28. Jess
Jess
It’s a very, very long night.
Like, the kind of night that merits a week-long Caribbean all-inclusive vacation at the end of it. Complete with a lounger by the pool, and copious pina coladas. Not Courtney’s recipe, obviously.
Which is a tad selfish, as I’m not the one in indescribable pain from bringing a human life into the world.
But, Oliver is a cranky, irritable charge who doesn’t want a babysitter—he just wants his mom. “Auntie Jess,” as he so affectionately used to refer to me, has been replaced with “WAHHHHHHHHHH!” and “I WANT MY MOMMY.”
I feel bad for the little guy, I really do.
But, I also feel bad for my eardrums. Courtney’s “soothing” rendition of “Baa Baa Black Sheep” is not helping.
Pete calls me once in a while to check in and see if we have any updates—it’s usually only a four hour drive from Savannah, but he’s hit numerous construction delays. Of course.
And, I’ve just been hit in the face by a fistful of peach yogurt. Wonderful.
After a few hours of this, the very sticky, yogurt-and-tear-stained toddler falls asleep with his head in my lap, and Courtney and I dare not make a sound. Instead, we stare, zombie-fied, at Bubble Guppies blaring on the TV.
I gently pull one of my arms loose from under Ollie so I can check my phone. Still nothing from Conor. Or Aiden.
“What do you think is happening?” I whisper to Courtney. The fact that we haven’t heard anything is making me super anxious, and my stomach has pretzelled into a million knots.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure that if Conor and Aiden had a fight, Conor would win,” Courtney replies, smiling at the thought.
“Not helpful,” I hiss.
My brother is an extremely reasonable person in general. And even though he found out about Conor and I in, arguably, the worst of circumstances, I’m sure they’ve managed to have a calm, rational conversation about the whole thing.
I hope.
When it comes to their silence, the real worry is that something might’ve gone wrong with Mia’s labor. The thought makes the pretzel knots in my stomach tie tighter, and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that Mia and baby are both doing okay...
The next thing I know, Pete is shaking me awake. “Jess?”
“Hurrrrrrrrrgh,” Courtney moans. She's cuddled up to me on the couch, open mouthed and drooling on my shoulder. Not for the first time, I feel a bloom of gratitude for my new friend. It was sweet of her to stick around tonight when she absolutely didn’t have to.
I blink a few times and Pete comes into focus. He smiles kindly, before prying a still-sleeping Oliver off my lap and gathering him in his arms.
“Pete? Whattimeiset?” I slur like a drunken sailor.
“6am.”
I bolt upright, like someone lit a rocket under me. I’m now wide awake. “What happened? Is Mia okay?”
Pete nods and grins. “She got taken in for an emergency C-section at about 2am. Adelyn Joy was born half an hour later.”
“Oh!” I exclaim, relieved and delighted. “That’s such a beautiful name.”
“Shhhh,” Courtney whispers, before she turns her head and makes a little snoring sound.
Pete’s positively beaming, bouncing as he cradles Ollie to his chest. He strokes his son’s hair lovingly. “Seven pounds, four ounces. Twenty-and-a-quarter inches. Both mom and baby are doing well.”
I have no idea if any of those statistics are good or not. But, given that Pete looks so pleased, I take it as my cue to smile and congratulate him. “Did you make it back in time?”
“I did. I’m just so thankful that Conor was there with her in the meantime. Aiden, bless him, was asleep in the waiting room when I got there.” Pete looks a little teary-eyed. “Nothing like good friends and family.”
I remember Pete’s toast at the BBQ a couple weeks back—“ to friends who feel like family .” At the time, it choked me up because I didn’t recognize that feeling.
Aiden has always been my closest friend, and a wonderful big brother, but outside of him, I didn’t particularly feel close to anyone. Especially after Johnny.
But, fast forward a few weeks, and I get it.
Not only do I care deeply about Pete, Mia, Oliver, and now, Adelyn, but I also have Courtney at my side.
And, best of all, I have Conor… who went quickly from sexy roommate, to new best friend, to the guy I’m head-over-heels for.
The guy who’s got my back, and likes me because of my flaws, not in spite of them.
My heart warms and I retrieve my phone from between the sofa cushions. But, there’s still nothing from Conor. I can only hope that Aiden hasn’t put him in his own hospital bed in a fit of misguided overprotectiveness.
“Is Conor still at the hospital?” I ask.
“Both Conor and Aiden were there when I left. Aiden was going to find coffee, then wake Conor so they could be with Mia and meet the baby,” Pete says.
I have to avoid swooning—picturing Conor holding a newborn baby is enough to whip me into a fluster.
“I came home to get Ollie so he can meet his little sister.”
“I’ll bet he can’t wait to meet her.” I smile tearfully, overcome with joy for my friends.
“Thank you for being here last night, Jess.” Pete gazes at his still-snoozing son lovingly, and then uses his thumb to wipe a white smudge off of Oliver’s cheek.
“Yogurt,” I offer, rather uselessly.
Pete nods like this explanation suffices. “I’ll give this little guy a bath and feed him breakfast before we go, so feel free to head over there whenever to meet the baby.”
