Chapter 49
AVA
“What are you doing?” I ask as Anderson opens the car door for me. I was too confused to open it myself when he parked, turned off the car, hopped out, and literally ran to my door to even open mine.
“Come here,” he says as I take off my seatbelt, pulling me into his arms before I can even protest. Ever since I hit the third trimester at the end of August, Anderson has stopped letting me do even the most basic of things. Like apparently getting out of the car on my own.
He just picked me up from a late night finishing up some work at Hey Honey’s. My car is in the shop for a few upkeep things before the baby comes, and Georgie is seeing a movie with some friends.
Our life together, the three of us—almost four of us—blended together to a point that I forgot what it was like before we all lived under one roof.
Somewhere between shared responsibilities and shared spaces, it stopped feeling like we were making an effort to fit into each other’s lives and started feeling like this was simply how it had always been.
Mornings become orchestrated chaos between the three of us getting ready and out the door with hugs and kisses goodbye.
Grocery lists that stopped being mine or his and just became ours, filled with things we all liked and knew Georgie wanted without thinking twice about it.
Nights blurred into routines—dinners at the table, homework sprawled across the counter, the quiet hum of the record player in the background, while he absentmindedly rested his hand on my stomach like it belonged there while we listened to whatever vinyl Georgie put on.
I hit thirty-four weeks this week, and I can’t believe how fast time is flying.
Pregnancy moves impossibly fast and impossibly slow at the same time, and I can only imagine how much truth there is to the saying “the days move slow, but the years move fast” that everyone likes to tell me when they see my stomach.
Pregnancy also becomes the only topic of conversation when you hit a certain point. I started showing halfway through my second trimester, but it became hard to ignore in these last couple of weeks.
Whoever says pregnancy is beautiful likely forgot about the aching in your boobs, peeing every time you sneeze, and needing to roll to get off the couch—not to mention the swollen feet, face, and hands.
It’s been taxing both physically and mentally.
I didn’t think that my OCD would have any sort of change when I got pregnant, but I’ve noticed changes as the weeks have gone on.
There’s this level of stability with my OCD that I haven’t had since before the fire and before Jett.
It’s almost like a lightness in my mind, a grounding in my being, a stability in my thoughts.
It’s in no way gone, or cured—but it feels manageable.
I still spiral and feel the compulsions coming on, but there’s this control over my thoughts I haven’t had in years.
Maybe it’s because my thoughts are so focused on the pregnancy and relearning what it means to be in control.
Maybe it’s the therapy and how hard I’m working—with the help of Anderson—toward managing my responses to my triggers through the ERP therapy.
Or, maybe it’s just a combination of all of it.
Either way, things feel like they’re working out for me for the first time, and I don’t want to question it—even though there’s a small voice in my head telling me that I have to.
I just want to enjoy it.
I was so nervous to be pregnant because there was so much out of my control. I didn’t know what symptoms I was going to have, how my body was going to change, what the day-to-day changes were going to feel like.
But instead of focusing on all of that, I’ve been focusing on the things with this pregnancy I can control, and it’s healed me in ways I didn’t think were possible.
As I get closer and closer to my due date—I’m only five weeks away as of today—I’ve spent time preparing for everything I can and just sitting in the uncertainty of the things I can’t.
The thoughts terrify me and constantly threaten to send me into a cycle of compulsions I’d never be able to escape, but I’m determined to manage it, through therapy, through the support of Anderson, through my own strength.
Anderson lifts me from my seat in the car bridal-style, and my arms wrap around his neck. “I can walk.”
“Me too. Should we start a club?”
“Glad you finally used that one. I saw you write it in your Notes app weeks ago.”
His cheeks redden, but it just makes my hold around his neck tighten.
With one hand, he balances me in one arm, unlocking the door with the other, typing in the key code before pushing the door open.
“I’m not as quick as you when it comes to the comebacks,” he admits, kicking the door closed behind him before settling me down on the counter.
“And you’ve been on your feet enough for today.
” He slides my sandals off my feet before putting them away by the front door.
The house is a little more cluttered than usual as we start to prepare the house for the baby—something I had a really hard time adjusting to.
We’ve set up different stations throughout the house to help with the newborn and postpartum stages, and I’ve tidied them enough to feel like it’s as good as it’s going to get.
I keep reminding myself that the extra clutter is stuff we need for the baby and for my recovery, and it’s helped settle some of the anxiety.
I didn’t have a standard baby shower—mostly because the thought of inviting people from all the different pockets of my life and having them all in one place threatened to break me out in hives—but we sent out pregnancy announcements to our friends and family with a link to our registry, and we’ve been so lucky with the amount of gifts we’ve received in the last few weeks.
It doesn’t stress me out like I thought it would—it has me kicking my feet with excitement, a jolt of happiness I didn’t know was possible running through me at the thought of being just weeks away from meeting my daughter.
“The doctor says staying active will help with labor,” I reply, but not to argue. Labor scares me—I see why some people who have babies think the experience is euphoric and beautiful and everything our body was made for.
And while I agree with all of those things, it still terrifies me.
Anderson sighs as he comes to stand back in front of me, caging my thighs in with each of his arms, his face coming to my eye level.
“That’s what you’ve said about waking up even earlier than you already do to do pregnancy ball stretches, eating the dates even though you hate them, choking down the multiple cups of raspberry leaf tea, and the fifteen minutes of curb walking every night after dinner. ”
“What’s your point?” I deadpan.
