I’m not sure what caused this turn, and I don’t fucking like it. “What’s wrong?”
She stands still as I unbutton her coat, eyes on my face as I work. “I don’t want to tell you.” Her words are barely a whisper, but they still cut to my core.
Does she think she can’t trust me? Or worse, am I the reasonshe’s upset? In either case, I’m going to do whatever it takes to fix it. “You can tell me anything.”
“But I feel bad because…” Her next breath is sharp. Almost like a hiccup.
I lift my eyes to her face, stomach sinking as a single tear slowly glides down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb, swiping it away. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear she’s struggling. And standing here, just inside the garage door, probably isn’t the best place to have this conversation.
Shucking my coat and hanging it next to hers in the closet, I take her hand, leading her to the great room where I pull her into my lap. Once she's tucked against me, most of her body touching mine, I pick up where we left off. "Why do you feel bad?"
I don't tell her she shouldn't feel bad. I'm not in charge of her feelings, and I don't want her to think I'm policing them. But I do want to help her understand she can always talk to me. That she can trust me. That I will keep her just as safe emotionally as I will physically.
Mariah's fingers toy with the buttons of my shirt. "I knew I was pregnant. Knew there was a baby. But I never felt..." She traces the small plastic circles before continuing. "I guess I didn't feel connected. Or even really like there was an actual human who would be my child."
I understand what she's saying. I remember struggling similarly when Kara was pregnant. I wasn't suffering the same physical changes she was, so in many respects, my life was exactly the same. Nothing was different. And that made a baby a less tangible sort of thing. I couldn't see it. I couldn't feel it. The only real evidence in front of me on a day-to-day basis was Kara's slightly rounded stomach. And Mariah doesn't even have that right now.
"That makes sense."
Her head tips back, eyes wide. "It does?"
"Of course it does." My hand goes to her face the way it so often does, seeking out the warmth of her skin against mine. "On some level, everything happening to you could be explained by thestomach flu. Without anything else to go on, it could be difficult to really feel like anything was changing."
Mariah's eyes stay on my face as she takes a shuddering breath. “My mother wasn’t attached to me.” She sniffs. “She had me because she thought it would keep my dad around.” Her eyes fall. “When it didn’t, I was just in the way.” Her caramel eyes come back to my face. “I know what it’s like when a mother isn’t connected to her child, and I don’t ever want Peanut to feel like I did.” She blinks at the line of moisture collecting in her gaze. “What if I never start to feel attached? What if this means I'm not going to be a good parent? What if it means I'm never going to give them what they need from me?"
It would be so easy to tell her she's wrong—because she is—but it won't do anything to calm her fears. Fears that in and of themselves show just how good of a mother she will be.
Instead, I do the only other thing I can think of—I lay out the evidence as I see it. "You moved from one state to another, came to a new town where you didn't know anyone, because you wanted to do what was best for your child."
Mariah doesn't look as relieved as I'd hoped she would. "But maybe I was just doing what was best for me. To makemylife easier. More secure."
"If you were just doing what was best for you, you would have made the change before you found out you were pregnant." I shake my head. "Not after."
Mariah pinches her lower lip between her teeth, still looking unconvinced. That's fine. I have twenty-eight more weeks to show her the proof of what a good mother she’s going to be, and I'm positive it will only stack up more as time goes on.
Mariah is caring and kind. She's warm and loving. But she's also protective and fierce—something I witnessed firsthand today when she saw me unraveling in front of my team and got me out before I started to spiral.
I trace a path past her temple and over her cheek. "And I saw your face when you heard the baby's heartbeat today." Thewonder and surprise I witnessed made me so happy I had the foresight to start my recorder so she could experience it again and again. "Connection isn't always an immediate thing. Sometimes it takes baby steps to get there."
She picks up on my joke right away, her lips lifting at the edges. "Baby steps." She takes a deep breath, letting it out as she relaxes against me. "Baby steps it is."
Baby steps for her. Not me.
Age has clearly changed me and what I need to wrap my head around reality. Because Mariah might not have an easy time imagining herself as a mother or the baby that will soon be in her arms.
But I don't.
27
Mariah
Idon’t know how much longer I can stand this. Waking up with Titus curled around me, one strong arm banded at my waist and a very hard dick pressing against my ass, has me starting every day hot and bothered.
Emphasis on the bothered part.
Titus sucks in a breath as his alarm goes off, inhaling against my hair as his hold on me tightens. “Good morning.”
I wiggle closer to him, working my butt against the hard line of his cock in what I hope is an inviting—maybe even enticing—way.
