Chapter 4 #2
“Possibly,” I say. I’ve never snuggled with anyone in my entire life, so I don’t know what I’m missing. “Or, you can learn to share the pillow so it’s like you’re snuggling together. It also could give you more room to be closer to her while using the pillow.”
Kane is an oversharer, and asked if he could still use her stomach as a pillow. I think it’s adorable, though the red haired alpha is clearly fucking scary to the rest of the world.
“I’ll look at pillows today,” Morris murmurs. “I have a question about food…”
Adira makes a face at that, and I know they’re worried about her eating enough. She’s gaining weight appropriately, so I’m not worried yet. She told me that she has a problem with texture, and that sometimes it can be difficult for her to eat things like eggs and such.
“Hit me with it,” I say, waiting for the question to be along the lines discussed above.
“She’s currently obsessed with fruit jam and cream cheese on toast. Are there any issues with canned jam?” he asks.
“None unless you’re canning at home,” I say. “It’s something about the process of making jam that can introduce bacteria into the food that pregnant women shouldn’t have.”
“No, this is commercially produced jams,” he confirms.
“I also wouldn’t worry about how much or little Adira is eating,” I say. “She’s gaining weight, and a lot of new moms have issues with keeping food down during pregnancy. She should trust her gut. It’s also normal to stick to certain foods that feel safe to her. Any nausea happening, Adira?”
“Sometimes, if I don’t eat fast enough in the morning,” she admits.
“Low blood sugar can cause morning sickness,” I confess. “If you can eat saltines, keep them by your bedside and reach for a couple in the morning. That’s enough to help equalize you until you have breakfast.”
“That’s why I feel like shit?” she asks, gaping at me.
“The body is a mysterious thing,” I tease with a chuckle. “If you wake up in the middle of the night, a saltine cracker will help if you’re hungry then too. It’s all about trying to stay ahead of your blood sugar. Once it’s crashed, it’s harder to manage.”
“Okay,” she says determinedly. “It’s nice to know that I can stop it.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
“You pretty much answered anything I had with that,” Jed says with a nod.
The other guys agree, and I close up my medical bag.
“Then I’ll see you next time,” I say brightly.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Morris asks.
“Nooo? Am I?” I ask, confused.
“Here,” Morris says, handing me a check. “We did our trial run, and you’re perfect for us, Nova. Nothing fazed you when it comes to our questions, and you practically fucking pet the woven material Kane showed you like it was a puppy.”
“I mean, it’s super pretty,” I say, smirking as Kane laughs.
Glancing at the amount, my jaw drops.
“That’s way too much,” I say, looking up at them. “I can’t take this!”
I charge six thousand dollars for a home birth, and it’s typically collected over the course of my time with the family. The amount on this check is three times that.
“I don’t care,” Adira says. “I mean, I have no idea what the amount is, that’s all on the guys. However, I don’t feel comfortable around many people, much less to allow them to touch me the way I need someone to during this pregnancy. Okay, that sounded really creepy, but you know what I mean.”
Ugh, I’m starting to leak. Sniffling, I shake my head.
My van needs service, new tires, brakes, and a shit ton of maintenance that I’ve been trying to figure out how I’m going to pay for.
I log a lot of miles on that thing. I bought it used the second I was able to five years ago, but even back then it was well loved.
The travel van lets me comfortably live in it when necessary, and I’ve spent the last few years modifying it myself. I’m very self sufficient when I need to be, which is why I know exactly how much I’m going to need to do the maintenance necessary for it.
“I just…” Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “This is so nice.”
“Don’t tell people that,” Jed teases. “We’re not really nice.”
A laugh bursts out as I brush away my tears.
“Thank you,” I sigh, looking down at the check. “This will let me work on the van’s engine.”
“Maintenance or is there something wrong?” Morris asks.
“It’s just wear and tear,” I say cryptically. “I do all the work on the van myself, but I’ve been holding out on a few things.”
“Good. Now you won’t have to,” Jed says firmly.
They’re not going to let me leave without taking this eighteen thousand dollar check. God, this is insane and so damn nice. Folding it in half, I put it into an inner pocket of my medical bag. I’ll go by the bank to deposit it.
I’m just completely mind blown by this pack. I moved here about two months ago and put an ad in Omega’s Link that I was looking for a few clients. The interest has been really incredible, with packs who were trying to conceive also reaching out for information.
There are a lot of different reasons why people choose home birth, and as long as mom and baby have a low risk pregnancy, it’s not a problem. I’ve also been known to assist with more high risk pregnancies at hospitals before. There’s no one way to give birth.
“Thank you again,” I whisper, trying to get my emotions under control. “This is amazing.”
Standing, I grab my bag and say goodbye, and Morris walks me out.
“Are you settling in well?” he asks.
“I am,” I say, the walk helping me a bit. “I found a tiny house on a pack’s property that has everything I need. They said they don’t have an issue with me doing work on the van either when I need to. I’m well aware it’s an eye sore.”
“It has character,” he corrects. “You also drive for work, which means it has to be safe. Does the pack have an omega?”
