Thirteen
thirteen
I NEED YOU - LEANN RIMES
CALLIE - DECEMBER 4 , 2013
I ’m sitting in the doctor’s office after my shift, the room feels cold and impersonal, designed more for efficiency than comfort. I suppose that makes sense. The pale blue walls are bare except for the generic beach print from Hobby Lobby . I know this, because my mother has the same one in her bathroom. The scene is supposed to be calming but it seems out of place here in the Hawkeye State.
I sit on the exam table, my fingers nervously twisting the corner of the paper hospital gown. The paper beneath me crinkles loudly with every movement, making me feel exposed in this space. My nerves are coiled so tightly it feels like I might lose my shit.
A knock at the door, and Dr. Everett steps in, her familiar smile putting me at ease. “Hi, Callie. How are you feeling today?” she asks. She sits on her rolling stool and flips open my chart.
“Tired,” I admit, forcing a small smile. “And kind of… off.”
Her brow furrows, as she leans forward slightly. “Off how?” Her voice is concerned. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I take a deep breath and force myself to get the words out. “I don’t think the mini-pill is right for me. I’ve been on it for a few weeks now and I just feel… low. Like really low. My boyfriend mentioned that I don’t seem like myself. I thought it might just be baby blues or whatever, but now I’m not so sure. It’s been weeks since I had Ruby. I feel like I should be back to normal by now.”
Her concern deepens. Dr. Everett is aware of my history. It’s one of the first things I told her when we met. “Callie, even though it’s common for postpartum depression to start within the first week or two after giving birth, it can last for months, sometimes years, if it’s not treated properly. It might be time for you to look into an antidepressant,” she urges.
“I don’t want to take anything like that when I’m breastfeeding Ruby. I don’t trust it.”
Dr. Everett nods, her expression patient. “I understand your hesitation. There are safe options for breastfeeding mothers, but you don’t have to make a decision today. If you’d prefer, we can try adjusting other factors first. The mini-pill seems to be amplifying things, especially when it comes to mood swings, and I know you’ve had some sensitivities in the past.”
That’s putting it delicately. I bite my lip, a memory flashes in my mind from high school when I passed out the first night I started birth control. At the time, I thought it was because I’d been in a hot tub for too long, but looking back, now I’m not so sure. “Do you think being on birth control could have played a factor for why I struggled with self harm so much in high school?”
“It’s likely that the birth control amplified feelings and desires you were already having,” she says. “We can’t know for sure, especially because I wasn’t your doctor then, but birth control can increase the risk of depression for some.”
I’m so glad she actually listens to me and doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy.
“Your concerns are valid,” she continues. “If your body doesn’t respond well to birth control, you might have to consider alternatives for now. Have you thought about trying condoms?”
I can’t help but scoff. I can’t remember the last time I used a condom. It’s not that I think people shouldn’t use them. I’ve just always hated them. Owen and I haven’t used them and I didn’t use them with Adam either. Although, I probably should have with him considering he would stick his dick just about anywhere he could.
I try to rearrange my face before I respond. I know my expression has been a dead giveaway. “I mean… I guess we could. It just feels so… I don’t know.”
“I get it,” she says with a small chuckle. “You’re not alone in feeling that way, but this would just be temporary. It would give your body time to adjust without having some sort of medicinal intervention. We can always revisit other options later. How does that sound?”
I exhale, my shoulders slumping. It’s not what I want to hear, but I know she’s right. Having two girls under two is hard enough. I don’t want to risk having another baby until after the girls are a little older.
“Okay, I’ll talk to Owen about it. I’m sure he will be fine with whatever I decide, but it still feels a little awkward to talk about.”
“Communication is key,” Dr. Everett encourages. “You and Owen sound like you have a strong partnership,” she pauses. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I was incredibly impressed with the way he handled things at the hospital. It’s clear that your… situation is unconventional, but I’ve never seen a non-birth parent so actively involved in the labor and post-labor processes as Owen was when you had Ruby. It was nice to see.”
I smile, pride swelling inside me. I’m glad other people see how wonderful he is to me.
She looks over my chart. “While we’re on the subject, do you see yourself wanting more children someday? If not, we can look into a more permanent solution. But you’re so young that I’m hesitant to recommend something like that.”
