Chapter 2 Dr. Donkey Dick Cara #2
The hard work? Like making love to my husband, and seeing two parallel lines that tell us we made something beautiful together?
Like getting to carry that reminder around inside me for nine months?
Feeling it grow, getting stronger every day?
Hearing its heartbeat for the very first time, and comparing one ultrasound picture to the last, marveling at the changes in such a short amount of time, the miracle growing inside me?
That hard work?
“Anyway,” Dr. Brenling continues, because no one, not ever, has taught this man when and how to shut the fuck up. “That’s my professional opinion. Because of Cara’s condition.”
I’M NOT AFRAID TO BE LOUD. To fill the awkward silences. To call it like I see it, say things others are too scared to. No, I’m not the silent type, and yet, suddenly, all I’m reduced to is silence.
Twenty minutes is all it takes for the doctor to tell us we likely won’t be able to have a baby that’s half Emmett and half me, even though we’re supposed to have an hour of his time. Then, I let Emmett tow me through the lobby, down the hall, and out the door with my hand gripped tightly in his.
I listen to him as he drives us through downtown Vancouver, tells me how much he loves me, that we’ll be the ones who prove the doctor wrong, that if anyone can do it, it’s us.
I watch the landscape pass by, from towering buildings and busy streets to lush forest and vast mountains as we head for home in North Vancouver. And I do it in silence.
I let him get my door for me, because the day after we met I told him I could get my own door, and he said a queen never gets her own door.
I let him help me out of my heels, and upstairs, out of my dress.
Let him sweep my long hair off my back, twist it around his fist before he secures it to the back of my head with a clip.
Let him run me a bath. Let him fill a glass with my favorite Syrah, and a bowl with my favorite candies, the ones he always keeps stocked in the pantry.
I let him take my hand, help me step into the hot water, sink into bubbles.
And I do it in silence.
And I feel… I feel nothing.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Emmett’s gentle murmur coaxes my gaze up to his, and in it I see everything I long to feel. The confidence that we can do it, the certainty that it will happen for us, the hope. The love.
Jesus, the love. It’s always been the most overwhelming piece of Emmett, the way he can take a single look at somebody and accept every bit of them without question.
The way he shows up, day in and day out, for the family he’s chosen, the one we’ve built together with the people who mean most to us.
With his hand on my jaw, he brushes away a tear I didn’t know had escaped. Then, he covers his mouth with mine, and I let him in, because there is no other option for me.
“Don’t let the voices win,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “They don’t know you the way I do. They don’t know your fight. My loud girl doesn’t let anyone else dictate the rules. Me and you, Care? We build our own rules.”
Another kiss, soul-crushing and certain. This one breathes the life back into me.
I was unstoppable before Emmett. With him, I’m indestructible.
EMMETT AND I AREN’T JUST US. We’re a part of a family, big and overbearing, loud and in each other’s business. A little much, maybe, for some, but not for us.
Because the thing about family is that we all need each other at one point or another.
Because sometimes we can’t bear the weight on our own. Can’t remember how. Can’t remember how strong we are, and everything we’re capable of.
And in those moments? That’s when your family steps in. They bear the weight for you. Remind you that nobody’s ever expected you to bear it alone. That you’re stronger together, and nothing can pull you down.
That’s what I feel later that evening as I trace the picture Emmett scrawled over the bathroom mirror with our window markers before he left me in here: me and him, hand in hand, standing on top of a mountain.
It’s what I feel as I wander downstairs in a pair of pajamas I never wear, hair tied up in a messy bun that hardly ever sees the light of day.
That’s what I feel as I spot our family taking over our kitchen and living room, stopping me in my tracks.
The kids come to me first. Lily and Connor, Adam and Rosie’s sweet littles. Teensy Ireland, Carter and Olivia’s mischievous, dimpled girl. They wrap their arms around my legs and squeeze, and Lily, the oldest of the bunch, rests her chin on my stomach.
“Mommy says we should speak the things we want out loud, ’cause then maybe we can speak ’em into existence,” she tells me with the softest smile.
“I want you to have everything that makes you happy, Auntie Cara, ’cause you make me happy.
” She leans closer, hands cupped around her mouth. “Even though you say bad words a lot.”
My throat squeezes, laughter rippling out. I smooth her dark hair back. “You make me happy too, sweet girl.”
The girls are next, my very best friends.
Olivia, all five-foot-one of her sass who’s been saddled with me for ten years now, since the day I shoved a tequila shot down her throat at ten in the morning.
Jennie, her sister-in-law, with dimples as heartbreaking as her niece’s and brother’s.
Rosie, with the kindest green eyes you’ve ever seen, her pink waves as gorgeous and beautiful as her personality.
Lennon, our newest soul sister, the one who walked right in, took her place, and never left.
These girls take me by the hand, pull me in. They wrap me in their arms and embrace me with their love.
And their men follow next, the ones who fell at their feet, because there’s no one alive quite like my girls. Carter, Garrett, Adam, and Jaxon, strong arms that come around us.
And my man, finally, because this family isn’t complete without him.
Not a word is spoken as we stand here, but through the silence, I feel every thought, every wish, every ounce of their strength, and the way it becomes mine too.
My eyes fall shut, and I sink into the love, the endless support that I wouldn’t know how to survive without.
And I feel… hope.
I feel hopeful.
I was unstoppable before them. With them, I’m indestructible.