Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

“Because I haven’t given Mom and Dad enough surprises,” I say.

“Shut up.” Ford nudges me. “This is a good surprise. Mom’s going to want to meet her, you know. Julia. Like, yesterday.”

“I know.” I grab my cigarettes and slide them into my back pocket. I’m going to regret that last one tomorrow morning at the gym.

“I imagine this was a shock for Julia, too. You should send her something.”

I raise a brow.

“Flowers. Fruit. Something to let her know you’re thinking of her. Rebecca had a really shitty time of it during her first trimester. It’s hard for you, but it’s harder for Julia. Don’t forget that.”

“Right,” I say, nodding. “Okay. Good call. Thanks for listening. And for the bourbon.”

“No problem.” Ford glances at the baby monitor. “Bryce’s gonna be bummed to know Uncle Grey was here and she didn’t get to play with you.”

“Tell her I’ll be by on Friday. Y’all still down for dinner?”

“You don’t have to bring dinner.”

“I’ll try to make it by six, although I won’t be able to stay long because I’ve got an eight o’clock meeting.”

“Who schedules an eight o’clock meeting on a Friday night?”

“I do. Only slot I had left for the weekend. Someone’s got to pay the bills.”

Ford sighs. “You know, I can—”

“I got it. Y’all just text me what y’all want to eat.”

“Thank you. And Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to be a great dad.”

The breath catches in my throat. I swallow.

“Thanks,” I say.

Even though I don’t believe it. Not for one fucking second.Chapter EightJuliaJulia: You sent me a lemon tree.

Greyson: I did

Greyson: Do you not like it? I thought you could use the lemons. Put them in your topo chico because you can’t drink and that sucks

Julia: It does suck. But the lemons make it suck a little less. Thank you.

Greyson: how are you feeling?

Julia: All right. No white walker nipples to report lately, so that’s a plus.

Greyson: The night watch salutes you.

Greyson: doctor’s appt Tuesday after next, right?

Greyson: have it on my schedule 2 PM

Julia: Yes. I’ll send you the address.

Greyson: thanks for letting me tag along

Julia: Thank you for the tree. Very un-dickish of you. Almost sweet. I’m not quite sure what to think of it, to be honest.

Greyson: that makes two of us

Julia: BTW. Your texts are SO unlike you in person. You’re such a perfectionist. So intentional about everything. But you fire off texts without a filter. Or a quick spell check.

Greyson: no time for spell check in texts

Greyson: I just send them as I go. more efficient that way as I get hundreds of them a day on top of calls

Greyson: you’re also kind of different in texts. You fly by the seat of your pants in life. But your texts are v polished

Julia: It’s the lit professor in me. Can’t help it. Proper punctuation is kind of a kink of mine.

Greyson: interesting kink

Julia: Not as interesting as yours.* * *File this under things no one tells you about being pregnant: it’s hard.

At least that’s been my (admittedly limited) experience so far.

Even though it was a surprise, I’m grateful that I was able to get pregnant. I know not everyone is that lucky. But man, I am not enjoying the experience. At all. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s downright awful.

So much more awful than I thought it’d be. I’m only seven-ish weeks in, but I can already tell this motherhood thing is not for the faint of heart.

Physically, I feel…not great, but not super ill, either. It’s like having a perpetual hangover I keep hoping to sleep off but can’t.

The exhaustion is crushingly constant. I am a walking zombie during the day, and can barely make it past 7 or 8 P.M. before falling into bed, too tired to even read. And yet I wake up most nights, usually a little past midnight, and I’m unable to go back to sleep. It’s horrible.

My nausea has gotten much worse. I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing whatever my last meal was all over the floor. Which is totally awesome when you’re in the middle of a lecture in front of thirty five students.

But it’s the mental piece of the puzzle that’s been especially tough. I’ve been walking around in a fog. It’s like some alien life force has invaded my brain, hijacking my moods and my ability to manage them. I’ve never experienced depression before, so I didn’t even recognize the symptoms until I googled them (the internet has simultaneously become my best friend and worst enemy these days): huge spikes in anxiety so severe it borders on paranoia. Insomnia. Relentless feelings of being overwhelmed and helpless.

Turns out prenatal depression is a real thing, and I definitely have it.

I’m lucky to have a great therapist on speed dial. She’s helped me come up with some coping strategies. Regular walks, time with close friends, plenty of rest. I’m taking it one day at a time, crossing my fingers and toes this mental and physical fog clears up in the supposedly magical second trimester. If there’s one thing I have heard about pregnancy and babies, it’s that no phase lasts forever.