The question takes me by surprise and, if I’m honest, her words annoy me a little. Why does my age have to come into play here? I’ve had two children. Why shouldn’t I be able to make that judgement call if I wanted to? I try to shove my dismay aside. More children? I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but I don’t want that anytime soon. Maybe I could answer more clearly when I am not so sleep-deprived or wading through this fog of emotions that keeps fucking with me.
“I think so,” I finally admit. “But maybe in a couple of years when I feel more like myself again.”
Dr. Everett nods. “That’s a healthy outlook. Taking time between pregnancies is important, not just for your physical health but also for your emotional well-being. For now, let’s keep you focused on getting back to a place where you feel balanced and comfortable.”
Her words are kind, but they stir up an ache in my belly. Balanced and comfortable seem so far away–two words that I can see in the distance but can’t quite reach. Still, I nod and manage a small smile. “Thank you.”
Dr. Everett sets my chart aside and snaps on a pair of gloves. “Before we wrap up, let’s take a look and make sure everything is healing well. Let me know if you feel any discomfort.”
I nod, lying back on the exam table. I do my best to relax, but the paper crinkling beneath me is so loud it feels like my every move is being amplified. Great. Just what I needed—more noise to remind me that my dignity is already hanging by a thread.
She gently examines me, her movements careful and clinical. “Everything looks great,” she says after a moment, pulling off her gloves. “Your stitches have fully dissolved, and your uterus is returning to its normal size. You’re healing beautifully.”
Beautiful? Yeah, right. I bet my uterus looks like a deflated balloon, and the rest of me isn’t faring much better. Still, I manage a polite smile because what else can you do when someone tells you your internal organs are apparently thriving? “That’s good to hear.”
She washes her hands and sits back down, jotting a few notes in my chart. “I’ll clear you for all activity, including intimacy, but I want you to listen to your body. If something doesn’t feel right, take a step back and give yourself more time.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound like a fully functioning adult instead of someone who’d rather discuss literally anything else.
Dr. Everett hands me a pamphlet about postpartum mood disorders and schedules a follow-up appointment on a reminder card. “You’re doing great, Callie. Don’t forget that, and if you ever need to talk, even before our next visit, you can always call me.”
I leave the office, clutching the pamphlet and appointment card, her words echo in my mind. “You’re doing great.” Sure, I’m doing great—except for the fact that my idea of peak productivity lately is managing to shower without Ruby crying in the background. Is that just something she says to everyone, or does she really mean it? I want to believe her, but the doubts creep in anyway.
The thought of explaining everything to Owen feels daunting. How am I supposed to say, “Hey, so I’ve been cleared for sex, but I also might cry if you touch me right now, and oh, by the way, we need to use condoms for the foreseeable future”? Sexy. Real sexy.
Still, I have to talk to him. He deserves to know how I’m feeling, even if I hate to admit I’m struggling. The idea of pausing intimacy to adjust to yet another change feels frustrating, but more than anything, the flicker of hope—of someday adding to our family when the time is right—keeps me moving forward. Maybe it’s not about feeling balanced yet. Maybe it’s about believing I can get there.
I sit in the parking lot of the doctor’s office after the appointment, mulling things over. The appointment went fine—better than I expected, really—but the weight of everything I need to talk to Owen about feels heavy. Before I start the car, I check in to see how things are going at home. I have several messages from Taylor that came through while I was in the doctor’s office. I open them, bracing myself for the circus.
Taylor:
Sara refused pants for a solid twenty minutes. She also dumped an entire box of crackers on the floor and tried to feed them to Ruby. Don’t worry—I stopped her.
I groan softly, pinching the bridge of my nose. Of course Sara was causing chaos. At least Taylor had caught it before Ruby ended up covered in crumbs.
Taylor:
Ruby screamed bloody murder until I figured out she just wanted to be in the swing. Ava declared that babies are “way too much work.” Can’t argue with that logic.
I glance at the dashboard clock, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving Taylor with the girls for so long.
Taylor:
Owen just got here, so I’m officially passing the torch. No major injuries, and the house is still standing. Barely.
A small laugh escapes me despite the knot of anxiety in my chest. Taylor always knows how to balance humor with honesty, and it’s a relief to know she handled things, even if it wasn’t easy. I fire off a quick reply before switching over to text Owen.