“They don’t, but they stay to themselves, and I do the same,” I say. “It’s nice to know that I’m not in an apartment with a ton of people around me. I’m used to being able to have my space.”
I don’t mention that I’ve been on my own for a long time and can take care of myself. Sometimes, that worries people, especially packs that are as protective as Pack Dresmond. I have a feeling they could very easily adopt me as someone to take care of, and I move too much for that to be possible.
Minneapolis is safe for now. I don’t have the feeling that someone is watching or following me. While I haven’t seen my parents in five years, the last time I saw them was really bad.
“You let us know if any of that changes,” Morris says, opening the door.
“I will,” I lie. “Good night.”
The afternoon light is fading, and I’m watching the shadows begin to creep in.
I’ll go by the bank tomorrow instead, I think.
Walking out, I head toward my van, my skirt floating around me as I walk.
My hair flows around me, and I think about how despite everything that I’ve given up, I’ve gained so much more.
Getting into the vehicle, I turn on the engine, wincing at the sound it makes.
“Ok, Bertha, I hear you, baby,” I murmur, closing the door behind me. “We’ll get you all fixed up. I promise.”
Yes, I talk to myself often. I can’t help it. The sound of my voice feels foreign if I don’t, scaring me when I finally speak to people. It’s low and throaty, and my mom has always told me that I sounded like a man.
It’s not something I could help. I don’t know why she was so mean about it.
Pulling out, I drive down the long driveway, smiling as the gates open for me. I don’t know why, I have anxiety about them not opening one day. If I really looked, I’d say it’s because my parents used to use gates to keep me hostage.
I got lucky the day I left the house. There was a new landscape company on the property, and they couldn’t close the gate because their crews were coming and going. I used my out and ran.
Driving home, I listen to music and plan my long weekend. I’m hesitant to take a larger caseload than I have because of my history of running, which means at the moment I get to enjoy longer periods of time where I don’t have appointments.
Instead, I’m on call, because babies do whatever they want.
Pack Ledger lives down a private road without another soul living on it.
At night, it’s a little creepy driving around here, but I’m getting used to it.
The gate opens as the video camera see me, which means one of my landlords was notified that I’m home.
It makes me feel safer, knowing that they’re aware and ready to let me in.
I’m a tenant, not a prisoner here. The guys are gruff but nice, and work hard. They had this tiny home built as a joke they said and as a hobby, but then decided to rent it out to help out with how difficult it is for single omegas.
They never hit on me, I rarely see them, and they email here and there to see if anything needs to be updated at the house. It’s the perfect rental property.
The front yard is well maintained, and I take the driveway toward the right to my house. I really love this place. I can’t get attached, and I know that, but damn it’s one of the nicest places I’ve lived in my adult life.
With that sad thought, I turn off the van and hop out with my bags. I’m starving, need to feed Pixie before she loses her mind, and then I have to look at how much I’m going to spend tomorrow to fix Bertha.
Walking across my cute little pavers, I unlock the door, smiling at my black and white cat as she meows.
“Hi, baby,” I coo. I never know what to expect with her. Sometimes it’s sweet headbutts and purring, and other times it’s psycho maniac kitty that stalks me throughout the house.
Closing the door behind me, I drop to my knees and offer her my hand to sniff. She wrinkles her nose at the scent, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m sorry, you can smell the gloves, huh?”
Dropping down, I let her smell my hair before she bumps against my head happily.
“That’s better, huh?” I ask, standing.
Pixie growls, but I ignore her as I walk into the small kitchen to get her bowl.
“You’re getting hangry,” I admonish, getting her wet food and pouring it into the bowl. Nudging it over to her, I find myself forgiven as I begin to cook for myself.
It’s nothing crazy, just some stir fry and microwave rice. My stomach is threatening to eat itself, and this is the easiest way to feed myself and have leftovers. Curling up with my food, I pick up my tablet and begin researching as I eat.
Absently, I also play with Pixie with a ball, smirking as she chases it back and forth.
By the time she tires, I’m done with my food, cleaning the dishes and putting the leftovers away.
While it’s not the same thing every day, it is very quiet here.
The wind howls past the windows as night blankets the sky, and I curl up with my cat as she naps.
I may as well enjoy these cuddles while she’s willing to give them. My cat reminds me of Jekyll and Hyde in a lot of ways. I found her in a camping ground two years ago when she was maybe six weeks old sleeping behind my back left van wheel.
I was living out of my van, seeing clients in Hartland, Wisconsin, and it was clear whoever her mama was had left her behind.
So I became her mom. I fed her with a dropper, took her with me as I saw clients, though she stayed curled up in my bed during my appointments, and she acclimated really well to van life.
I may even say that she misses it because she doesn’t get to see me all of the time anymore.
I’m still curled up making notes of what I need when I fall asleep next to Pixie. It’s an exceptionally comfortable couch. More often than not, I pass out here instead of making it up the few stairs to the bed.
Still, it’s the best sleep because I’m not worried about anyone trying to get into my van. Sometimes, that gets old.
It’s nice to just feel…safe.