14. Claudia
Sitting on my front porch, I watched my dad pull cans of paint out from the back of his ute and place them on the ground by the fence, brushes and cover sheets followed. After he finished unloading his supplies, he pushed the gate opened and walked up to path that led to my outside staircase.
“Hey ho daddio,” I called out waving to my dad.
“Hello Claudia Chanel,” dad replied in his usual grumpy voice.
“Painting today?” I asked knowing the question would start him bickering at me.
“Ya think? What gave it away?”
See.
Laughing at my own sense of humour more than dad’s reaction to it, I slid down on the bench seat I was on to give my father room to sit next to me which he did readily.
“What colour scheme have you decided on this time dad?” I asked, knowing already that even though it was my house it was in no way my decision.
“Well, chickee, I’m thinking that a white weatherboard with a dove grey trim,” dad said nodding his head. I took a few minutes to think about that and decided that the lattice work on my Queenslander would indeed look good in dove grey.
“I like those colours together,” I agreed giving his arm an affectionate pat, then tucked my hand in the crook of his arm and leaned my cheek against his shoulder.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, dad started humming one of his favourite Elvis songs, his deep timbre so familiar to me, I was instantly relaxed.
Not that I had anything to be tense about. I had a wonderful family, the most loving husband in the world, a perfect house and I was pregnant.
Josh and I went to Gracefield two days before to get the official nod that I was indeed carrying his baby. Blood tests were taken as well as a urine test, one more sophisticated than the shop brought ones. It showed that I was four weeks along, but the test results would give us a more accurate time. The results were due sometime today via text message. I charged up my phone this morning and had not let it out of my sight since.
The certainty that I was pregnant was not in question, but I still needed the results of the test to cement it in my mind.
That it was real.
“So chickee,” my dad said, bumping his shoulder against mine, “when are you going to tell your mother?” he asked.
Gasping I looked at my dad in surprise. “Wha— huh?” I spluttered my head reeling.
“Claudia Chanel don’t shit a shitter,” dad tisked his shoulders shaking in quiet laughter. “You mother isn’t the only one with mindreading powers.”
Knowing I was caught, I decided to tell my father the truth.
“We are,” I confirmed, tapping my belly with my free hand. “But we aren’t telling anyone until I’m closer to the safe time, so please keep it to yourself.”
Dad let out a growl, and I knew I was screwed.
“Chickee asking me to keep something like that from your mother is cruel and unusual torture.” He complained but wasn’t finished. “You know she can smell a cover-up a mile away.”
“Please daddy,” I begged him pitifully, “just keep it secret for a little while longer. I’m not ready for Georgina’s bubble wrap codling. God knows when she does find out she will make my pregnancy her new project.”
Snickering dad nodded at me, “Very true. Okay darlin’ girl, I won’t say anything voluntarily but if interrogated I’m going to sing like a canary.”
Chuckling along with my dad, I totally understood his reasoning.
“Fair enough daddio.”
“How’s my beautiful pregnant wife doing?” Josh asked coming up behind me while I was standing at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes for our dinner. Wrapping his arms around my middle, he laced his hands on the flat of my belly.
“Good honey, how was work?” Leaning back against Josh’s chest I let him take my body weight, his warm body so familiar and comforting I nearly forgot about the text message we were still waiting for. Just as I was about to tell Josh I was yet to hear, my phone beeped three times, indicating a message was coming through.
Stilling in his embrace, my heartbeat started to race. Our doctor in Gracefield had practically confirmed the pregnancy with the more accurate urine test done in her office, but this was an actual blood test. More reliable than anything.
“Gorgeous,” Josh murmured lovingly in my ear his hands flattening on my stomach cradling it. “We are having a baby; the doc was more than confident on that.”
“I know Joshy,” I whispered softly, leaning my head back to rest in the crook of his neck, his warm lips pressing to my temples.
Dropping one hand to the back of my jeans, Josh fished out my mobile phone bringing it around to my front so I could press my fingertip to the screen to unlock it with my fingerprint. I had a number passcode, but I always forgot it.
Messing around with the message app one handed, Josh brought up the text message from the doctor, while I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Sensing my trepidation, Josh didn’t stall for time telling me what we already knew in our hearts.
“Positive pregnancy, four weeks. Due date November 22.” Josh read the message to me, his voice breaking when he said pregnancy. “Holy shit,” he breathed, “Holy shit!” he said again only louder and with excitement rather than awe.
Twisting me in his arms, my phone tossed on the bench, Josh picked me up and sat me down on the countertop. Pushing his body between my legs, he dropped his forehead against mine.
“November. November 22, we become three, gorgeous,” he said happily, wetness highlighting his dark eyes.
Tears fell down my checks, but this time Josh didn’t balk when he saw them. He knew that they were tears of complete joy.
Pressing my lips to his, I let them linger, on my lips I tasted my husband’s tears.
My big strong husband finally letting his emotions show since we lost our baby a year ago.