The Truth

“The truth? Probably. We just cut the cake. But . . . I dare you,” I say with a smirk.

I shouldn’t have said that. It’s too soon. We’ve barely finished dinner and begun dessert, and everyone is chatting happily. And Tiffany isn’t one to back away from a dare.

But just as importantly, I want to be alone with my wife. So I’m not surprised when Tiffany stands up and lifts her glass of sparkling juice. “Everyone, thank you for coming, but it’s been a long day and I need to rest. Would it be rude if I kicked everyone out?”

Elle grins. “Rest? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Ace plugs his ears. “I don’t want to hear this.”

Tiffany frowns and points to her brother. “You just got back from your honeymoon. Four days in a sun-drenched paradise, and you came back just as pasty assed as you were when you left. So don’t tell me what you can’t hear. Shoo!” She waves her hand, encouraging him toward the door.

Ace laughs in defeat, helping Harper up, probably just as eager to get his bride home too. And now that I think about it . . . he is a little pale for a man who had a short honeymoon in the Keys.

I stand too, helping move things along. “Yes, thank you all so much. It means everything to us that you were here for us today. I did promise each of you that I’d make sure Tiffany didn’t overdo it, though.”

That’s enough to get Tiffany’s parents moving. Especially her mom, who I’m sure is convinced Tiffany’s about to fall apart at the slightest breeze. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” she asks anxiously. “I started feeling better in my second trimester, so just a little longer.”

Tiffany handles it well, which basically means not rolling her eyes so hard they fall out of her skull. “Thanks, Mom. I’m fine. Just a long day.”

I get it. Renee is excited about their impending grandchild, which I can completely understand, even though Neve is currently rubbing cake into her hair with her fingers.

Once everyone leaves and it’s just us, I take Tiffany in my arms.

The living room is a mess, but I don’t care. The housekeeper knows what’s happening and is prepared to come in tomorrow around one to handle it.

That should be enough time for us to celebrate, sleep, and then order in brunch.

“Mrs. Stryker, may I have this dance?” I ask Tiffany, holding out a hand.

Tiffany takes my hand with a smile, putting her other arm on my shoulder. “What did you have in mind?”

“Something that ends up back in the bedroom, and then . . . well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” I tell her as we start to sway.

There’s no music except the music in our hearts, but as my wife presses her body against mine, it’s all the music I need.

Epilogue

Daniel

The glow.

I thought it was a myth, something people told pregnant women to make up for the fact that they were struggling while trying to make another human being inside their bodies.

But seeing Tiffany, her belly rock hard and her face shiny with sweat, I know it’s real. I’ve seen it on my wife’s face for the past nine months as our baby grew inside her. I’ve seen it as she’s handled the challenges of new duties at work, because dammit, she was right.

No more invisible workers at Fox Industries. Everyone matters.

Right now isn’t about work, though . . . or at least, not my work.

“Okay, Tiffany,” Dr. Reynolds, our OB/GYN, says as she squats between Tiffany’s legs, looking suspiciously like a baseball catcher, “one more big push when I tell you to. Okay?”

Tiffany nods, looking up at me. “Ready?”

I swallow nervously, giving her hand a squeeze in answer. “I’m right here.”

If I could do this for her, I would. But that’s not how it works, so all I can do is stand by supportively and remember to breathe so I don’t miss everything by becoming the patient.

“And . . . PUSH!” Dr. Reynolds says, and Tiffany bears down. We’ve done all the prep together, the classes and books, the discussions and decisions, but this part is all her. Tiffany working with her body to bring our child into the world.

I sweep the hair back from her forehead, whispering in her ear, “Good girl, you’re doing it. You’re so amazing, so strong.”

She squeezes my hand hard, the bones creaking painfully, but all I’m aware of is the look of pain contorting her face. That hurts me more than anything she’s doing to my hand.

Tiffany grunts from deep in her chest, and suddenly, there’s this sound, something wet and huge and mobile, and then a little cry fills the air.

Tiffany gasps, tears mixing with the sweat to pour down her cheeks. “Is that—”