Chapter 22 Gillian #2
He pulled me into his arms so quickly I nearly dropped the test, holding me like I might disappear. I felt his shoulders shaking as he cried—happy tears this time, not grief.
“I never thought.” He pulled back to look at me, cupping my face in his hands. “After everything … I never imagined this could happen again.”
“Me neither. What will the kids think?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, wiping his eyes and laughing. “But they’ll adjust. They always do. We’ll tell them together.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “A baby, Gillie. Our baby.”
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He placed his hand gently over my stomach. “Come to bed. You need your rest.”
I fell asleep in his arms and dreamed of baby carriages and nurseries, and miracles I hadn’t dared to hope for.
The next afternoon, we all dressed up and headed to the courthouse for Grace’s adoption hearing, the five of us packed into the SUV, buzzing with excitement.
The hearing was brief but beautiful. Ben Mercer had everything in order, as always, and the judge seemed moved as he looked over the petition.
“Do you understand, Grace, that this means Alex Garcia will be your legal father from this day forward? Is that what you want?”
Grace’s chin lifted, eyes bright. “Yes, sir. He’s the dad I’ve wanted my whole life.”
The judge smiled. “Then it’s my honor to make it official.”
We all hugged, laughing and crying, before heading out for a celebratory lunch at the Tidewater Grill. After everyone had ordered their meal, I clinked my glass. “I have some news.”
All three kids turned to me, their expressions curious.
“I’m going to have a baby,” I said. “I’m eight weeks pregnant.”
Grace blinked. “What did you say?”
I smiled. “We’re having a baby.”
For a moment, silence.
“We’re having a baby?” Bella asked. “A little sister or brother?”
My eyes stung. How sweet that she’d said “we’re.” “That’s right.”
“Holy cow,” Peter said. “I didn’t see this coming.”
“Us either,” Alex said, glancing over at me with such love in his eyes that my throat ached with happiness.
I looked over at Grace. Unlike the other two, she didn’t seem pleased.
“You okay?” I asked her.
“This will be the only one of us kids who will be totally yours together,” Grace whispered, tears dampening her cheeks. “Will you love the baby more than us?”
“Of course not,” I said. “We’ll love you all the same.”
“And think of this,” Alex said gently. “We’ll all be together when he or she makes their entrance. All five of us. The baby will make our bond ever deeper.”
“A baby,” Grace said, wiping her eyes. “I just can’t believe it.”
“You’re going to be a big sister,” Peter said. “How cool is that?”
“I’m going to be one too,” Bella said, practically shouting. “Think of how much fun we’ll have, Grace. A sweet little brother or sister to spoil?”
“I have always wanted a baby sister or brother,” Grace said.
“Now you’ll have one,” Alex said.
“We know there have been a lot of changes in a short period of time,” I said. “It can make us all feel a little wobbly. But that’s what families do—they hold each other steady.”
Alex reached across the table, taking my hand. “We’re in this together. All of us. Always.”
Grace looked around the table at her new family, and, slowly, her smile returned. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Me too,” Peter said.
“Obviously,” Bella added with a grin.
Our meals arrived, and the conversation shifted to baby names and nursery colors and whether we’d find out the gender or be surprised.
The afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows of the Tidewater Grill, gilding everything it touched—the water glasses, the silverware, our faces as we leaned toward one another, already planning the future.
Later that evening, after we’d driven home and the kids had gone into the family room to watch a movie, Alex and I stood on the patio watching the sun sink into the Pacific. The sky was washed in shades of pink and apricot, soon to fade into that deep indigo we'd come to think of as ours.
I thought about the poem Seraphina had written for our wedding. About love refusing to be lost despite the sand and the hourglass. About five hearts tied together with indigo ribbon.
I giggled. “How in the world will we explain our family to the baby? “
“It’s a long and drawn out tale,” Alex said, joining me in laughter.
“I hope he or she won’t be a little monster, given the adoration and spoiling from its older siblings.”
“Yeah, that’s a genuine concern.” Alex chuckled. “But I can’t seem to feel too worried about it.”
“I don’t suppose anyone ever suffered from too much love,” I said.
Below us, waves crashed against the shore in their eternal rhythm. I’d have not believed any of this could happen just a few months ago. But as Seraphina had said in her poem, surely it was a miracle.
Behind us, through the glass doors, I could hear our children laughing—Grace’s bright peal, Bella’s snort, Peter’s low chuckle. The sounds of a family finding its rhythm. And inside me, barely there but undeniably present, a sixth heartbeat was beginning.
Alex pressed his hand to my stomach as if he’d read my mind. “Six,” he said softly. “Six souls.”
“Tied together with indigo ribbon,” I finished.
Soon, the sky turned into that inky indigo that whispered of love. In the gathering dark, the first stars appeared. I made a wish that could have been a prayer. Keep my children safe from harm.
We stood there a while longer, watching the night unfold, our hands intertwined, our family cocooned inside.
What a beautiful life this was. This gift of family and sunsets and friends and the man beside me.
Just then, two bright stars twinkled at me from heaven.
I knew who they were and the blessings they had sent to us.
I’ve got your babies, I said silently. I’ll take good care of them.
Alex wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck, scattering goosebumps across my bare arms. I thought about the young people we’d been that summer we fell in love.
How innocent and sure of our futures we’d been, only to have everything change in an instant.
It was impossible to predict the future.
And if I thought about it deeply, given everything that had happened in our families, fear threatened to overwhelm me. So much could go wrong.
But so much could go right. Perhaps that was the key to a joyful life. To trust that light would always appear, even in the darkest night, to guide you home.