Chapter 14
Charley
This is coupley.
Graham and I look like a couple right now. The only thing missing is us holding hands.
My heart races, and I don’t know how to get it to stop.
It’s been an energizer bunny since we dropped Ellie Mae off with his mom.
We were supposed to come here with her, or so I thought, but this morning, he sprung it on me that she’s going to the damn aquarium out of town today with her nana.
So, here we are. Walking through this farmers’ market together, looking at all the booths, like we’re in a freaking relationship.
I need to knock it off. I’m going to give myself a hernia.
It’s just been…a lot, being around Graham so much this week.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s there, making coffee in the kitchen or getting Ellie Mae ready for the day.
When I’m at work, he’s there too. Sure, he’s in the kitchen, far away from the front desk, but he’s still there.
When I come home, if he’s not already there, he will be soon.
Or we carpool on days we got off at the same time.
And it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t enjoy it so much.
If I truly felt nothing more than friend feelings, I would be fine.
But nooo, I had to go and unlock Pandora's box, like an idiot, and unleash all the feelings I had stuffed away years ago, never to be seen again.
“Have you heard of this stuff before?” Graham asks as we stop in front of a stand full of various types of honey. He’s holding a jar of it, but it’s purple.
“Yes, Graham, I’ve heard of honey.” I breathe out a small chuckle. “I know I’m not a big foodie like you are, but I promise I’m not that uncultured.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head with a laugh. “Purple honey, specifically.”
“Can’t say that I have,” I murmur. “What makes it purple? Just dye or something?”
“That’s the thing, beekeepers and honey enthusiasts aren’t really sure why or how it’s purple. It’s a weird phenomenon among people in the bee and honey community.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek to hide the smile wanting to come out.
His whole face is lit up. Food, in general, is a passion of Graham’s, for obvious reasons, but I’ve noticed there are some foodie things he’s extra into.
Honey being one of them. I haven’t ever asked him about it, but I’ve noticed there are several different kinds of honey at the house.
“The bee and honey community, huh?” I ask teasingly. “Would you happen to be a part of that community?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” His cheeks pinken, and I hate how adorable I find it.
“But it is fascinating, especially because it’s produced by bees only in specific locations, mainly in areas heavily populated with wildflowers.
This specific brand is from up in North Carolina, but I believe it has also been found here and in Georgia. ”
To be honest, I don’t give a shit about bees or honey, but I could listen to him talk about this all day. Graham isn’t overly animated or expressive when he communicates regularly, so seeing his excitement over talking about an interest of his makes me oddly excited too.
“Is it any good?” I ask, my curiosity now piqued.
He nods, handing the jar to the lady behind the stand.
“I’ll take this one, please,” he says to her before turning to me.
“It has a grape-like taste to it. You’ll have to try it later on when we get home.
It’s so good.” Once he pays for the honey, we walk away from the stand, needing to head back to the car soon if we’re going to make it to my appointment.
“I don’t think I can have honey while I’m pregnant,” I say, reaching for my sunglasses in my bag. It’s been overcast all day, and now it’s blinding.
“Yeah, you can.” Graham nods. “Well, it’s fine in moderation, as long as it’s not unpasteurized or raw.” Then, completely nonchalantly, he adds, “I checked before you moved in.”
“You did?” My throat tightens for a reason I refuse to acknowledge right now.
“Yeah, just to be sure. I remember you used to love honey and banana sandwiches when we were younger.” Well, there goes my heart, leaping straight from my chest. “You’re probably thinking of babies, and how you shouldn’t let them ingest honey before they’re one year old because of the risk of botulism. ”
“Oh, okay.” I nod, my stomach doing somersaults. “Well, in that case, I’d love to try some tonight.”
The drive to my doctor's office only takes a few minutes, and after I get checked in and fill out all the necessary paperwork, they bring us back to a room. Both of us are pretty quiet.
“Are you nervous?” I ask after a minute.
