37. Sully
Sully
S even months. My wife is seven bloody months pregnant, and in an hour we’re headed to the doctor. If Sloane were forced to deliver, Tia’s chances of survival have just gone up immensely.
A hint of relief comes with that knowledge, but mostly, I’m hoping she keeps cooking for many, many more weeks.
Sloane had the date circled on her planner, so my plan has been to take her out to lunch at the boathouse, where we held our spur-of-the-moment post-marriage dinner all those years ago, to celebrate.
And luck seems to be on my side, since the air has finally begun to turn warm and the April sky is a dull blue rather than gray.
“Psst.” Lo peeks her head around the corner out of Murphy’s bedroom.
I turn and glance her way giving her a silent what?
“You haven’t seen Cal right?” Her eyes dart frantically around and then she pulls the little clear cup of water from behind her back. A bright blue little beta sits about halfway up the cup.
“Another one didn’t make it?” I whisper.
Lo sighs. “Bubbles number eight just bit the dust. One to go.”
Madame E had told Lo months ago Cal would go through nine of these little guys before one finally stuck. So Lo and Murphy had bought backups and kept them in Murphy’s closet.
“Do you find it crazy that you can keep all these fish alive in the cups for months, while my brother can’t manage to keep the one in the tank from going belly up?”
“Shhhhh.” Lo hisses and she rushes toward Cal’s door.
“Lola!” My brother’s voice has Lo visibly cringing, but she spins with a bright smile on her face. “What are you doing?”
“Taking bubbles for a walk.” She beams.
But my brother frowns as his eyes drop to a new Bubbles who is slightly less bright blue than the last two. I wonder if he is finally going to realize that she has been secretly replacing his fish for months.
“You cannot walk a fish like that.”
Although to most people that sounds reasonable, it's bloody ridiculous coming from my brother who has a firm belief in walking down the street with his entire fish tank letting the neighbors stare.
Lo’s eyes widen. “Umm.” She looks from the fish to me and back again.
My brother scoffs. “Bubbles can’t make it in that little guppy cuppy.”
I don’t bother to fight the laugh. Guppy cuppy. “If you had any idea...”
Lo glares at me quickly before shifting her attention back to her boyfriend. “You’re right. I’ll put him back.”
“That big tank is heavy for you.” Cal reaches for the cup. “I’ll take it.”
“No!” Lo clutches the fish to her chest. “I mean.” She thrusts it at me. “Sully will do it.” I barely catch the cup before she grabs my brother’s neck and spins him to face her. “Because I need a kiss. Like now.”
Behind his back she waves me toward the tank and I finally realize that she hasn’t disposed of bubbles number eight yet.
My clueless brother smirks. “Whatever Lola wants…” And he pr esses his lips to hers. I try not to groan as I step past the couple into their bedroom.
It takes less than a minute to get the live Bubbles into the tank and the dead bubbles into the cup. I know better than to question if Lo has Cal distracted and I’m proven right when I step out of the doorway and only see Murphy.
“Lo said I’m on fish duty.” Murphy holds out his hand and I give him the cup. He glances at the fish floating upside down. “Do you really think Dad’s only going to kill one more of these?” His lips purse as his gaze lifts to me.
I fight the smile as I realize I couldn’t ask for a better nephew. He’s the perfect balance of his dad.
I clasp his shoulder. “I do wonder but I struggle to doubt Madame E.”
“Me too.” He nods and then turns, heading to the toilet to dispose of his father’s fish.
I’m barely into the main room when Cal yelps.
“Ow!” The cupboard door snaps back and clearly it must have caught his fingers. “Evil snappy trappies.”
Just as I step into the kitchen, Lo goes up on her tippy toes, shaking her head, and slides the baby-proofing clip off for him. “How many times do I have to show you how to do this?”
She looks at me and when I give her a quick nod, her body relaxes. Not only did my brother hit the jackpot in the kid department but Lo couldn’t be more perfect for the nutter.
“No baby yet. Sully is just Cal-proofing,” Brian mutters as he pulls the creamer from the fridge.
“Yeah, Tia isn’t even born yet.” Cal glares at me. “And it’ll be years before she’s tall enough to even reach up here. She”—he points to his short girlfriend—“can barely reach.”
Eyes narrowing, she slams the cupboard shut. “Fine. You get it, then.” Backing up, she crosses her arms and waits for Cal to figure it out.
