears run down her cheeks as she give it everything she’s got.

“Here he comes!” Dr. Mims yells. “One more, girl. You can do it.”

A lifetime that is probably only a minute later, our son is born. Dr. Mims holds him up for us to see. His tiny body is barely bigger than the length of her forearm, covered in blood and purple goo. He’s perfect.

Danika collapses back onto the hospital bed. I smooth her hair, wiping away her sweat and tears. Our son cries as the nurses do whatever it is nurses do. They talk amongst each other in not so hushed whispers. Eighteen and a half inches. Eight pounds, seven ounces.