Lou, our bartender, slides a couple fresh beers in front of us and we nod in thanks.
“Hey, thanks again for helping me get Teddy and the kids moved in,” he says then, tearing off a chunk of meat with his teeth and chewing. “It’s a whole lot easier checking in on her now that she’s not forty-five minutes away.”
I nod, popping a carrot stick in my mouth. “She doing alright?”
Cal snorts, shrugging and shaking his head at the same time. “She’s surviving, I guess?” he says, and my gut clenches as he continues. “I hate that I’m not here to help more. I can’t imagine what she’s going through; losing Logan, being pregnant. I worry about being out on a call now that she’s so close to her due date. But at least she’s got Scottie here while I’m gone. And I’m grateful that you’re right next door when we are home.”
I nod again, taking a long pull off my beer. Cal’s sister, Teddy, lost her husband about six months ago after finding out they were expecting their third baby together. Being the protective big brother, Cal had insisted that she move closer to him and his girlfriend so they could help. But it’s hard when we’re gone as often as we are. It helps that she’s my new neighbor, though.
“You know I’ll keep an eye out,” I offer gruffly. “She’s not alone, Cal.”
“I appreciate that more than you know,” he says quietly. “I uhh… I know you watch out for her, Xander.”
I swallow hard around a drink of my beer but keep my eyes trained ahead. We don’t talk about this. Not outloud, anyway.
“Always, man,” I admit on a gruff whisper, and he nods. Because he knows, even if I’ve never said the words, and possibly never will.
Braxton Hicks contractions are the most useless and annoying things in the universe, I’ve decided.
Bracing my palms against the sides of my rounded belly, I sigh heavily. They’re not painful, necessarily, but they’re not all cupcakes and rainbows, either.
“You okay, Mom?”
I smile into the rearview mirror at my eight-year-old son, Dalton. “Yeah, I’m fine, bud. You all buckled in?”
He nods, his chocolate brown eyes finding mine in the mirror from the backseat. “Penny dropped her cup, but I grabbed it for her.”
“You’re the best helper,” I say to him with another smile as I put my minivan in reverse and back out of the parking spot at the grocery store. We did a huge grocery haul in preparation for the new baby’s arrival in the next couple weeks, and the back end of the van is loaded down with grocery bags.
I’m already dreading carrying them all inside.
My back hurts, my feet are swollen—not that I can see them at this point anyway—and these stupid false contractions arejustuncomfortable enough to make me more emotional than usual. Iknow Dalton will help me carry some of the bags in, my little helper, but the heavier bags are all mine.
The drive home is short, and by the time I’m pulling into the driveway, Penny, my four-year-old, is chomping at the bit to get out of her car seat. Dalton helps her unbuckle while I slowly slide out of the driver's seat and grab my purse. The baby stretches, and I press a hand to where I can feel her rump pressing just below my ribs and smile.
“Almost there, baby girl,” I whisper, then laugh when I feel a kick. My heart aches, seizing my chest even as I smile. This pregnancy has been bittersweet to say the least.
I never thought I’d be doing all of this alone. Going to appointments, seeing the ultrasounds, hearing that whooshing thump of her heartbeat on the monitor, all of it without Logan.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone.
I wasn’t supposed to be a widow at thirty-one with two—almost three—kids. Logan was supposed to be here. My sweet, loving, goofy Logan. My high school sweetheart and the best Daddy ever. The man with a heart of gold and a giving nature… but it had cost him his life, and now I’m left here alone. So alone and tired and scared all the time. I hate it.
But this is how I want it. It’s safe this way.
Thank god for my brother and his girlfriend, Scottie, and Logan’s parents. My new friend Vi has been a godsend, too. We met about a month ago, after I moved to Sky Ridge to be closer to Cal and Scottie, and her friendship has been exactly what I needed. I honestly don’t know how I would have survived the last six months without them all.
Dalton clicks the button to open the slider door and he hops out, then helps Penny climb down. We make our way to the back of the van and I open the back hatch. Thank modern mechanics for hands free liftgates, because bending over is pretty much not happening at this point.
“I can carry some,” Dalton says, looking up at me. I smile, ruffling the hair on the top of his head. He ducks away but grins.
“How about you take these two bags,” I say, taking some of the lighter ones, handing one to Penny and one to Dalton. “And take Penny inside while I grab some more?”
“Okay!” they say in unison, taking hold of the plastic handles, and then they’re off. I contemplate just loading up my arms with as many bags as I can physically carry, but decide against it, just taking a few and following my kids up the paved pathway to our front door. It’s a single story, split townhouse with duplex apartments on either side. It’s not big, but we have enough space for just us.
And it’s less than ten minutes away from Cal and Scottie.
Glancing over at the door that matches ours on the other side of a bricked partition, I sigh. Pretty sure Cal had insisted onthishouse because his boss—who also happens to be his best friend—lives next door and can help keep an eye on us, too.
