11. Chapter 11
Aspen
It’s been a whopping eighteen hours since my entire life was turned upside down.
I’ve never been so swarmed by an onslaught of different emotions.
Part of me is really, really excited to be a mom.
It’s something I thought was years away and yet somehow it snuck its way in.
The other part of me is devastated. Because when I dreamed of my family.
I was married to the love of my life, someone who loved me back.
I dreamed of giving my child a childhood like mine.
One with two parents who were madly in love.
Mine set my standard for what love should look like, and I desperately wanted that for my kids.
I’ve sat with this all by myself. I half expected Ava to be blowing up my phone, but she’s given me space. I actually haven’t heard a peep from her all day. Either she’s trying to be respectful or she’s gone into labor.
Add utter terror to the list of emotions, because the thought of giving birth makes me feel like I want to vomit. Well, more than usual.
My heart thumps nervously in my chest. I just need to hit Rhett’s contact, call him, and have him come over, but it’s truly terrifying.
His life is minutes from changing forever.
I know this isn’t what he wanted. He can kiss casual and no strings attached goodbye.
Kind of like I can kiss my cookie-cutter, picture-perfect family away.
“Quit being a little bitch, Aspen. Dial his number, rip off the Band-Aid,” I murmur to myself, staring at my phone. I take a deep breath and hit call.
“Hey, what’s up?” His voice sounds a little pitchy.
“Uhm, I was wondering if you could come by my house tonight when you’re done on the ranch. I’ll make dinner.” I stand up off my couch, needing to move and get some of this restless energy out of me.
“Yeah, I can be there in about forty-five minutes. I just need to swing by my place and shower.”
“Perfect, see you then.” I hang up the phone as quickly as I can.
I walk to my bathroom, practicing for the five hundredth time today. Each time, I use a different intro or approach: should I be funny? Should I be serious? I don’t know how to deliver this kind of news.
The anxiety is doing nothing to help with my nausea. I’ve lived on one saltine an hour all day. It’ll keep me alive until I can alleviate one of the causes of this stomach ache.
Dinner is going to leave a lot to be desired, but I have some thawed out meat I can use to make spaghetti sauce. Hopefully the smell of cooking meat doesn’t make me lose my eight saltines. I’ve worked really hard on keeping those suckers down today.
Making dinner helps busy me, and before I know it, Rhett is knocking on my door. I stir the spaghetti sauce one last time. I’d mix the noodles with the sauce, but I know he doesn’t like that.
I swing the door open, and there he stands. Hands in his pockets, and looking about as stressed as I feel. “Come in.” I hold the door open for him so he has a chance to get through.
Every thought out plan leaves my brain as my anxiety rises.
“Dinner is just about done, but I need to talk to you first. Like really need to talk.” My words start to fade out as the overthinking consumes me.
My heart races, my palms are sweaty, and I think—nope, it’s happening. I’m going to be sick.
I dodge around him to high tail it to the bathroom, holding my hand over my mouth before I get to the bathroom and retch.
I lean my forehead against my folded arms that sit on the toilet seat.
I take deep slow breaths trying to find a place of normalcy.
I’ve quickly learned I do feel better after, but it takes a few minutes, and sometimes the relief only lasts a few minutes too.
Rhett comes up behind me with a cool wash rag and places it on my neck as he leans down beside me and rubs my back. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Deep breaths.”
Tears spring to my eyes, the overwhelming fear of what’s to come and how he’s going to react to the news. “Please, go. It’s okay. I don’t want you to see me like this.” My voice lacks its usual punch, exhaustion kicking in as all the adrenalin leaves my body.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He says it like there’s no arguing. Definitive and concrete.
Those are the exact words I wanted to hear tonight, but not like this and not about this.
Hearing them makes the tears fall harder. This is not how I wanted this to go. But it doesn’t matter, this is the reality of the situation. This is very much happening, and he needs to know.
“Rhett, I’m pregnant.” I keep my head down, wanting to avoid his eyes. I don’t want to see if he’s disappointed or upset at me. If I was better at taking my damn pills this wouldn’t have happened.
“I know, honey. It’s going to be okay. Can I get you something?” His hands rub soothing circles on my back.
Leaning back against the tub, I turn to look at him, and he looks as calm and as steady as ever. “What do you mean, you know?” I ask.
I grab the washrag on my neck and slowly sit up, wiping off my face with it, not needing to add to my current mortification.
It’s not like every time a girl pukes she’s pregnant; there’s no way he can know.
I haven’t even told the girls yet; I wanted him to be the first to know.
Well, the first to know was… “Ugh, Weston. That asshole couldn’t keep his mouth shut for one day.
” The wild turn of my emotions gives me whiplash, because now I am mad.
“We kind of forced it out of him; he was acting all weird all day, kind of angry, so we pushed until he told us.” He shrugs. “Don’t be mad at him.”
