Epilogue #2
Because of my history, the doctors marked me at high risk since there were higher chances of miscarriage, prematurity, and low birth weight. But so far, Ivan’s defied every statistic. God is still showing Himself in the smallest details, reminding me He hasn’t abandoned me once.
Scarlett wipes off the doppler and slips it back into her bag. “Have the two of you come up with a middle name yet?” she asks, curiosity in her tone.
I raise my eyes to Nik, and the knowing smile tugging at his lips makes me want to roll my eyes.
“I have one,” I admit, looking back at Scarlett. “But Nik doesn’t like it.”
Scarlett’s brows lift. “Uh oh. What is it?”
Nik stifles a laugh, his cheeks flushing red. “She likes Zeb.”
Scarlett’s head snaps toward me, one brow arched high. “Why?”
“It’s short for Zebedee,” I say quickly, like that will clear everything up. “It means ‘gift of God.’ Honestly, you can’t get much cuter than that, Scarlett.”
The expression on her face says otherwise, and Nik’s laugh breaks loose at her reaction.
I smack his leg. “You’re so mean.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face, though he’s still grinning. “But that’s really bad.”
Scarlett shifts her gaze to him. “What’s your idea then?” she asks, half-wary.
Nik’s grin softens. “Ozias. It means my strength is God.”
Scarlett presses a hand over her heart, exhaling in relief. “Oh, what a relief.”
I bite back a comment. Scarlett has come to faith since becoming my midwife. She often tells me that watching Ivan’s life unfold has stirred something in her heart.
But at the moment, she’s squarely on Nik’s side. And that is simply unforgivable.
“Someone help me up—I’m out of here,” I huff, and Louie jumps off the couch while I wriggle uselessly, trying to pull myself forward. My belly has officially declared mutiny, blocking every attempt.
Scarlett presses a hand to my shoulder. “Don’t do that, you’ll only hurt yourself.”
Behind me, Nik is trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“And come on, Eleanor,” Scarlett adds with a teasing smile, “you have to admit Ivan Ozias is way cuter than Ivan Zeb.”
“Thank you,” Nik says smugly, sliding his arms around me to help me into a sitting position.
I glance between them. “Traitors. Both of you.”
Scarlett holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine. If you won’t admit it, tell me why you want Zeb so badly?”
I keep my eyes away from Nik, because he’ll only revel in it. “Because Nik picked Ivan’s first name. If I don’t get Zeb, he wins twice—and I cannot let that happen.”
Both Nik and Scarlett burst out laughing. I want to tackle them to the floor and demand loyalty, but—pregnant belly and all—I can’t.
“Oh, Eleanor,” Scarlett says between laughs. “I love you.” She hoists her bag over her shoulder. “I have to run, but I’ll see you in two days.” She heads for the door.
“Oh—wait,” Nik calls, making her pause mid-step. “Do you think, in your expert opinion, that Eleanor should go on maternity leave?”
I whip my head toward him, mouth wide in shock. Betrayed twice in the span of minutes.
“You haven’t gone on maternity leave yet?” Scarlett asks, equally shocked.
My gaze drifts to hers. “No,” I answer carefully.
“But I told you to last week,” she exclaims, exasperated.
Nik hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry, she told you last week?”
I groan and huff. “What do you want from me?”
Nik’s gaze softens but stays firm. “To listen to the doctor’s orders, Eleanor.”
“Well, you two have fun bickering over that. See you later,” Scarlett says, laughing as she walks out the door.
“Eleanor,” Nik says, drawing my attention back to him. “Why haven’t you really taken maternity leave yet, especially since Scarlett already told you to?”
I look at him, sighing. “I told you already.”
Nik’s smile falters. “I’m not convinced that’s the only reason, baby.”
I rest my head against his shoulder. “Because if I stop working, then it makes it all more real.” I look up and find him staring at me. “I don’t know how to be a good mom, Nik. What if I screw it all up?”
Nik’s expression softens, becoming serious.
“You—we’re—both going to mess up, Eleanor.
Babies don’t come with manuals. We’ll be figuring it out together.
But we just need to lean on God…and each other.
” He brushes a stray hair from my face. “You don’t need to worry about things that haven’t happened yet. ”
I nod against his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll go on maternity leave. I can barely move anyway.”
Nik grins, kissing me softly. “Good.” He stands, helping me to my feet. “I have to go back to work. You stay here, and I’ll tell your boss you’re taking your time off.”
I dip my chin, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. “I’ll text Lily.”
“Yeah, do that.” He grabs his keys. “Are her, Gabriel, and Dillon still coming over for dinner?”
I shrug. “I know Lily and Gabriel are. Dillon says he’s busy and isn’t sure if he will.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you later,” he says, waving as he slips out the door.
I slowly climb the stairs, each ache and twinge in my hips sending sharp reminders that I’m definitely in the final stretch. At this point, a stair lift sounds like heaven.
Once in bed, I curl against my pregnancy pillow and send Lily a message, letting her know she’ll have to take over for me, along with all the work I preplanned months in advance.
I sink into the plush bed, Louie snuggling against my cheek, and drift into a long, peaceful nap while the quiet of the house wraps around me like a blanket.
The smoke alarm screams, black smoke curling from the oven like a warning I should have heeded. I wave my hands at it, silently begging it to stop, but of course, it has zero interest in listening.
No one tells you, when you’re eight months pregnant, that cooking is a high-risk sport.
Not only am I slower than a tractor on the highway, but bending over to retrieve a dish from the oven is apparently impossible.
I was barely able to get in there to begin with, so why am I surprised this is happening?
“Knock knock!” Lily’s voice booms from the front door.
I rub my face with both hands. Can this day get any worse? “In here,” I call weakly, defeat dripping from every word.
“Hey, Eleanor—woah, what’s going on in here?” Gabriel asks, stepping into the kitchen.
“I tried cooking on my own,” I admit, cheeks flaming. “I can’t get the casserole dish out of the oven, and this stupid alarm won’t stop mocking me!”
Gabriel slips on a pair of oven mitts, plucks the charred dish from the oven, and sets it on the stovetop. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” he says, grinning at my frazzled expression.
“Gosh, Eleanor, did you turn your kitchen into a crematorium?” Lily asks, stepping into the kitchen behind Gabriel.
Gabriel spins toward her, frowning. “Honey.” His gaze shifts to me. “I don’t think that’s very nice to say to someone in her condition.”
Lily throws her hands up defensively. “Pregnant or not, it is like a crematorium in here. Sorry, El,” she admits sheepishly.
I lean back against the counter, rubbing my temple. “It’s okay. This is what I get for trying to make dinner on my own. Nik’s running late, and I wanted to get a head start.” I wince. “Even though that clearly didn’t happen.”
“It’s okay, I can go pick something up,” Gabriel offers, already inching toward the door.
“No, no,” I stop him. “I’ll call Nik—he’s already out.”