Chapter 41
JULIA
“My angel, my love, my beautiful wife! Are you here?”
I chuckle at the sound of Aislin’s voice pinging against the salon walls as it carries back into the office. The clip-clap of her sandals taps along the tile as she works her way back, poking her head into the door before pushing it all the way open.
“Morning, my sunshine,” I tell her with a smile.
Pulling our aprons off of their hooks, I toss hers over before wrapping mine around my waist.
“No car?” She gestures out the door, in the direction of our parking lot.
“Not today,” I say with a smile and a shake of my head, “I was dropped off by my husbands.”
“Your husband’s what, babe?” She asks, absently pulling her apron into place.
“My husbands, plural,” I smile, heat flooding my cheeks.
Her long locks are a blur of brown and green as she whips so quickly in my direction that she may topple over. Her hands have stopped functioning mid-task, the bands to her apron hanging in the air, much like her jaw.
“You— I— Juli—” Her head shakes like something out of a cartoon. “What?”
Now, her hands finally have freedom as they fly into the air in front of her, letting the fabric loosely held around her hips drop to the floor in a puddle. I don’t think she manages to blink for a whole thirty seconds, forcing my hand to cover my mouth as a harsh giggle escapes it.
“Things were horrible, and then they got really wonderful,” I tell her. “One day, we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you about all of the things that I’ve kept from you. Right now, though, I need you to be the one keeping secrets.”
My head points in the direction of my purse, and with a pinched brow, she digs through it. When she finds purchase on the item she doesn’t know that she’s seeking out, her features melt. Confusion, shock, pride – she wears them all.
“Are you for real?” She squeaks as she pulls the thin white stick from its place. I nod, choked by emotion filling my throat that I can’t yet explain to her. “Oh my god! How do you feel? How long? When the fuck?”
Her arms snap around my body, and I return the embrace with shaking hands. “Only a few weeks. I thought maybe, when we were in Gainesville, but I wasn’t sure until today. And I’m terrified.”
I won’t tell her about the tears that I shed in the bathroom before she got here. I won’t tell her that I cried for seven different reasons. I will share this piece with her, though. I’ll let her in for this.
They say that you’re not supposed to tell anyone until twelve weeks have passed. That it’s bad luck, that you’ll jinx yourself. That too many things can go wrong. It’s safer, that way.
But we weren’t even safe eight weeks from our due date; so this time, I’m going to let the people that I love share in the good parts. And if that sick terror in the back of my mind is right, if something goes wrong, they can be there for the bad, too.
With her hands squishing my face so tightly between them that my cheeks are in my field of vision, her tear-filled eyes move between mine.
“This is good, right? We’re happy?” She clarifies. “Does he— do they— how the hell does this work?”
“Tripp might have an idea because I’ve eaten a case of canned peaches by myself in a week,” I tell her with a soft laugh, “but I haven’t told them yet.”
“Will you record it when you do?” She pleads. “He’s gonna cry. I’m gonna cry!”
Before I can say another word, her arms snap around my neck and I’m pulled into a fierce hug that forces deep laughter out of me.
My arms wrap around her body in return, and I can’t stop my laughter as my childfree friend who calls babies ‘vomiting nightmare money thieves’ prattles on about her need to buy a car seat and to baby proof her house.
She’ll be here for all of it; and once she processes it, all of us.
Two sparkling-clean motorcycles sit on the driveway as I pull up to the house, leaving one more parked in the garage. I don’t think we’ll be able to comfortably fit in this house for much longer.
As I push open the door, I’m met with the smell of my husband’s chipotle chicken; one of my favorite meals that he makes, and one that he only makes every now and again. He’s standing at the stove, a towel draped over his bare shoulder and all of his tattoos on display.
“Hey, baby,” he greets me with a smile as his head pivots over his shoulder, and I close the distance between us to meet him in a kiss.
A tray of lemon bars, likely Connor’s work, sits on the counter top, and next to it, a can of peaches. My fingers flex around the strap of my purse as my teeth nibble anxiously at the inside of my cheek, and I kiss Tripp again.
“Schepp’s out back, if you wanna go say hi,” he tells me as he reaches into the oven to pull the baking sheet from its rack and rest it on the stove top.
“I do.” With a kiss to his cheek, his brow furrows, but I wrap my arms around him and he returns the gesture.
“You good?”
I nod. “I just love you,” I tell him. “So much.”
A hand meets my ass, giving it a squeeze, and he offers me a wink. “Love you, too.”
That squeeze is followed by a smack, and I let out a giggle before dropping my purse onto the coffee table and sliding open the door to our back yard.
Connor is sitting on the planter which usually seats my husband, in spite of the chairs laid out which are actually intended for sitting. One leg rests across the other, his eyes focused above him on the evening sky, and a soft smile is on his face.
Taking the space next to him, I lean my body against his. His hand seeks out mine, lacing our fingers together, but his focus never leaves its place.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He nods, a smile spreading across his face. He seems so peaceful. So…content.
“I’m talking to my parents,” he tells me. I don’t know if he realizes that his fingers tighten around mine when he says it. Then he tucks my arm under his and pulls it into his lap, and I have my answer. “I’m telling them how good it is.”
His eyes finally break from the sky to move to me, and I offer him a warm smile.
“Their little girl is following her dreams, she’s got someone who loves her and wants a life with her.
And I…” His hand squeezes mine again, his focus moving back up to the clouds above us.
“I have more than I could have ever asked for. They would love you guys.”
My body melts against his as I fully embrace him, my lips pressing a kiss to the soft skin of his cheek.
“We love you, Honey,” I tell him.
“Hey!” Tripp calls, his head poking out of the back door as Koda flies out past him, bounding toward us. “If you guys don’t eat your food, I’m eating it!”
“We’re coming!” I laugh, pulling Connor with me. “Leave my chicken alone!”
Tripp slides the door closed, and I squeal, picking up the speed as we barrel back to the house. Koda slams into the door frame as I shove it open, earning a hiss and a smack on the snout from a startled Drumstick, who follows his violence with a bolt toward his cat tree.
As we sit around the table laughing and sharing a meal together, all I can feel is a blanket of warmth. Maybe even one of hope. For the future, for our family, that even our deepest wounds may stand a chance at healing.
That we can keep picking up the pieces for each other and building something so beautiful, none of us could have ever seen it coming.