Sunday, August 13th #3
“Ran, you don’t have to leave,” he says, his voice low. “Yeah, Bobby’s being a dick, but he’s just overreacting. He’s being a dad.”
“I get it, Dad. He’s protective of her. But so am I,” I say, keeping my tone even. “It’s probably best we just leave. Let things cool off for a bit, okay?”
He sighs. “Okay. For what it’s worth, bud, you’re doing great. I know you’re going to be a hell of a dad.”
He squeezes my shoulder, and I nod, grateful.
A moment later, Cat comes down the stairs with a backpack slung over one shoulder and that look on her face, the one that says she’s made up her mind and God help anyone who tries to change it.
Cat
Ten seconds ago I was all anger, but the second Ronan closes the passenger door behind me, I dissolve into sobs.
I can’t believe how difficult, how obtuse, how mean my dad is.
And maybe I am extra emotional these days—hormones pushing me from the highest highs to the lowest lows—but this isn’t hormones.
This is my dad’s blatant disrespect for the boy I love more than life itself.
“Baby,” Ronan says gently as he gets in and sees me crying. “No, baby, it’s okay.” He reaches for me immediately, pulling me into his arms.
“No, it’s not,” I sob against his chest. “My dad is so mean.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of a dick right now,” Ronan says, brushing my hair back with his left hand. “But he’s just worried about you.”
“Whatever,” I choke out. “He doesn’t have to be such an asshole about it.”
Ronan chuckles softly. “Guys aren’t exactly known for emotional intelligence.”
“I’m so sorry he’s being so rude to you,” I say, pulling back to wipe my face.
“I’m more annoyed with how rude he is to you.” Ronan strokes his thumb gently across my cheek. “And I’m sorry I put you in a situation where you’re fighting with him.”
“Sweet boy,” I say, heart aching. “This isn’t anything new. He’s been difficult from the moment you and I started dating.”
“Yeah,” Ronan sighs, leaning back a little. “He’s definitely not my biggest fan. Maybe it’s just a dad thing.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s not fair,” I mutter. “And it makes me not want to be around him.”
He turns his head to look at me, eyes soft. “Baby, I don’t want to come between you and your dad.”
“You’re not,” I say. “He is. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
We sit in silence for a moment before I ask, quietly, “Do you think I could stay with you for a while?”
Ronan looks at me again, something tender lighting in his eyes. “Baby, you can stay with me as long as you want. There’s a reason you have a key.”
I nod, letting out a long breath. “I think my dad and I need some space. If he can’t accept that my heart is yours—that we’re in this together—then… I need to step away for a bit.”
Ronan huffs a dry laugh. “These Sunday dinners are gonna be awkward as fuck from now on, huh?”
“They were already awkward as fuck,” I say, still half-laughing through the tears.
“Facts,” he nods, grinning. “So… that means we don’t have to go again for a while, right?”
“Yep. That’s what that means.”
“Perfect,” he says. “Honestly, I’d much rather spend Sundays in bed with you anyway.”
“Oh yeah? Doing what, exactly?”
“I can’t say it out loud. The baby might hear,” he says solemnly.
I giggle, then cup my stomach. “There. Now the baby has earmuffs.”
Ronan laughs. “Okay, well, I’d much rather kiss every inch of that perfect body of yours, suck your beautiful pink nipples into my mouth, run my tongue down your stomach and between your legs, taste your sweet honey—make you come, baby,” he growls, voice dark with heat.
My face flushes. “Yeah… that does sound a lot better than Sunday dinner.”
Ronan chuckles, that mischievous spark in his eye. “It’s not too late to make that happen.”
I grin. “Okay. But can we stop by the store real quick? I think I forgot to pack underwear.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oops. Stores are closed. Guess that means… no underwear for you.”
I giggle. “All the stores?”
“Every single one.”
“Shame,” I say, grinning.
“Oh yeah. Just awful,” he deadpans.
I laugh out loud but stop with the sudden jab in my stomach.
My hand moves to it, like every time I feel the baby move inside me.
I remember the first few flutters, like butterfly wings or perhaps like goldfish bumping against their glass bowl.
But this baby’s getting stronger by the day and the little karate kicks are downright startling sometimes.
“Oh my gosh, are you trying to break out already?” I giggle.
Ronan’s brows dip with confusion.
“The baby,” I say. “It’s awake. Probably heard the entire no-underwear conversation we just had.”
Ronan chuckles. I reach for his arm, then place his hand on my belly where I just felt the jab. I’ve done it before—placed his hand on my belly whenever I’ve felt the baby move, but the flutters weren’t powerful enough for Ronan to feel anything from the outside. Still, I keep trying.
We wait in the silence of the car.
Jab. My eyes snap to Ronan’s. Instantly, I can tell he felt it. His eyes are wide, locked on mine, jaw dropping.
I grin widely. “Did you feel it?”
He nods, awestruck. “Yeah,” he breathes.
Right on cue, another kick exactly where Ronan’s warm hand rests against my stomach. Like the baby is saying “hi.”
Ronan’s hand stays firmly on my tummy while his eyes close. He lowers his head, focusing. The baby gives one more little one-two punch, leaving me teary-eyed at the emotion in Ronan’s eyes when he opens them.
“Holy shit,” he whispers. “That’s our baby?”
I nod.
“God, baby… you’re incredible.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Let’s go home.”