“You know all of those things aren’t exactly proven to help with labor, love.” He presses a kiss to my nose. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever known. Labor will be hard and scary, but you are capable of it and so much more.”
Ever since the first time Anderson came with me to therapy, he’s been my rock through this pregnancy. He was a steady force before that, but I think letting him see that side of my life really helped me accept it.
He knows how to limit reassurance through reminding me of my strength, and he doesn’t let me sit in distress without reminding me that he’s here to support me.
“I know, but it helps,” I offer, the vulnerability in my voice something I’m not afraid to hide anymore.
Anderson’s eyes soften, along with his smile. “Then at least let me try to make the dates more appetizing.”
“Deal,” I reply with a laugh.
Anderson gives me a wink, then immediately starts grabbing ingredients and pulling out pots and pans to make dinner.
I’ve stopped trying to argue with him when he tries to feed me. Not only because I’m hungry all the time, but I’ve quickly learned how taking care of me is one of the many ways he shows he loves me.
I think it’s a product of his childhood, one he’s opened up to me about over these last few months. My experience as an eldest daughter helped me understand his experience as an eldest son—and even though our situations were different, they had similar effects on us.
While I learned to put everyone’s needs before my own, Anderson learned to put himself behind his brothers.
And all I want to do is make sure he knows that I will always put him first.
“Have you heard from your mom?” I ask just before he steps between my legs, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before pulling away, grabbing a cutting board from the drawer next to where my legs hang.
The feel of his lips against mine is way too quick, eliciting a wave of desire in my core—it doesn’t take much to turn me on these days, especially when it comes to my husband.
I see the way his smile tightens, like it goes from the one that comes so easily to one that he’s keeping up because he thinks he has to. “She called me earlier today.”
“And?” I prompt, knowing the relationship Anderson has with his mom is complicated at best.
“It was fine,” he answers, but he busies himself with opening and closing the drawer he just got the cutting board out of. “She told me about all the drama in her water aerobics class and how my brother Archie and his boyfriend might get a cat.”
“And?” I prompt again, hoping to hear that maybe she asked about him, about his job, about his life, about his baby.
He rolls his lips together, but his gaze stays on the drawer just next to me. “That was it.”
“That was it?” I repeat, frustration thick in my words.
I have yet to meet Anderson’s family—I’ve only met his uncle at the station when Rumi and I stopped by to see the guys at work a few weeks ago.
And I don’t know if I’d be able to keep my mouth shut about how fucked up I think it is that they take advantage of Anderson the way they do.
“What about your brothers? I ask.
Anderson shrugs, but it isn’t convincing. “Just a few texts here and there.”
I can almost see the guilt form, like a cloud hanging over his head. He thinks it’s his fault that his family doesn’t show the same care for him and his life that he does for them and theirs.
And I wish I could take it away, even though it’s a feeling I know all too well—one that belongs to us even though we know it’s ours to carry.
As eldest children, we were expected to keep it together, to be the pillar of strength for everyone else. We weren’t allowed to crumble under the pressure or break when it all became too much.
Our tears, our exhaustion, our silent cries for help were buried under the weight of everyone else’s needs—while ours went unnoticed.
And that guilt comes from never feeling like we were doing enough—even when we were giving everything we had.
And I know Anderson is trying. He’s sticking to his boundaries, working through it all in therapy, and I’m here to understand on a level not many others can.
“Whatever happened with the hospital bill your mom had called about that night at Lenny’s?”
Anderson blows out a breath, his eyes finally finding mine. “As far as I know, Auggie figured it out. I texted him the next day about it, and he said he had it covered.”
“Well, I guess that’s good,” I offer. “Hey,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling it to my lap. I hold it tightly between my palms. “It’s okay to be upset that they don’t show up for you in the ways you always show up for them.”
He nods, watching me carefully in a way that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world—that nothing matters except for me and what I’m going to say.
My hands find each side of his face as my mouth finds his, and I feel his palms against my belly, tenderly caressing my bump before he finds my waist.
He’s been so gentle with me. He always has been, but even more so since I told him I’m pregnant.
It’s another thing that’s healed me in ways I didn’t know I needed. The way he holds me, the way he touches me, the way he looks at me.
He’s careful—but not in the way he used to be, like I was going to disappear. And it’s not like he’s scared I’m going to break, like I’m too fragile.
It’s more like he knows who I am—like he cherishes every aspect, knowing I’m strong but choosing to be soft with me anyway. Because no one ever has been.
“But it is not your fault.” My voice is strong, stern in a way.
Because I need him to hear me. “It never was, and it never will be.” I squeeze his hand between mine.
“And I promise you, sunshine,” I start, my throat tightening as the back of my eyes prickle with emotion. “I will always show up for you.”
His lips curve to the side, his eyes glistening. His lips part to say something when I feel the familiar kick in my belly and his eyes go wide.
“Wait, was that—? He can’t even finish the words, his features hanging with pure disbelief at the feeling of our daughter kicking for the first time.
I nod, tears blurring my vision. “I guess I should say we will always show up for you.”
He lowers to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to my belly just before whispering against the fabric of my sundress, “Hi, little one.”
Anderson is always talking to my belly, and our daughter loves it. She flutters and kicks the entire time, but never big enough for him to feel—until now.
She kicks again, right where he’s talking to her.
“That’s my girl,” he says as a tear falls from the corner of his eye. I use my thumb to wipe it away, and he looks up at me.
“I love you, Ava Montgomery,” he says, using our last name. He always drops it into conversation any time he can, but I don’t mind. Especially in this moment—this perfect moment.
I like the reminder that I’m his.