3. Sloane Family First
sloane: family first
IT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL sound I’d ever heard, that loud, hearty thump.
“Well, Sloane, it looks like your baby is strong and healthy,” the ultrasound tech said.
My eyes filled with tears as I lay my head back on the table.
Relief washed over me so fully that I couldn’t even be embarrassed that I had overreacted.
I realized as I took a deep breath that Caroline was on her way here—on a private jet, no less—for absolutely nothing.
But, well, I couldn’t be too sorry because, after she was around to yell at everyone for a couple of days, we always had a huge surge of productivity at the house Adam and I were building, on the same street as Mom’s, which had been in our family for more than one hundred years.
I put my hand up to the diamond necklace on my neck, the one Jack had had made for each of us, that made me feel so very connected to my family even when we were apart.
I wiped my eyes as the doctor, who I had known since I was fifteen, came through the door.
Lara was a petite blonde with shockingly blue eyes who had been in the same grade as I was in school.
It still amazed me sometimes that we were actually old enough for all of this, that Lara the track star could be someone’s doctor.
She squeezed my arm and said, “From the sound of things, we have good news in here!”
I nodded, the white paper crinkling behind my head. “I’m sorry. I saw blood and rushed over here.”
Concern laced her face as she sat down on a rolling stool and scooted toward my face. “Was there a lot of blood?”
“Um, honestly. No. Just a little spotting. I think I just thought it was the start of something bigger, of me losing the baby. And I just…”
She smiled supportively. “It’s good that you came in. Better safe than sorry. Always.”
“I think after losing the last two I’m just extra on edge.”
She nodded. “Of course you are. You would be abnormal if you weren’t.
You have been through a lot. But don’t forget that just because you’ve experienced losses doesn’t mean it will happen again.
” She paused. “I know you know this, but to put your mind at ease I want to reiterate: There is no discernible medical reason why you can’t carry a baby to term. ” She looked at my chart.
“Right.” I knew that. Of course I knew that.
I had two big, strong, healthy boys. I was a third-time mother here.
I should be better at this. I should be less of a wreck.
But those two miscarriages had changed me.
I had no idea how much I could mourn fetuses only a few weeks old, how attached I could become to pregnancies so quickly.
“Do you have any questions for me? Any other concerns?”
“I’m only concerned that you had to squeeze me in on what I’m sure is a very busy morning.”
She smiled warmly. “I am never too busy for my patients—especially my favorite ones. You know this.”
I nodded.
“Hey, how’s that house of yours coming?”
Irritation washed over me. The house was a total, literal nightmare.
After Caroline’s house had been destroyed in Hurricane Pearl and torn down soon after, her empty, buildable lot had seemed like a dream, a perfect solution.
But building this house had been horrible.
We were over time and over budget. In short, over it.
And I had Mom to help me every single day.
I couldn’t imagine what people did who had to do this alone.
I shook my head. “The idea of ever moving in there seems like a total pipe dream. I’m not sure it’s ever going to be finished. ”
“Yeah. It’s a tough time to build. We just added a garage that was supposed to take three months and stretched on for nine.”
I shook my head, feeling agitated. “I know the supply shortage is real, but I also feel like some of this is a product of Peachtree Bluff time.”
“Peachtree Bluff time is very, very real.” She patted my arm. “Okay. Well, you’re doing great, Sloane. You’re sure you don’t want to know the sex of this one?”
For a moment I wondered if knowing the sex would help.
Would I feel better if I could visualize a little girl or little boy?
But I couldn’t find out without Adam. “No, I’m good.
” Lara stood up and paused. “You have my cell phone. Call me anytime. Seriously. I know everything feels scary after two miscarriages.”
She helped me sit up, and I sighed as she left.
I sat there, alone, in a hospital gown, my feet swinging against the cold table.
I felt better now, but I knew this worry wouldn’t end until I was holding my baby in my arms. My third boy, likely.
At least statistically. The type-A part of me really wanted to find out what the baby was.