I roll my eyes at that. “I should have known he would squeal anyway.” I look back at him, studying his features. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you should not be sitting on the floor; let’s get you up and fed.” He stands, grabbing my hands and helping me to my feet, where I quickly rinse my mouth with some of the Listerine on the counter.
He ushers me out of the bathroom and to the living room where he has me sit on the couch while he finishes dinner.
My nausea seems to be taking a backseat now that the words are out.
I stare at Rhett in my tiny kitchen, watching him work.
I study him, trying to decipher how he is feeling.
I’m scared, so it’s okay if he is too. But I want this, I want this baby.
Even scarier, I want this baby with him.
He turns from the stove to look over at me, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Are you feeling okay enough to eat or should I go get you some ginger ale?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay. I think I can eat.”
He nods, turning back and reaching over to my cupboard with the plates. I never noticed how well he knows my place. We’ve been doing this for so long it shouldn’t be shocking, but I like the way he looks in my space.
He brings me a plate of spaghetti, not bothering to ask me to sit at the table. I love to eat on the couch, and I love that he knows that.
He grabs himself a plate and then sits with me. “Are you going to get nervous again if I talk about a few things?” he asks with eyebrows raised.
“No, I think I would feel better if we talked more, actually.”
He looks at me, eyes warm and steady before he says, “Okay, well I want you to know no matter what, I support whatever decision you will make.”
Rhett is a good man, the best of the best. And if I could have hand-picked out the perfect dad for my kids, it would’ve been a man just like him. So hearing those words shouldn’t be surprising, but it’s a relief regardless. I instantly feel myself sag and some of the tension dissipate.
“I want to keep the baby, and I want you to stick around. I know you said you couldn’t do relationships and didn’t want kids—”
“Me not wanting anything serious has nothing to do with you at all. Aspen, you are everything I could ever want in a partner. I just, well, I have some demons in my closet and I just….” He trails off, looking down at his clasped hands as he sits next to me. “Can’t. Even now.”
I nod, unsure of what he means, but I think he is still processing everything and I’m scared to push too far into that right at this exact second.
“So where do we go from here?” I want to ask about us. I want him to want me too, but right now we need to focus on the baby.
“Well, have you made an appointment yet?” he asks.
I nod. “I’ll go on Friday for blood work and they’ll do an ultrasound in the clinic to get proper dates.”He looks puzzled.
“Dates? When do they make sure the baby is okay?”
“Oh, to figure out how far along I am. I don’t really get periods with my birth control, and when I do they’re light, so I honestly don’t know how far along I am.
I think I am probably closer to six or seven weeks with how dark my test was, unless I’m cooking twins.
” My brain goes off into numbers as I try to recall what I learned about pregnancy in nursing school; that feels like a different lifetime right now.
I look over to Rhett again, coming back from my detour and he looks pale as a ghost. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the possibility of twins.
“Rhett, I don’t think I am having twins; please don’t pass out.” I remember his question and tack on, “They’ll check on the singular baby we’re having probably at that first appointment; I’m not sure though. I’ve never worked in obstetrics.”
He nods, swallowing, before shaking his head. It’s amusing really, but I don’t think he would appreciate me laughing at him at this exact moment.
“Rhett, where does this leave us?” It’s the question I’ve wanted to ask, but am terrified to find out the answer to.
“I think we’re going to have to take it one day at a time. I don’t want to rush into things because our situation has changed. Let's get through the initial shock and appointments and then we can figure out everything else.”
A true Rhett answer: logic first, feelings last. Not in a bad way; in fact, in the past I've been envious of the way his brain works, but right now, I wish he was more like me. Wore his heart on his sleeve. I want to know if that means things might change between us someday, but he doesn’t give me that answer.
Not with his words, and not with his expression. I’m left in the dark, once again.
I nod. “Okay.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my face or my voice, but I can understand where he is coming from. This is big news and he probably needs to sleep on it before he knows what to do.
“What time is your appointment on Friday?” he asks.
“It’s at ten and my ultrasound is at eleven. But it’s an hour away. I didn’t want to go to Windy Peaks. People talk too much.”
He nods, understanding the small town rumor mill is the most efficient mill of all. “Okay, I’ll be here to pick you up. You should eat.”
I pick the plate back up and take a bite of spaghetti. “Better?” I ask, raising my brow.
“Yes, I’m going to guess that if you were sick just now, you’ve been sick for a while. You need to get something in your stomach,” he says, worry lining his tone. “Maybe we should talk to the doctor about your nausea at the appointment too. See if they recommend anything to help.”
“Okay, that’s a good idea. But please know, I don’t expect you to go to every single appointment. I know you’re busy on the ranch and it can be hard to get away,” I offer, making sure he doesn’t feel pressure so soon.
“I want to be there. For all of it,” he says resolutely.
“Okay,” I say quietly, a small smile forming on my face.
“Okay,” he agrees, mirroring my smile.
It’s small, but it’s enough to warm the corners of my heart. To ease my fear. We might not have it all figured out, but that's okay. There is always tomorrow. Without a doubt in my heart, I know Rhett won’t let me down. He never has.