Chapter 22 - Jonah
The waiting room at Dr. Morrison's office is deafeningly quiet except for Alex's nervous leg bouncing. He's been doing it for ten minutes straight, making the whole row of chairs vibrate.
"Would you stop?" I whisper, placing my hand on his knee.
"Sorry. I'm sorry." He stills for exactly three seconds before starting again.
"Everything's fine. The baby's been kicking me all morning."
I can't help but smile at his anxiety. Six months ago, this man was telling me he never wanted children. Now he's read every pregnancy book in existence and attended every appointment.
I even managed to persuade him to come to the doctor’s actual office for the appointment instead of summoning her to the estate. Yes, we have security outside, so it’s not completely ordinary, but I want things to be normal for our child. And that starts by making life more normal for its fathers.
"Mr. Colborne?" The nurse appears in the doorway. "We're ready for you."
Alex jumps up so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. I follow more slowly. Moving isn't as easy as it used to be with this belly. He offers me his arm, and I take it.
The examination room is cold. I change into the paper gown while Alex examines the ultrasound.
"You know, you've seen this machine already," I point out.
"I'm just... interested in how it works."
"You're nervous."
"I'm terrified," he admits, helping me onto the examination table
"Alex." I take his hand, squeeze it. "Remember what Dr. Lowe said? Worrying about things we can't control doesn't help anyone."
Dr. Lowe, our marriage counselor, has become Alex's favorite person. He quotes her on everything. It’s annoying but also kind of cute.
Alex has been taking the whole ‘personal growth’ thing incredibly seriously to the point where I half-wonder if it’s another addiction I’m going to have to nip in the bud.
Dr. Morrison enters and I give her a smile which she returns. She raises her eyebrows at Alex, clearly still not completely convinced by his new found sense of responsibility.
"How are we feeling, Jonah?" she asks, preparing the ultrasound equipment.
"Like a whale."
"You're beautiful," Alex says immediately, then flushes. "I mean, you don't look like a whale. You look... pregnant. Beautifully pregnant."
Dr. Morrison's lips twitch. In six months, she's watched Alex transform from the disaster she used to patch up to an anxious expectant father who asks at least thirty questions per appointment.
"This might be cold," she warns, squirting gel on my belly.
The moment the wand touches my skin, the baby kicks hard enough that we can see it from the outside.
"Active baby," Dr. Morrison observes, moving the wand around. "Let's see... there's the head, spine looks good, heart rate is perfect..."
On the screen, our baby appears in profile. Clear as day, we can see the nose, the lips, a tiny hand near the face.
"Oh my god," Alex breathes, squeezing my hand so tight it hurts. "That's... that's our baby."
"Would you like to know the sex?" Dr. Morrison asks.
Alex and I look at each other. We've been debating this for weeks.
"Yes," we say in unison, then laugh.
"Well, let me get a better angle..." She moves the wand, presses a few buttons. "Congratulations. You're having a boy."
A boy. A son.
Alex makes a sound I've never heard from him before, something between a laugh and a sob. When I look at him, there are tears streaming down his face.
"Alex?"
"A boy," he repeats, staring at the screen where our son is now sucking his thumb. "We're having a son."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm..." He stops, swallows hard. "My dad died when I was so young. I barely remember him. And now I'm going to be someone's father. Someone's dad. What if I mess it up? What if—"
Mess it up. Not fuck it up. I’ve loosened up a little on the language stuff. I no longer flinch when I hear a curse word, but Alex has dialed it down anyway.
"You won't," I say firmly. "You're already devoted father, and he's not even born yet."
It's true. The dedication that Alex used to channel into getting drunk and making a mess has been channeled into getting read for our baby. He’s gone into full research mode. We’ve got three months to go until the birth and everything is ready. We have enough clothes to dress triplets.
But more than that, it's the way he talks to my belly every night, reading stories and playing music. He’s stayed completely sober for six months now, not even a mimosa at Diana's birthday last month.
"A son," he says again, wonder in his voice.
Dr. Morrison prints several pictures for us and Alex clutches them like they're made of gold.
As we leave the office, he's still staring at the ultrasound photos.
"We need to call my parents," I say. "And your Diana."
"Diana's going to be insufferable. She's already talking about estate planning for the baby and who is going to be in charge of the trust fund.”
"Of course she is."
We sit in the car afterwards, processing.
The last six months have been a whirlwind of changes.
