“Never again, baby. I want to own every single one of your orgasms.”
My eyes are half-hooded as I feel him gently remove his fingers from inside me before reaching over to get the wipes. Rounding the table, he lifts the hem of my paper gown and glides the warm wipe down my seam. My cheeks flame, knowing I’ve likely made a mess on the paper sheet covering the table I’m lying on.
But I don’t interrupt him, nor do I ask to take on the task myself. I know the type of lover he is, the kind who worships my bodyafterlovemaking just as much as he does during it. While I’m usually the type to spring out of bed the minute my body recharges, Patton loves to hold me hostage, coaxing me to cuddle a little longer.
Once we’re all cleaned up, I slip back into my clothes, tossing the hospital gown into a bin. I press the call button, then catch my reflection on a glass armoire and frantically start patting myhair down, praying it doesn’t scream “just got finger-fucked by my ex-husband in an exam room”.
The door opens and the doctor walks in, her eyes flicking between me and Patton. His hands are in his pockets, hip leaning against the table, looking completely unmussed, like he’s just posing for a photoshoot.
Dr. Gilbert smirks. “I’m glad to hear that you took my advice to celebrate seriously.” She hands over the printouts of the sonogram. “Congratulations again.”
It’s when she leaves that her words, “I’m glad to hear,” register, making my face flame with mortification.
twenty-seven
nisha
We’re A Forever Kind of Thing
“Is my hair frizzed out? Can you tell I’m sweating?” Sarina fans herself with her hand, her enormous engagement ring glinting. “God, it’s hot. I should have expected that for a beach wedding, but thislehengais making it worse.”
Outside the entrance to the beach, where guests are gathered—where her groom stands awaiting his bride at the beautiful make-shift altar in front of the ocean—my twin swishes saidlehenga, her Indian bridal skirt, from side to side, seemingly trying to get air underneath it. Unlike her first wedding, where her ex-husband demanded she wear a white dress at the church where his mother insisted they marry, Sarina is wearing a soft pink two-piece ensemble with a flowy chiffon skirt, a bejeweled strapless top, and a sheer red veil, passed down from our mother’s wedding. Like a true Indian bride, she looks radiant and colorful from head to toe.
“You look breathtaking, and no, I can’t tell you’re sweating.” I squeeze my twin’s hands, smiling at the intricate henna flowers adorned on her palms. My eyes glisten just from looking at her.
“I don’t think I’ve seen a more beautiful bride in my life,” Piper says, taking a quick selfie of the three of us with her phone. “You look like a princess, babe.”
“You really do, love,” Dad says, taking out a floral-print handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his eyes. “I am so happy your mother and I had such gorgeous genes to pass on to our daughters.”
At that, we all laugh, and my tears stay at bay. Of course, our dad would manage to be emotional and vain at the same time. He’s always known how to make us laugh, even when we were at the edge of tears, but he’s never been good at holding back his own.
Dad is wearing a pink and red, traditionalsherwaniensemble, his long embroidered silk coat the same colors as Sarina’slehenga. He looks more dapper and handsome than I’ve ever seen him.
When he sniffles, wiping the corner of his eye, Emanuel pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back gently. And just like that, my eyes prick again.
Perhaps it’s all the emotions in the air, or my wild hormones. Or perhaps it’s because I barely got any sleep last night, even with Patton’s comforting arms surrounding me all night. I just wanted this day to be perfect for my perfect sister, and my nerves just wouldn’t let me settle.
The more I tried to sleep, the more my mind raced with stray thoughts, like which room I was going to choose to make into the nursery. Would the baby have a room in both our homes or would we move in with each other?
We hadn’t talked about moving in together. And when that thought surfaced, so did that familiar fear—were we moving too fast? Were we repeating past mistakes? Did Patton even want to live with me again?
We had a good rhythm right now. Though the baby was a surprise, I didn’t want to make hasty relationship decisions based on the pregnancy. But if I was pressed for the truth, the idea of living with him again didn’t seem all that scary, either.
My racing thoughts weren’t helped by the packed schedule, and though my body needed the rest, I knew my brain would take a break only when it wanted to.
We hit the ground running since we got to Cabo yesterday. Troy booked out the entire resort for the next few days to keep the paparazzi at bay, not just for him and his Blazers ex-teammates, but for Dev and Patton, too. He also beefed up the security with all the A-listers and celebrities in attendance, not wanting any interruptions from the media.
Between yesterday’s rehearsal, the meet-and-greet, themehendiparty—where all the women got henna painted on our palms—the cocktail hour, and dinner, I don’t think any of us had a moment to breathe.
Well, Sarina and Troy definitely didn’t.
I, on the other hand, was whisked away for “down time” every chance my ex-husband found me on my feet for more than fifteen minutes.
Whether it was keeping me hydrated with pineapple margarita mocktails, rubbing my feet during the cocktail hour while telling me about the Mexican Revolution, or bringing me fruit and crackers when I couldn’t keep anything else down, the man hovered over me like a mother hen.
And though I feigned annoyance, I found myself looking for him anytime he was missing from my side.
My sister pulls both me and Piper in for a hug. “I love you both so much. You’re not just my best friends and sisters, you’re part of my entire world. It spins because you’re in it.”