His eyes slide over to me, and he smiles. “I wouldn’t say nervous, but I am excited.”
“I’m a little nervous,” I admit.
“Yeah? What about?”
Blowing out a breath, I run my fingers through my hair.
“I don’t really know, to be honest. I read there’s a possibility we could hear the heartbeat during the ultrasound, and that just feels so real.
It’s not just some blob on a tiny screen, but a reality that’s growing inside of me.
” Graham doesn’t look at me like he thinks I’m silly or ridiculous, which I appreciate, because I feel pretty silly.
“And I don’t know…there’s also a small part of me—and I don’t mean to get morbid—that’s nervous because what if there isn’t a heartbeat?
What if he or she isn’t growing? And I already feel so connected to them. ”
Graham’s gaze softens. “I don’t think that’s the case.” He starts to say “Sunny” but stops himself. I wish I’d never made that stupid rule, because I think hearing that nickname would calm some of my jitters.
Dr. Mitchell walks in before either of us can say anything else. Her smile is wide and genuine as she sits down. “Hi, Charley,” she greets. “How are we doing? How’s the nausea been?”
“So much better! Thank you.”
“Glad to hear it.” Glancing to my left, she says, “Hi, Graham. It’s nice to see you. How are you and miss Ellie Mae?”
“It’s nice to see you too,” he replies. “We’re great, thanks for asking.”
Given that Dr. Mitchell’s an OB/GYN, I’m going to take a wild guess that she was Megan’s doctor, and probably the one who delivered their daughter.
I wonder what she thinks about Graham being the father of this baby.
I also wonder, not for the first time, what people around town are going to think.
Not that I care what other people think about me; I’m a tattooed and pierced y’allternative girl living in the Deep South.
I’m used to judgy looks and unwanted opinions.
But I do wonder how Graham’s going to feel once news gets around town about the baby.
When news about the affair came out, it was all anybody could talk about.
I swear, I couldn’t walk down Main Street without hearing the gossipy old ladies.
It went on for weeks. Then, when she passed, the affair resurfaced.
If I felt like I couldn’t escape it, I can’t imagine how Graham felt.
And I know people are going to have something to say about this, especially considering we aren’t together.
My mind goes back to what I said to Graham the other night, about how he’s a good man.
I’m still kicking myself in the ass for it.
I can’t shake the feeling that I crossed a line.
It’s not my place to badmouth Megan, nor is it my place to have an opinion about their marriage.
I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m curious.
And maybe a little nosy. There’re a couple pictures of Ellie Mae with her mom hanging up in her room, but other than that, there’s no trace of Megan anywhere.
Granted, I know she didn’t live at his current house, but I want to know all the things.
About her—the side he didn’t share with his sisters—about their marriage, about what went on after he found out about her affair.
And I want to know his true, deep-down thoughts and feelings about it.
Like, before she died, did he plan to divorce her?
Does he miss her? But none of that is any of my business, no matter how annoying that is.
Shoving all of it out of my mind, I focus on the appointment.
The first half goes fine, but by the time we get to the second part of it, my palms are sweaty.
Dr. Mitchell brings in the machine while I lie down on the bed and pull up my shirt.
Graham stands beside me, and as our eyes meet, a spark of something electric yet oddly calming races down my spine.
Once she squirts a glob of gel onto my stomach, she then moves the probe around for a minute, looking at the screen in front of her.
Then we hear it. A heartbeat. And I swear my own heart skips a beat.
It’s a rapid, whooshing sound, almost like galloping horses.
Graham slips his warm, calloused hand in mine, and as I turn my head to meet his gaze again, my eyes fill up with moisture.
At this point, I’m not surprised. Apparently, I’m a crier now.
“That’s our baby,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My chest swells as goose bumps cover my arms. This is real. A little life is inside of me, one that will continue to grow until they’re a living, breathing being in the world. Holy shit.
Graham’s eyes are just as misty as mine as he smiles down at me, squeezing my hand. “That’s our baby,” he repeats.