Epilogue
Five years later
Tabitha
The children’s annex is quiet today as the skeletons, cartoon characters and superheroes are cozied up in their reading nooks.
It’s Halloween, and we’re having a Spooky Read-A-Thon, inviting kids to come in costume after hours and read all the spooky books they can handle. Age-appropriate ones, of course.
After the hour of reading, everyone is invited to the lobby for s’mores and chocolate milk.
James, dressed as a relatively svelte Shrek, helps me out in the employee kitchen, pouring drinks and filling trays with sweets.
“So, Fiona,” he says, referencing my costume, How are the s’mores supposed to work? Are you going to ask me to build a campfire in the middle of the lobby?”
“No, silly,” I say. My green hands shake as they stack the rectangles of chocolate on top of the graham crackers. “Hand me the mini marshmallows?”
James watches me skeptically as I stack the miniature marshmallows on top of the chocolate, then place the whole thing in the microwave for 10-second intervals.
“Oh no. You’re not microwaving s’mores, are you? That’s a crime against humanity,” he says.
“I can’t stand the smell of campfire at the moment,” I say without thinking.
“What did you say?”
My fingers stop in midair while programming the microwave.
My hand goes to my lower abdomen.
My goose is cooked.
Turning around, James has that hopeful look in his eye that he’s had three times before. And then, for three times in the last year, we’ve been dealt the crushing blow in week five.
Chemical pregnancy. It’s such an odd phrase, and I’ve come to dread it.
“Well?” He’s holding back so much, waiting for me to confirm. He knows I have something to tell him, because I don’t get smell or food aversions, ever. Usually, I love campfires. Right now, the thought of campfire smoke is making my nostrils close up in disgust.
It’s not just a symptom.
“I’m seven weeks,” I say quietly. “But hold on…”
There is no holding on for James.
He pulls me against him in a firm but gentle bear hug. He lets out a heavy breath. His spongey ogre ears get crushed against my neck.
“It’s working,” I say, my voice trembling. “The doctor said everything is developing as it should. We have a little tiny bean.”
With our foreheads pressed together, James puts his hand on my stomach. “Little bean.”
He looks so relieved. We’ve been through so much in the past five years. The rollercoaster of excitement, followed by devastation a few weeks later. Three times, following a successful IVF.
“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you two…”
I turn to find Alison, James’s sister, hovering in the doorway. She’s arrived to pick up her two middle schoolers from the teen room Halloween event upstairs.
“It’s okay,” I say, smiling.
James brushes a tear away with the back of his hand before he turns around to greet his sister.
“Verity said you’d be in here. I just wanted to check and see if you two wanted to join us at the Fall Festival after you’re done here.”
James says, “As long as we can keep her away from the bonfire.”
Alison cocks her head. “Huh?”
I’m so happy to see that James and Allison have resolved their differences. Their father’s estate was not worth destroying their relationship.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say. “We’d love to.”
“Okay. I’m off to grab the kids, and we’ll meet you by the pumpkin waffle stand!”
After Alison is gone, James asks, “No aversion to pumpkin waffles, I hope.”
“I don’t think so,” I laugh.
“Because if that’s the case, we’ll get something else. I’ll make up an excuse. I’ll tell Alison you can’t have any sugar because of your fertility shots…”
“Stop it,” I say, teasingly whacking him on the chest. “I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine.”
Something pops. The microwave beeps loudly, and when James opens the door, it’s a sticky white mess.
“Oops. I set it for too long.”
James grabs the cleaning supplies and begins scouring the microwave clean. “What do we do now?”
I shrug. “I’m going to place all the fixings into individual baggies and send them home with all the kids. Let their parents make the s’mores.”
“I’m always impressed with your ability to pivot,” he says.
“That’s because I know everything’s going to be okay. It’s just the way I am.”
I smile as he cleans, and I bag up the supplies, adding some bonus Halloween candy to each bag.
After we’ve delivered all the bags to each child waiting in the lobby and sent them on their way, James and I head out to the festival along Third Avenue.
He walks closer to me, with his hand gently guiding me on my lower back. My husband’s protector mode has leveled up.
His jaw ticks in annoyance at all the people milling around.
“It’s a crowd of people. They’re going to get close to me.”
“I know, but…it’s just…the people…”
“The people are legion, yes, but most of them are good and they’ll get out of the way if we’re polite and say ‘excuse me.’”
Seemingly feeling he has permission to do so, James cups his hands around his mouth and uncharacteristically bellows in an attempt at a Shrek accent, “Excuse me! My wife is pregnant and she needs to get to the pumpkin waffle stand immediately and you are all slowing her down!”
The entitlement makes me want to crawl under a rock.
But, sweetly, several good-natured, understanding people move out of the way, clearing a path to dinner for Shrek and Fiona.
“I never thought you’d be the crazy one in the relationship,” I mutter as we walk hand in hand toward the aroma of cinnamon sugar and delicious pumpkin-infused batter.
“Be ready for it, or it’s going to be a long nine months.”
“I love you,” I laugh, and I mean it.
James turns toward me, pulling me toward him in a deep, spontaneous kiss, smearing my green face paint.
“I love you, too. And the little bean.”
Alison waves us over to a picnic table laden with one of everything from the waffle stand. Our niece and nephew point and admire our costumes. Verity and her husband have found them, too. My stomach flutters in excitement.
This is my family.
All is right in my world.
THE END
Thank you for reading Bound to Happen.