“For sure.” I groggily begin the arduous task of removing myself from the couch, which is beckoning me to snuggle back down for a few more Z’s. “I’ll pop home and shower, then go straight over.”
It’s inconvenient, because I’d love to get to the hospital as soon as possible, but the shower is necessary as I have half a carton of peach yogurt stuck in my hair and haven’t brushed my teeth in twenty-four hours. Gross.
I’ll admit that I’m eager to meet baby Adelyn, but I’d also like to check up on the whole Conor and Aiden situation. I should take it as a good sign that Aiden is getting Conor coffee, but it doesn't exactly fill me with confidence that I haven’t heard a word from either of them all night.
What on earth went down at the hospital?
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” I wiggle Courtney’s shoulder in an attempt to get her to stir.
She grumbles something incoherent, but sits up, wiping the drool from her mouth. She stands, stretches, and tosses me her car keys. But, because I’m not paying attention, they bounce off my chest and fall to the floor with a loud clank .
“Can you drive?” She yawns. “I’m too tired.”
“Least I can do.” I pick up the keys, then give my friend a little hug. Just because.
* * *
I park Courtney’s Jeep on our street just as the sun begins to peek above the trees, tinting the leaves a shimmering gold. It’s that perfect, quiet time of day, when the entire world seems to pause.
“I’m going to sleep for a week.” Courtney stretches in the seat beside me. “That was exhausting… Remind me to never have kids!”
I laugh at her joke, but inside, I’m gooier than a pan of undercooked brownies.
Because, although I’m equally exhausted, and the tantrums and screaming were beyond difficult, Oliver falling asleep in my arms made my heart swell.
Everything about that moment—how Ollie smelled like baby powder, how his little starfish hand clutched around my finger, how his long eyelashes fluttered on his round cheeks—made me think about how much I want that very thing in my own future.
I want to create my own family, create somewhere I truly belong. Even the mere thought of Conor holding little, newborn Addie makes me dizzy with the idea of him holding our baby someday.
Because, ever since I got back to Atlanta, my life has begun to feel full and vibrant again. The future is brimming with possibilities, and I’m slowly but surely gaining confidence. I want to take risks and put my own happiness first.
Painting makes me happy. Conor makes me happy, too.
And, what might just make me happiest of all is the fact that Conor believes in me so fiercely that I’m starting to believe in myself.
I slide out of the Jeep and take a breath of fresh morning air. The perpetual, muggy heat of the summer is finally giving way to blissfully temperate sunrises and balmy twilights.
I’ve never really liked fall all that much.
Not just because I don’t really get the appeal of cute ankle boots or Starbucks’ PSLs (I’m a grande white chocolate mocha customer, rain or shine), but because I never liked the idea of everything having to fall apart—to die off—in order to regrow the following spring.
But now, for the first time ever, I feel like the impending fall and I have a bit of an understanding.
In life, seasons are inevitable, and sometimes things have to fall apart completely to yield real growth.
And no matter how tough that feels in the moment, the eventual growth is worth the pain of loss.
Because beyond loss lies something new. A new beginning in life.
And speaking of beginnings in life, I have to get showered ASAP and get to the hospital to see Mia, Adelyn, Aiden and Conor. The man I’ve fallen in love with. And if I’m not mistaken, was about to tell me he loves me, too… before the entire octo-date clan gatecrashed our moment.
Hope and happiness warm my chest, and I give Courtney another hug goodbye (“What’s with the sudden love-fest, Shaw?
”) Then, I sprint towards Aiden’s front door, the refreshing shower water already calling to me.
Because you know that if Aiden’s not home, I’m going to be using his fancy ensuite steam shower instead of the boring, ordinary one for guests.
As I make my way up the driveway, I spot a large, bubble-wrapped package on the front doorstep. I frown and approach cautiously.
What on earth could that be? The mailman doesn’t usually come until the afternoon.
As I get closer, I notice that there’s a note attached to it. It’s unfolded and taped on top for all to see. So, I’m not really snooping if I read it, right?
I crouch down to decipher the scrawly handwriting.
Returning these to their rightful owner. Some silent auction haha.
—Karla
An entirely different feeling begins to bubble in my chest, the sinking feeling of suspicion. I lift the corner of the wrapping paper and confirm that this package is what I think it is—my paintings. From the open house. The ones that were up for auction.
Which means, if they’re being returned to their “rightful owner” now, that nobody bought them. Making their rightful owner me .
Conor told me there were multiple bids. That people were going crazy for them, they loved them. That he didn’t want to tell me the final number the paintings had sold for because it was a big, exciting surprise.
I reread Karla’s note.
Haha. Haha. Haha. Haha.
Her scrawled laugher mocks me and tears prick the corners of my eyes, making her words blur on the page. “Some silent auction” is right.
Conor actually made me believe that people liked my paintings. That I could do this thing for real, I just needed to believe in myself.
My fragile balloon of hope for the future slowly starts to deflate, leaking air from a puncture. Instead of going into the house, I turn around. Walk towards my car. Anxiety grows in me with every step as I ask myself the same question over and over.
Why would he lie to me?