I’ve got my girls and they’re on my side. So I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks about me. I have so many other things to worry about anyway, and so I’m letting it go.
I can talk to people when they visit me, like my brothers, especially Conrad. Ledger comes down from New York as much as he can. Shepard and Stellan try to make it too.
And I’m so glad that I’m feeling more like myself now when a week into my second trimester, one of my favorite people in the whole world visits me: Tempest.
She comes down from New York for the weekend and I’m so excited about it.
Because I missed her so much.
I’ve been talking to her over the phone since I don’t have any time limits now, or on the number of calls that I can make. But I’m so glad that I get to see her.
“Oh my God, you’re going to be a mommy,” she squeals as soon as she arrives in her car, carrying what looks like everything from every store in New York City.
She dumps it all on the driveway and runs over to give me a big hug, her gray eyes cheerful.
I laugh, squeezing her tightly. “What have you done? What are all these bags for?”
She squeezes me tightly back. “It’s for the baby. Because hello, I’m going to be an aunt. And trust me, I’m going to be the most fun aunt ever. And for you.”
“For me?”
She moves away and tells me all excitedly, “Yarn for your knitting. I still don’t know how you do that stuff. But I know you love it so I brought you tons of it.”
“You did?” My eyes tear up; that hasn’t gone anywhere, my hypersensitivity. “Aww, thanks. I’ve been dying to knit.”
Now that I’m healthy again, I have been thinking about making little hats and socks for my baby girl. There is no way I’m going to have her wear store-bought knits.
When her mommy’s an expert, she doesn’t have to wear subpar stuff.
Tempest waves my thanks away. “And maternity clothes.”
“Maternity clothes?”
“Duh. Look at you.” She looks down at me and her smile knows no bounds. “You’re showing.”
My hand goes to my teeny tiny baby bump and I smile too. “Very little. I can’t believe you can see it through my baggy clothes.”
“Oh, you mean through the hoodie that you’re wearing. That belongs to my jerk brother.” She raises her eyebrows. “I can see it.”
Oh right.
I don’t wear my own clothes anymore. His hoodies are so comfy.
And I do have maternity clothes — Reed bought me some and then my brothers bought me some and yes, it was like the cell phone and the groceries, the tug of war between my four overprotective older brothers and the guy whose baby I’m carrying.
Even my girls bought me stuff. So I have tons of maternity clothes.
Even so, I usually wear his clothes. Mostly hoodies and t-shirts, and I’ve been doing this for so many weeks now that it has become normal for me.
It’s not.
Not for other people.
I tug on the hem of his hoodie. “It’s only because of his scent. He has this amazing fabric softener and —”
“Ew.” She shakes her head. “I don’t need to hear about my brother’s scent. Although, I do wanna hear about why you’re blushing right now.”
“I’m not.”
Am I?
Laughing, she hugs me again and then I help her with all her shopping bags and usher her inside.
We spend the day like we used to back when I was free and lived in Bardstown.
We talk and gossip and laugh. We watch movies together while we eat popcorn and the Peanut Butter Blossoms she brought for me. She shows me all her purchases too.
Even though I’m assuming it’s a girl and Reed seems to be on board, we really don’t know what we’re having and we won’t until our fifth ultrasound appointment, which is still six weeks away.
So Tempest bought everything gender neutral. And it’s all so pretty and cute that I start crying, freaking her out. But I tell her that these days I cry at everything.
Soon it’s dinnertime and that’s when I hear him.
I hear his Mustang arrive in the driveway and my heart starts racing.
He’d texted me earlier in the day that he had a meeting at the office but he’d be home for dinner. And I have to admit that throughout the day, while hanging out with Tempest, I was thinking about her brother.
I was waiting for him.
And he’s here now.
My stomach flutters and I have to press a hand on it to calm it down, her down. She always does this.
Every day when he comes to pick me up from school or brings groceries over the weekend or asks me how I’m doing, she goes crazy inside my belly.