But there was this other part that thought this whole third child had been a surprise to begin with—at least, before the first miscarriage—and maybe we should keep that going.
I pulled out my phone, hoping I could catch Caroline before she left. But her phone went straight to voicemail. She must already be in the air.
I was going to text Adam, but I’d never told him what was going on in the first place, so it seemed unnecessary to text him now to tell him I was fine. I could tell he was upset by how worried I had been these past few weeks. So saying nothing was probably best.
I got in the car and opened the windows, letting the sea breeze fill the car as I rode through this truly iconic downtown with the most gorgeous water on the left, and a mix of cedar shake and white clapboard storefronts on the right, many of which had been on this very street, in some iteration, since the 1700s.
I took a deep breath, letting the breeze fill my lungs, calm me, and remind me that everything was going to be okay.
No matter what. As I passed the Old Burying Ground with its giant, ancient, weepy trees, filled with the remains of soldiers and families that had been here since before America was America, I let myself remember that life was short.
I didn’t need to spend so much time stressing.
As I approached the row of white clapboard houses with black shutters and white picket fences that always whispered home to me, I was feeling soothed and relaxed.
I wanted nothing more than to go into my mom’s house, the place that had always felt safest to me, and crawl under the covers for a nice long nap. But I was an adult.
So, instead, I pulled into the driveway of the construction site that was supposed to be my newer-but-still-on-brand-for-Peachtree house someday.
White clapboard, double front porch, black shutters, unpainted fence.
And wildly, deeply unfinished. A dumpster filled the corner of the lot, and a pair of porta-potties flanked the property.
Why we were paying for two I couldn’t be sure.
Sawhorses and power tools littered the lawn, and everything was covered with a sprinkling of sawdust. As I opened the back door, I thought I might scream.
It was silent. Totally, completely silent.
Not one workman was here, even though after fourteen months of construction, the house still wasn’t finished.
The kitchen cabinets were in but no counters, the fridge was in but none of the rest of the appliances, the floors were installed but not stained, and everything had been painted last week, but they’d made new scrapes and scuffs during their work this week, so the walls would have to be retouched if not completely repainted.
I felt heat rising to my face.
I kept walking, finding that the two windows that had leaked had been replaced, the molding reinstalled.
We were told we wouldn’t be charged for them, but come on.
I was certain we had been. It wouldn’t be too hard to fold in a few thousand dollars in a way we’d never be able to pinpoint.
Sheetrock dust clung to every surface. I needed to go upstairs to see if the quarter round molding had finally been put down, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I knew the answer was no, and I knew it would make me crazy.
I should have been moved into this house by now, not trying to wrap my head around a mile-long punch list. The bedroom balconies didn’t have pickets, nothing upstairs had been painted, and the shower doors were apparently backordered for six months.
I would have this baby before I had shower doors.
The mere idea of living in Mom’s guesthouse with three children made my stomach turn.
We were already so on top of one another.
I couldn’t fathom adding a baby crying all night long, waking up AJ and Taylor.
Jack, my biological dad, had been so nice about the whole thing.
It was so weird to think of him as that.
Carter would always be my dad, no matter the DNA.
But knowing that Jack was Caroline’s and my biological father had shifted the way I thought of him.
It was beginning to become more normal. Anyway, Jack had offered for us to move into his house on more than one occasion, since he and Mom were living in our family home now that they were married, but I kept turning him down because we were so close to being finished with the build.
Moving into Jack’s when we were supposed to be moving here felt like admitting defeat.
It felt like saying I had lost. I didn’t want to pack up all our stuff twice, no matter how much it felt like Mom’s guesthouse was closing in on us.
I wanted to scream at the contractor that I was pregnant and couldn’t handle the stress of this. I noticed a pair of doors that was missing the middle hinge and let out a low groan. Could anything in this house actually get finished? Ever?
I wanted to sit and cry, when I heard my sister’s voice from downstairs. “This looks more like a crime scene than a worksite.”