Me:
Heading home soon. Everything okay?
His reply comes almost immediately:
Owen:
All good. Taylor left a little while ago. Sara is watching Strawberry Shortcake, Ruby is in the bouncer, and I can’t wait to see you. How was the appointment?
I hesitate for a moment, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. How do I sum up everything I’m feeling in a text?
Me:
It was fine. I’ll tell you more when I get home. We need to talk.
Shit. Probably not the best choice of words. Before I have the chance to correct my mistake, his reply comes through:
Owen:
Dollface, you’re scaring me. Is everything okay? Are we okay?
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I immediately feel awful. Of course he’d read into the way I worded that. I didn’t mean to make him worry, but now I’ve gone and done it anyway.
Me:
Of course we are. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise.
Owen:
Okay. Just checking. Drive safe. Coffee’s on if you need it. Love you.
I stare at his last message, the knot in my stomach tightening. Owen doesn’t say things like “Are we okay?” lightly. He’s steady, sure, always. And the fact that I made him question that—even for a second—makes me feel like I’m failing him. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing myself to push past the guilt.
Me:
Love you more.
Owen:
Not possible.
Me:
Yes, possible. See you soon.
I set my phone down and start the van, the weight of the conversation with Owen looming larger now. I’ll make it right when I get home. I have to.
The house is warm when I step inside, but it does little to take the chill out of my bones. The soft murmur of the TV hums in the background, mingling with Sara’s giggles and Ruby’s quiet fussing. I close the door quietly, my fingers lingering on the handle for a second too long. My whole body feels heavy, like I’m wading through something thick and invisible. Before I can fully gather myself, Owen is there. He steps into the entryway, Ruby cradled against his chest, his eyes finding mine immediately. He doesn’t even have to ask—I can see the concern etched into his features.
“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching for me. His free hand settles against my hip, grounding me in the way only he can. “You okay?”
The question is simple, but it undoes me.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together. I don’t know how to answer.
Owen studies me for a long beat, his fingers tightening slightly. Then he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Go sit down. I’ll be right there.”
I nod numbly and drift toward the kitchen, slipping into a chair at the table. The smell of dinner fills the air—roasted vegetables, something warm and savory. The table is already set. He even lit a candle. The lump in my throat swells. He always knows what I need before I do.
A moment later, Owen slides Ruby into her swing and joins me at the table, pulling his chair close. His forearms rest against his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees as he watches me carefully.
“You haven’t been yourself lately,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want to push, but… I’ve noticed.”
My stomach twists. I knew he’d picked up on it—Owen always notices everything—but hearing him say it out loud makes it feel more real. More undeniable. I hate that I haven’t been able to hide it, hate even more that he’s had to deal with it. I don’t want to be someone he has to tiptoe around. I don’t want to be a weight he has to carry.
I exhale shakily, my fingers twisting in my lap. “Dr. Everett thinks the birth control is making everything worse.”
His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t say anything yet. He’s waiting—letting me get the words out at my own pace.
I swallow hard. “The mood swings, the exhaustion… the way I just feel like I’m drowning half the time.” My throat tightens. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want you to think—” I cut myself off before I say something I can’t take back.
Owen’s brows draw together. “Think what?”
That I’ve been awful to you. That I haven’t been enough. That you deserve someone who isn’t this much of a mess. I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “She wants me to stop taking it.” The words come out so softly I barely recognize my own voice.
Owen doesn’t hesitate. “Then stop.”
I lift my gaze to his, my breath catching at the quiet certainty in his expression. No hesitation. No frustration. Just… support.
My breath catches. “Just like that?”
His jaw tightens slightly, but his voice is steady. “If it’s hurting you, Callie, it’s not an option. Nothing is more important than you being okay.”
I let out a shaky breath, staring at my hands. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” I admit. “Not just since Ruby was born, but before that. I think… I think this might’ve been affecting me for years. I just didn’t realize it.”
Owen frowns, waiting for me to go on.
“When I was younger, I had these… lows,” I say, swallowing hard. “I didn’t understand them at the time. I thought I was just an emotional teenager, or that maybe it was just me. But looking back…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I started birth control in high school. And now, after everything with Ruby, it’s like I can finally see the pattern.”
Owen’s hands find mine, warm and steady. “You think it was the birth control all along.”
