Chapter 38 Tristan
TRISTAN
At exactly eight forty-five, I whisper in Ligaya’s ear. “Fifteen minutes to wrap up.”
She tilts her head to catch my gaze. With a raised brow, she pipes, “Or what?”
We’re standing close together, keeping our conversation private.
“Or I’m carrying my baby mama out of here so I can run her a bath at home.”
“Throw in a foot massage and I’ll be done in ten minutes.”
“Deal.”
True to her word, Ligaya shoos the kids out and locks the auditorium before nine. I convince her to leave her SUV at the school since I’m staying over and can drive her back in the morning. The car is so quiet while driving, I’m not sure if she’s fallen asleep.
Once parked, I go to her side to help. Maybe even lift her in my arms, if she’ll let me. God, I want to carry her. To literally and figuratively take the load from this hardworking, determined, beautiful woman.
“You look tired. Let me carry you in.”
“I’m so heavy.”
My mouth opens. “Now I’m going to have to prove you aren’t.”
I carry her in my arms and use my hip to shut the car door. Her arms are tight around my neck and her breasts bounce slightly against my chest. I could stay like this all night. We’ve been together for hours, and yet my quota of closeness is nowhere near filled.
Once inside, I put her on the couch and start a bath, making sure the water is perfect as the bubbles foam. My hand is in the water for a final check when I call out.
“It’s ready!”
“So am I.” Ligaya is standing by the door in nothing but an open robe. The tight skin of her belly and the pert fullness of her breasts belong to a goddess. She takes my breath away.
I stand up to cup her face. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmur before pressing my lips to hers.
She tastes like the lemonade she had with her salad. I can’t help delving deeper. She kisses me back, making sexy sounds and rubbing the back of my head. Her robe falls to the floor, and she grabs my hard cock. I wrap a hand around her wrist to stall the movement.
“Gonna take care of you first. Someone needs a foot rub.”
Guiding her to the bathtub is an exercise in restraint because all I want to do is squeeze her ass and bury my face between her breasts.
Not yet.
First bubble bath, then foot rub, and if all goes well, tasting her skin all night long.
I’ve been reading pregnancy blogs and am therefore well informed of the benefits of bath support pillows and relaxing candles. That’s only the beginning of my notes app. Other items include:
Hire a house cleaner for when it gets harder for Ligaya to move around
Soothing bath bombs (that’s Toby’s suggestion)
Healthy snacks to add to the faculty lunchroom (also Toby’s suggestion)
New filtration system for her fridge
A subscription to—
“Why do you look like you’re making a list?” Ligaya asks me, concerned.
The bathroom smells faintly of lavender from the bubble bath, steam curling in lazy ribbons toward the ceiling.
The overhead light is off, leaving us in the soft golden glow from the candles on the vanity flickering against the tile walls.
Ligaya is half-submerged in the tub, hair piled in a messy knot, bubbles drifting around her shoulders.
I’m sitting on a stepping stool, her feet resting on the edge of the tub. My thumbs work slow circles into her arches, feeling the warmth of her skin under the slick dampness. She sighs, head falling back.
“God, that feels amazing,” she murmurs, eyes half-closed. She speaks drowsily. “I can’t believe we’re halfway there. I’ve never been around babies. Have you?”
Her question catches me off guard. I glance at her belly under the bathwater, round and impossibly beautiful. The words come easier than expected, spilling out like a confession.
“The only baby I ever saw up close was Olive. I was five when she was born. There’s not much memory of Mom’s pregnancy, but I distinctly remember Dad coming home from the hospital, telling me I had a sister.
I thought he meant a toy. When I saw Olive for the first time, I didn’t want to breathe too hard, afraid I might break her by looking. ”
Steam curls between us. Ligaya watches me with an intensity that makes the tightness in my chest loosen as if the warmth of her attention unclenches the knots from my mind and body.
“I’d stand on a chair next to her crib,” I continue, each word tracing a memory that aches with both sweetness and loss. “Just watching her sleep. I remember thinking that babies make so many faces when they’re asleep. Smiles, frowns, those weird little gas grins.”
Ligaya laughs in a choked way. I realize that the water on her face isn’t from the bath. Tears fall, but she’s so focused on me, I don’t think she realizes she’s laughing and crying.
“I thought I was her protector,” I admit. “My baby toy to take care of forever. It made me feel so grown up when I held her.”
Ligaya’s hand moves, brushing against mine, fingers curling around my wrist as she shifts, sitting up in the tub. The action draws me from my thoughts, but in the best way. Her gaze locks onto mine, full of quiet understanding. She tilts her head slightly, a soft crease in her brow.
“You loved her fiercely, Tristan. You still do. The love of her older brother was part of her life from the moment she was born. Nothing changes that.”
Her other hand moves to rest lightly over my forearm, her touch grounding me to the moment.
“I’ve avoided thinking about her for so long,” I admit, voice catching slightly.
“Because it hurt too much. But now, with the babies on the way, it’s like the good parts are coming back.
She snorted when she laughed, did you know that?
And when she started kindergarten, Olive could not get enough of books.
She’d sneak into my room after bedtime so I could read her one more story. ”
“What were her favorite books? We should make sure we have them for the kids.”
I blink rapidly, unable to process that we’ll be reading to our kids. I shut my eyes tightly in an effort to keep my composure and answer her question.
“Wayside School, I think it was. And later, when she got sicker, we went through all the Percy Jackson books.”
“That’s beautiful, Tristan.”
“Thinking about Olive doesn’t feel like a knife twisting in my stomach anymore. More like . . . I don’t know . . . a flicker right here.” I put my fist over my heart. “That probably sounds stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. You don’t have to hold any of these feelings back, the happy ones as well as the tough ones. I’m here for all of them.”
I reach out to touch the smooth curve of her cheek.
“Olive would have been the best aunt,” she utters under her breath. Ligaya turns her head and kisses my palm.
“Do you . . . do you think she knew?”
“Knew what, Tristan?”
“How much I loved her? How much she meant to me?”
She holds my gaze, and for a moment I’m suspended in this dreamlike state.
This isn’t a conversation I’ve ever had.
These aren’t questions I ask myself every day or emotions I let myself dwell on.
Yet with Ligaya, the conversation is freeing.
The questions linger, but they don’t taunt me with the usual self-loathing.
“Yes,” Ligaya utters with conviction. “With all her heart, she knew you loved her. She lived her entire life—every second of it from the moment she was born—with her best friend who is the best big brother anyone could ask for.”
I find myself kneeling at the side of the tub so our foreheads lean together.
“Ligaya, I—”
Her phone rings so loudly, it makes us both jump.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “I keep it loud at rehearsal, otherwise I can’t hear it over the kids. That’s Ami’s ringtone. I promised her an update on the ultrasound. Can you hand it to me? I’ll text her that we’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“It’s OK if you want to take the call,” I say, handing it over.
“It’ll only be a minute,” she says before squealing, “Hey, Ate! We saw and felt the babies today!”
Giving Ligaya some privacy, I go to the kitchen to start the kettle for her nightly ritual of herbal tea. Her cheerful voice wafts from the bathroom. I’ll never get enough of the sound of her happiness.
An idea forms. By the time the water boils, that idea has turned into a plan.