Page 121 of Sand in My Boots

It’s only been a few weeks since she’s felt up for sex. The first trimester and a half were difficult on her body and her emotions. Not even yoga helped keep her calm. We thought the tide had turned once she cleared the first fourteen weeks, but pregnancy got the best of her. She’s been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum and still not one hundred percent herself, even though she’s well into her sixth month. I’d say she takes it all with a grain of salt, but some days, that’s not the case.

Whenever she’s the tiniest bit like herself, I try to capitalize on it. Selfish? Yes, but again, she hasn’t complained. It’s because she wants to feel like herself. At least that’s how I justify it in my head. However, unlike before she was pregnant, anytime she says no, I don’t push her.

To say the past six months have been stressful would be an understatement. Especially because we added buying a house and moving to our plates. It gives us a few months to get the new house settled before complete chaos ensues.

“I’ll put the order for steak fries in and tell the movers the couch is the last piece of furniture to load.”

“Extra salt.”

I grab a bottle of water from the otherwise empty fridge. We moved the rest of the contents to the new house yesterday. “Drink this.” She doesn’t even argue.

Three months ago, she would have told me to go fuck myself—pregnancy broke out a fluency in cursing—but by now, she’s learned to drink the water. She’s more miserable when she doesn’t, especially when salty steak fries are involved.

The doorbell rings.

“Let’s do this thing.”

Again, I chuckle. As if I’m going to allow her to lift a finger.

Five hours later, the townhouse is packed and loaded onto a moving truck. Juli did a great job supervising from her perch on the couch, eating her steak fries and brownies. The new chef also included a salad, which she ate almost half of. She may have even dozed for a short while. I’m not sure how with all the racket, but stranger things have happened lately.

The space devoid of our personal stuff, I do a walk-through. It’s been a great place to call home for the past five years. Once Juli moved in, we made it a home rather than a dwelling to store my stuff and a place to sleep. In some ways, I’m going to miss it, even though I’m ready for more. A bigger place. A home in every sense of the word. And with the baby on the way, more so.

Juli folds herself into my side as I stand in the empty living room. “Why am I so emotional about yet another temporary residence?”

“Ah, cutie. For so many reasons.” I don’t point out the obvious about her being a highly emotional pregnant lady. “I’m going to miss it, too. It’s the first place we called ours. Where I asked you to marry me. Where we conceived Munchkin. It’s got a lot of memories.” Shit, why am I so emotional over this place? As she said, it was always supposed to be temporary for me. Lately, it’s felt like more than that.

“I knew the first time I came to visit you here, it was a place I wanted to end up. When we were supposed to be casual. I wanted more then. Even if you weren’t prepared to ask me. I wanted to live on the beach with you.”

“We were never meant for casual, Jude. Never in this life was that the plan for us. I’m glad it didn’t take us long to see that.”

“Same. Thank goodness Elisa had the wherewithal to put me on that plane.” She looks up at me, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. “Are we ready for the next step in our journey?”

I pull her closer to me, my arm splaying across her rounded abdomen. “We are,” I confirm. “We definitely are.”

Her hand to her mouth, she wiggles out of my grasp, taking off for the bathroom at a speed that’s not quick but speedy for the state she’s in. She appears at the doorway a minute later, fallen tears on her cheeks. “One last time,” she exclaims in a watery tone, laughing through her tears. “All set. We can go now.”

“The golf cart’s gassed and ready. You’re settled enough to make the ride?”

“It’s only up the beach a little ways. I’ll be fine.”

I stare pointedly at her. Multiple times during her pregnancy, she’s assured me she’s fine, and several times I’ve had to hose down the golf cart. “I’d say we could walk, but I’m not in the mood to deal with the sand. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I can’t promise anything,” she starts, “but what’s the alternative? Take it slow. I’ll try to give you a heads-up.” She offers a faint smile. It’s not her fault, but cleaning puke isn’t fun. Even if it’s hosing it down and letting it dry in the sun.

“A heads-up would be much appreciated, cutie. And if not, at least turn your head to the side of the road.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

In truth, it is. She has no control over it, and sometimes little warning. I can only blame myself for knocking her up. If I hadn’t . . .

Nope, not going to finish that thought. Drunk on Bushwackers, it was a fun night. A really fun night.

The pregnancy took us both by surprise, mostly because we weren’t trying. We were barely married a month and hadn’t discussed when we would start. And then it happened, and the minute she showed me the positive test, my world stopped. All the plans we had made for enjoying married life flew right out the window, but we both embraced the gift we’d been given. Besides, it’s not like we were getting any younger. She had mentioned something early in our relationship, right after she moved to South Carolina, about not wanting to wait to have kids. It was the universe’s way of telling us we were ready. Ready or not, it was happening.

“I love you, Juliana Fairbanks.”