Counseling twice a week—once together with Dr. Lowe, once separately.
Alex dealing with his sobriety and childhood trauma.
Me learning to speak up for what I need instead of either submitting to keep the peace or being far to passive-aggressive for my own good or for Alex’s.
We still fight, but it's different now. Less cruel, more productive. We're learning each other's triggers, each other's needs.
"Your family dinner is tonight," Alex says suddenly.
"You remembered."
"Of course I remembered. I've been dreading it all week."
These regular dinners with my family have become a tradition. Alex mostly enjoys them except when Pastor David is there making his pointed comments about salvation and sin.
"They don't dislike you as much anymore," I offer.
"Robert definitely still hates me."
"Robert's protective."
“That he is. And he’s your brother and I love him for that.”
That's the thing about Alex—he tries now. Not just with the big things like sobriety, but with the small things too. He holds his tongue when Pastor David preaches. He helps Mom in the kitchen, even as the alphas in the family give him odd looks for doing it.
He plays with my nieces and nephews, letting them climb all over his designer clothes.
"I love you," I say suddenly, surprising myself. We haven't said it yet, haven't crossed that line despite living as properly married for months now.
Alex goes completely still. "What?"
"I love you. I didn't expect to, didn't want to at first. But I do."
He turns to face me fully, those storm-gray eyes intense. "Say it again."
"I love you, you arrogant jerk."
He laughs, pulls me as close as the seatbelts allow. "I love you too, church mouse. Have for months. I was just too scared to say it first."
"Why?"
"Because I wasn’t sure if you were going to say it back."
I kiss him, deep and thorough, not caring that we're in a medical center parking lot in broad daylight.
"Take me home," I say against his lips. "We have two hours before dinner, and I want to celebrate properly."
His pupils dilate. "Yes, omega."
The moment we're inside the estate and out of the car, he presses me against the wall, kissing me like he's drowning and I'm air.
"Careful," I gasp. "The baby—"
"I've read all about sex during pregnancy. I know what's safe." He drops to his knees, hands sliding up my thighs. "Let me worship you properly."
And he does. Thoroughly. Until I'm gasping his name and seeing stars.
After, we lie in our bed—properly our bed now, not his or mine but ours—my head on his chest, his hand rubbing circles on my belly.
"A son," he says again, still awed. "What should we name him?"
"Not Alexander Junior."
"God no. One of me is enough for any family." He's quiet for a moment. "What about Samuel?"
"Samuel?"
"My father's name. The one good man in a long line of complicated Colborne men."
"Samuel Colborne." I test it out. "I like it. Samuel Robert Colborne, after my brother too?"
"Samuel Robert it is."
The baby—Samuel—kicks as if in approval.
"We should get ready for dinner," I say reluctantly.
"Or we could stay here. Call and say you're not feeling well."
"Alex."
"I know, I know. Family is important." He helps me sit up, then immediately starts fussing with pillows to support my back. "But after dinner, you're mine. I want to spend the rest of the night showing you exactly how much I love you and our son."
"Deal.”
The drive to my parents' house is familiar now. Alex knows the route by heart, knows where to park to avoid the worst of the photographers who still occasionally show up.
The house is chaos as usual: kids running everywhere, my siblings talking over each other, Mom orchestrating dinner.
"Jonah!" Emma launches herself at my legs. "Uncle Alex! Did you bring me presents?"
"Emma," Corinne scolds. "We don't ask for presents."
But Alex is already pulling out the bag he keeps in the car for exactly this purpose—small toys and books for all the kids.
He's learned that bribing the children goes a long way toward making them happy and seeing the children happy makes the adults happy and that goes a long way towards family acceptance.
"You're spoiling them," Robert says, but there's less edge to it than before.
"That's what uncles are for, right?" Alex responds, helping Emma with her new puzzle.
Dinner is its usual chaos. Pastor David is there again, leading grace, making pointed comments about guidance. Alex holds my hand through it, squeezing gently when the pastor's words get particularly barbed.
"We have news," I announce once everyone's served. "We found out what we’re having."
"It's a boy," Alex says, pride evident in his voice. "We’re naming him Samuel Robert."
Mom starts crying. Robert looks stunned.
"After me?" Robert asks.
“Yes, and after my father,” Alex says. “After men worth honoring."
It's the perfect thing to say. Robert actually extends his hand across the table, and Alex shakes it firmly.