He nods subtly. “Unfortunately.”
“Want to talk about them?” I ask, seeing the pain in his expression.
He looks at me, and I see him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I guess his silence means no. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable. I guess no man does. So I take a deep breath and let him in on my own thoughts.
“What if I’m a bad mom?” I whisper my fears to him. Out of everything I’ve been through, that’s my biggest fear.
“Not possible.” He refutes it immediately, shaking his head.
“But what if everyone’s right? What if I’m not the best person to raise a baby?”
“Who’s everyone?” His body shifts so he’s fully facing me, his hand remaining on my belly. It’s intimate; we’re close here in my bedroom. The closest I’ve been to another person in forever. But I don’t move. I don’t shuffle back or pull at the blanket. It feels like this is our secret spot. A place where we can whisper and no one will hear us. Where we can verbalize our deepest thoughts and there’s no judgment.
“My family. They want me to give my baby to my sister. She’s been trying for years… hasn’t been able to fall pregnant,” I whisper, shame running through me.
“You’re going to be a great mom. The fact that you’re even worried about it says so.”
“Do you still see your biological mom?” I try to be tactful, not entirely sure of what happened to her.
“My mom died when I was a kid.”
“I’m sorry.” My heart hurts for this man. I haven’t even given birth yet, and I already know leaving my child would be heartbreaking.
He’s quiet for a while. I can hear him breathing. I sit up, reach my hand up and cup his jaw, brushing my thumbs against his lips. I feel his rough stubble under my palm, and his strong jaw tenses a little at my touch. He goes to talk, but nothing comes out. I can tell his wounds are deep, that he carries a lot. His body is heavy with the toll of trauma.
“How old were you?” My thumb moves across his cheek, slowly, consistently, ensuring he’s still with me. A repetitive motion allowing him to just be.
“Twelve. Mom died. Dad went to jail. I went into the system. Let’s just say, my upbringing wasn’t what you’d ever want for your kid. That’s how I know you’re going to be an amazing mom.”
“What was her name?”
“Monique.”
“What was she like?”
His face softens then. “Beautiful. She had this long hair, kinda like the color of honey. She was kind. Warm. Funny. She loved to cook. A bit like you. She used to make me her sweet apple pie for my birthday every year. I haven’t had apple pie like it since she last made it for me the year I turned twelve.” As his eyes meet mine, I give him a small smile. “I still remember the smell and taste, the warmth of it fresh out of the oven…”
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She was.” He clears his throat, this conversation deeper than I was first expecting. “You should go back to sleep. We have a few more hours until daybreak.” His eyes cloud over like I’ve lost him, and his gaze moves away from mine, back to the floor, my hand sliding from his face.
My chest hurts for him. My family is still alive, yet the pain I feel from never being accepted by them is sharp and gnawing. I can’t imagine what he must feel, having lost his family at such a young age.
“That chair can’t be comfortable. Come lie with me,” I offer, moving over, creating some space for him. There’s no way he can sleep in the small chair for the rest of the night. He looks ridiculous sitting in it.
“It’s okay…”
“I won’t take no for an answer. I can’t afford your chiropractic bills, and I don’t have insurance.” I make light of it and see him pull in a breath before he stands and comes to bed. He lies on top of the blanket right next to me.
“Griffin?” My voice is a mere whisper.
“Hmmm?”
“I may not be a mom yet, but I already know your mom would be so proud of you.”
He turns his head and looks at me, his gaze swirling with a mix of emotions.
Then I feel it. His hand reaching out to mine. He entwines our fingers, much like we did the other day in his truck. But this time, he brings our clasped hands to his lips, softly kissing my hand before lowering it to the mattress between us, not letting go.