I nod, my throat tightening. “I don’t know why I never connected the dots. I just… I thought something was wrong with me.”
Owen lets out a breath, his fingers tightening around mine. Not in frustration, not in impatience—just in quiet, unwavering support. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says firmly. “And if this has been making things worse all this time… then I’m so damn glad you’re figuring it out now.” He shakes his head slightly, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles. “But I hate that you ever thought it was just you. That you carried that alone for so long.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. Owen catches it with his thumb, his expression raw.
“I don’t want you to ever feel like that again,” he murmurs. “Not now. Not ever.”
I press my lips together, my breath shaky. “I just want to feel like myself again.”
Owen shifts his chair closer, his knees bumping mine, his hands still holding onto me like he’s afraid I might disappear. “Then that’s what we do. Whatever it takes, Callie. I don’t care what it is. I just want you happy.”
The words break something inside me. Not in a painful way—but in the way that lets light in.
I let out a shaky laugh, wiping my face. “You always make it sound so simple.”
Owen smiles, leaning in until his forehead rests against mine. “It is simple,” he whispers. “Because you’re what matters most.”
A few hours later, the house is still, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day. The hum of the baby monitor is a steady presence in the background, a soft reminder that both girls are asleep—Ruby in Sara’s old crib, and Sara curled up in her new toddler bed, clutching Jeffrey the Giraffe. Neither of them has stirred since we laid them down, worn out from the day’s chaos.
The bedroom is bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, shadows stretching along the walls. The silence should be soothing, but inside me, there’s still a weight I can’t shake. Owen sits beside me in bed, his presence solid and grounding, a quiet anchor in the storm of my thoughts. He’s leaning back against the headboard, his arm draped loosely over my waist, his other hand tracing slow, absent-minded circles along my wrist.
I exhale, trying to match his easy stillness. But something inside me is still restless. Owen shifts, turning toward me more fully, his fingers brushing up my arm before settling against my cheek. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
I hesitate, chewing my lip for a second. “Do you ever think about what life would be like if we hadn’t met?”
Owen stills slightly, his thumb pausing where it had been moving along my wrist. His brow furrows, like he doesn’t love the thought but knows better than to brush it off. “Not really,” he admits. “I don’t like imagining my world without you in it.”
I let out a slow breath, staring at the way our hands fit so perfectly together. “I don’t either. I just can’t believe how far we’ve come in such a short amount of time. I guess it just hit me earlier, how different everything could have been. If I hadn’t made that damn FlameFinder profile, my life would be completely different right now. I would have still been alone, raising the girls on my own, trying to convince myself I didn’t need anyone. I’d probably still be in that tiny apartment, scraping by, telling myself that I was a strong, independent woman and I could do it all by myself.” Owen’s grip tightens on my hand, but he doesn’t interrupt. “And Ruby–” My voice falters, and I clear my throat. “She wouldn’t have someone who shows up the way you do. Who loves her without hesitation. Who loves us all without hesitation.”
He wraps his arms around me fully, like he needs to remind me that he’s here to stay. That this life is really ours. “I hate the thought of not having you girls in my life,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I let out a weak laugh. “Yeah, me too.”
He exhales, his fingers tracing slow, careful lines over my skin. “You know what I do think about though?”
I tilt my head slightly to look at him. “What’s that?”
He smirks. “The fact that I somehow managed to end up with someone who doesn’t understand how terrible Nickleback is.”
“You are ridiculous. Nickleback is a gem for my generation,” I tease.
“Love, I may be nine years older than you but we are technically the same generation. And I can confirm that Nickelback is not, in fact, a gem.”
I scoff, pretending to be offended. “Agree to disagree then.”
“Guess so.”
A small smile pulls at my lips as he shifts, his fingers slipping beneath my chin, lifting my gaze to his. The teasing fades just slightly, replaced by something softer. Something heavier, but in a good way. Owen sees me. Feels me.
“So what can I do to ease your mind?”
“Right now,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, “I just need you.”
Owen exhales, his gaze searching mine, something raw and unshakable in his expression. He cups my face, his touch achingly gentle, like he’s trying to tell me without words that he’s here, that he’s always going to be here.
“You’ve got me,” he says again, his voice rougher this time, thick with something I can’t name. “Always.”
And when his lips find mine, everything else falls away.