He stares at it, tongue in cheek and lifts the clip. When it slaps back and closes on his finger, he screeches. “This cannot be safe!”
With a grunt, Brian leans around Cal and unlocks the cabinet. “Lift and squeeze,” he grumbles.
Cal holds out a hand for the cup, but rather than hand it over, he passes it to Lo. It’s hard to remember that living with this group annoyed me at first. Now, I wouldn’t trade it.
Behind me, my wife giggles. “It’s probably unnecessary,” she says as she saunters in and heads for the same cabinet.
I snag her wrist and pull her back to my chest before pressing a kiss to her lips. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Yeah. I wouldn’t trade this for the bloody world.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I woke up with you.”
I smile. “And it was a very good morning.”
She snorts, though when I lean down and press my hand to her belly, the sound is cut short.
“Good morning, love.” I drop a kiss to her now-rounded stomach and savor the ability to do so.
I don’t take any of it for granted anymore.
Not my wife’s presence here or my son’s love for bedtime stories.
We’ll only be a family of three for a little longer, so we’ve been having extra donut days and little adventures to places where T.J.
can’t climb up the rafters and scare the shite out of me.
Sloane and I have also focused on date nights.
The baseball game Sloane surprised me with was one of the best. After dinner with Beckett and Liv Langfield, Sloane and I spent the night in the city.
When we woke up, she showed me the baby furniture she’d been considering for the penthouse.
Since, as she said, we’ll eventually end up back here .
The way she said it, like we’ll all return together when it’s time, made it the greatest morning in a long bloody time.
The weekend ended perfectly that afternoon, when Cal, Lo, and Brian brought the boys to the city and the seven of us played a round of pickup in the park .
Life feels perfect. Happy. Right. And it’s all because of the woman smiling down at me while I give her belly one more kiss.
That serene sensation dissipates quickly, though, at the doctor’s office later that morning.
“Your blood pressure isn’t where I’d like it to be,” the doctor starts.
I grasp my wife’s hand and squeeze. “What does that mean?”
“If we were only dealing with elevated blood pressure, I’d say maybe nothing, but there’s also protein in your urine. And your amniotic fluid is on the low side.” She studies her computer screen and sighs. “I’m not putting you on bed rest yet…”
Sloane lets out a relieved breath.
I don’t feel nearly as relaxed. “But should we?”
Sloane whips her head in my direction. I’m sure she’s glaring, but I remain focused on the doctor. The older woman settles her focus on my wife. “Not yet. But I want you to take it easy. No running around to court?—”
“I don’t go to court,” Sloane interjects.
The doctor nods. “Desk work. Feet up at night. I want to see you next week so we can monitor this closely.”
Sloane shakes free of my hold and nods several times, like she’s working to convince herself that this is her reality. “Right. Of course.”
“But Sloane…” The doctor’s tone makes my hackles rise. “If you feel the slightest bit off, dizzy, nauseous, light-headed, I want you to call the office immediately. With your history, I don’t want to take any chances.”
With her history.
Though I outwardly keep it together, my mind spins. My wife needs me to be strong. But fuck, this is exactly what I’ve been worried about all these years. Doing this again. Risking her again.
I’m gathering my thoughts, readying to launch into a thousand questions, ready to try to covertly push the doctor to encourage Sloane into going on bed rest, when my wife grabs her purse with a trembling hand .
All the bluster escapes me. She doesn’t need me to freak out. She needs me to be calm. So I thank the doctor, take the card she offers, where she’s jotted her personal mobile number should we need it, and guide my wife out to the car.
When I go to take a left out of the parking lot, Sloane speaks up. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Sully, I have to go to the office.”
My stomach rolls. “Maybe just rest today?”
Her face is ashen, her eyes wide with terror, but she shakes her head. “I’m not on bed rest yet. Please, Sully. I need to work for as long as I can.”
I nod, the movement jerky, forced. The last thing I want is to leave my wife in the city. So after dropping her off, I head to the New York office of Murphy and Machon. I’ll work from here until she’s ready to go home.
Somehow, I make it through the day without pulling my hair out. Though I do spend the majority of the afternoon googling every possible symptom Sloane could present with and every suggestion for ways to help keep Tia on the inside for as long as possible.
By the time I pick her up, I’m spiraling again.
To keep myself from blurting every one of those suggestions and going over the list of reasons why I think she should quit her job—which will only raise my wife’s blood pressure—I turn on music.