“Get dressed, and we can meet in my office if you have any questions.”
I stand as well, seeing her to the door before returning to Mariska, who is wiping the blue gel off her stomach.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” her voice is quiet.
I can only catch her cheeks and kiss her again, long and deep. My thumbs trace a line across the top of her cheekbones, and I lean back and study her face.
“You’re amazing.” If I ever said it before, I mean it tenfold now. She only smiles, eyes still shining.
Back at the ranch, Mom and Bill pass the black and white ultrasound photos around exclaiming and pointing at different ones.
“I think the baby has your profile, Stuart!” Mom exclaims.
“Show me!” Mariska skips over to look, watching as my mother traces her finger down the sheet.
“I think you’re right!” she exclaims, looking up at me. I don’t see it.
When we got back from the cabin this morning, I’d had a quick talk with Bill about how this baby changes everything. He’d been very understanding, as always. The idea that we might one day take over the ranch isn’t off the table, but with Mariska due in the dead of winter in one of the most remote parts of the state, I can’t entertain such a notion now.
He’d responded in his usual hippie que sera, sera manner about how the future is a book already written or whatnot, and for the first time in my life, I understood why my dad had lost all patience with his younger brother when we were kids.
Sometimes you have to make decisions and not depend on the universe to work it out for you. You need definites and nows. Looking at my beautiful, pregnant fiancée, I feel this more than ever.
These thoughts are on my mind as we gather around the table for dinner. Winona prepared a bison roast complete with carrots, celery, and onions in a large pan. Mashed potatoes are served with the rich roast gravy, and the vegetables cooked with the meat are our sides. Soft rolls wrapped in a checkered cloth are passed around in a wicker basket, and everything smells as amazing as I’m sure it tastes.
My uncle leads a short blessing on the food and our coming baby from the head of the table, and we proceed to dig in. Sylvia sits at Bill’s right and her face is beaming with pride. The two of them exchange smiles every time their eyes meet, and I can see by their body language, they’re aching to hold hands.
Instead they share stories of my siblings and I when we were young. Mariska hangs on every word as if it’s water in the desert.
“Stuart was almost eight when Patrick was born.” Sylvia swirls a glass of red wine as she speaks. “He was already a little commander then. As soon as his brother started walking, Stuart started making rules about what he could and could not touch…”
They all laugh, but I can’t see what’s funny. “Patrick almost broke everything. I can’t understand why you didn’t stop him.”
“He was adorable,” she says with a laugh. Then she pauses, and her thoughts seem to travel somewhere else. “A lot of time had passed between the two of you. I guess I didn’t have the heart to scold him for breaking things that were easily replaced.”
At that point, my uncle does take her hand, and I feel like an asshole. I forgot about our stillborn sister Sophie, the baby girl who came between Patrick and me. Her death had a definite impact on my mother, and in turn, our entire family. My parents’ relationship never seemed to recover from the loss.
“That must be why Patrick says you were born a Marine.” Mariska takes my hand grinning. “You’ve been giving him orders since day one.”
My little brother’s penchant for escaping the consequences of his irresponsibility has always gotten on my nerves. Still, I’ve never hated him. I’ve just wished he would get his shit together and stop skating by on the skin of his teeth.
“Elaine is the best thing that ever happened to him,” I grumble.
“Hear, hear!” My mother calls out with a laugh. “She’s perfect for him. Just like you’re perfect for Stuart.”
She pats Mariska’s arm, and my fiancée turns in her seat. “What else did they do as little boys? And Amy! I want to know about Amy!”
I think back to what Mariska said at the ultrasound appointment. She’s expecting to have a girl.
“Stuart was my little man, but Patrick was always my sweet little charmer,” Sylvia says. “Yes, he tested the limits, but he would also pick me bouquets of wild flowers, and if I ever was upset about anything, he’d climb into my lap and hug me until it passed.”
“That’s so sweet!” Mariska leans her cheek on her
hand, and I can’t help being irritated.
“He didn’t do anything to fix it,” I note.
“Sometimes just being there for someone is enough.” My mother’s voice is reproving, and I decide to bow out of this conversation. My parents seemed to forget any rules once Patrick and Amy came along. Amy was at least somewhat level-headed for a while.