27. Cooper
TWENTY-SEVEN
Cooper
W hen I first saw her walking down the sidewalk, I hadn’t fully taken in her appearance. I was too stunned that she was really there in front of me. It wasn’t until she’d turned into the alcove of the store that my eyes had drifted down to her very obvious bump.
For a moment, I thought it was a mistake to come here, to see her when I didn’t know what to expect. My stomach dropped and my heart shattered into a million pieces at my feet. People walked past me on the busy sidewalk, some knocking into me, oblivious to my torment.
I’d stayed rooted to the spot in shock, unsure how to proceed, until I came to the realization that I needed to confront her. I threw myself into action. She’d seen me after all and I’m not one for running away from my problems.
The last seven months have been the worst of my life without her.
I was drunk nearly every night for five months and worked all hours of the day, trying my hardest to rid her from my mind.
Everywhere in my apartment and the office has reminded me of her, to the point that I even considered relocating.
I was halfway through a case of whiskey when Seb and Jamison came over and staged an intervention, kicking my fully clothed ass into the shower and telling me to get a grip.
They said if I didn’t think I could get over her, which based on the previous five months they didn’t feel was likely, I needed to go and get her.
They were right. I did need to go and get her, but I needed to work on myself first. If I didn’t think I was good enough or able to provide her with everything she deserves, then why should she?
I found a therapist I clicked with and started having sessions.
For the last two months I’ve been twice a week, and mentally I’m in the best shape of my life.
Even though my mom has told me often, I know now that I’m nothing like my father.
I won’t make the same mistakes as him. Meghan is the only woman I could see myself being with.
She’s it for me, but seeing her today… everything just crashed and burned in front of me.
Now I’m here, sitting in the car with the woman I love, taking her to the hospital so she can give birth to another man’s child.
Her contractions are getting closer and closer and each time, even though she tries to hide it, I can feel her pain.
It’s like a knife being plunged straight into my heart .
I want to make it better… to soothe her. I want to hold her and tell her she’s doing great, but that isn’t my role in her life anymore. I’m not sure it ever truly was my role, no matter how much I wanted it to be.
“Who is he, Meghan?” I demand, my grip tensing on the steering wheel. Something her dad said to me has made me think I’m not quite aware of the full picture.
“It’s about time you showed up.”
She’s so quiet that when I stop at a red light I flick my eyes away from the road to look at her.
She’s looking out of the window, the backs of her fingers pressed against her lips as she leans her elbow on the door.
Her blonde hair has gone dark from the rain and strands are plastered against the sides of her face. I sigh, prepared to wait her out.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“It’s you,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.
“What did you say?” I ask, my eyes darting to hers again. She sits up straighter, clearing her throat as if to give herself the strength needed before responding.
“I said… it’s you. You’re my baby’s father,” she affirms.
She lifts her chin, as if daring me to argue with her, before rubbing her hand across the expanse of her bump as if to soothe her child… our child.
“That can’t be true,” I say in disbelief, but I don’t really believe my own words, because I know she wouldn’t lie to me.
“It can be, and it is. I found out when I came back for my Mom’s funeral. I wasn’t feeling great and so I went to see my old doctor.”
I’m about to ask her why she left, why she didn’t tell me, if she was ever going to tell me, but a car honks behind us and another contraction takes her over. Now isn’t the time to interrogate her, despite the million questions racing through my mind.
When our baby arrives, we’ll have time to talk, but right now isn’t the time.
My focus needs to be on getting us to the hospital.
A weight I didn’t realize was on my shoulders lifts, as it dawns on me that there isn’t anybody else in her life.
Only to return at the realization that if I hadn’t come for her, she might never have told me.
I need to put aside the feelings stirring inside of me, at least for now.
It doesn’t take long for us to arrive at the hospital and once I’ve parked, I help Meghan inside and to the front desk.
“How can I help you?” a friendly nurse who looks to be in her sixties asks.
“I’m in labor. My water broke,” Meghan breathes out.
“Okay, my dear, let’s get you checked in. And who might you be?” the nurse asks as she types away on her keyboard.
“I’m… I’m the baby’s dad,” I declare as a feeling of awe blooms inside my chest.
Fuck.
I’m going to be a dad.
A small part of me and Meghan has been growing inside her for the last nine months.
I have a family of my own .
I don’t even know if we’re having a boy or girl.
The nurse smiles up at me, a look of understanding on her face as I try to process everything, before turning to Meghan to continue checking her in.
Once we’re seen to a room and Meghan is checked over, there isn’t much to do except wait.
She’s about five centimeters dilated and has been administered an epidural to help with the pain.
The sound of our baby’s heartbeat is the only sound in the room.
She’s lying back in the bed, one hand rubbing her stomach and her eyes closed.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I ask, unable to keep quiet any longer.
Opening her eyes, she stares over at me with a look of serenity on her face. Her gaze roams my features, for what I’m not sure.
“Cooper…” she murmurs.
The door swings open and in rushes a man that looks so familiar I can only assume he’s Meghan’s father. Hurrying to her side, he smooths back her hair before placing a kiss on her forehead.
“Sweetheart, how are you doing?”
“I’m okay, dad. I was scared, but now that I’m here and the doctors have checked me over, I’m feeling ready,” she replies and he pulls her in for a hug .
Clearing my throat, I stand from my chair and extend my hand toward her father.
“Afternoon, sir. I’m Cooper Jackson. We spoke on the phone.”
He places his hand in mine. His grip is strong and sure as he looks me up and down before shaking it.
“I’m Warren. I’ve heard a lot about you, Cooper. Surprised it took you this long to come.”
“Dad, now’s not the time,” Meghan admonishes.
“I would have been here a lot sooner had I known, sir.” My eyes dart to Meghan and she looks away, guilt written all over her face.
It’s the truth. Had I known we were having a baby, I would have been here right away. He doesn’t respond to my statement, he just nods before turning back to Meghan, whispering in soothing tones to her.
Returning to my seat, I watch the heart rate monitor attached to Meghan's stomach as they have a private discussion.
“Cooper?” Meghan calls, bringing me out of my reverie. “Would you like to stay in the room for the birth?” she asks, fiddling with her hands in her lap.
“If that’s okay, yes I would.”
“I would love that,” she says, sincerity coating her words.
Her father leaves to grab a coffee and when he returns, it isn’t long before things start moving quickly. Before we know it, Meghan is ten centimeters dilated, and it’s time to push.
Although I’m grateful that I was able to witness the birth of my first child, a still tension fills the room. I’m in awe when my little girl is placed on Meghan’s chest, but the feeling is quickly replaced with anger at Meghan, that she ran away, that I could have missed such a momentous occasion.
If I’d missed this moment, would I have been able to forgive her?
I want to say I would have, but if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t be certain I would.
Elizabeth Rosie Jackson was born at seven-fifty-five in the evening on October fifth, weighing a healthy seven pounds and six ounces.
She’s gorgeous and I still can’t believe that Meghan and I created her. She has her mom’s blonde hair, button nose and feminine features, and my blue eyes—although Meghan thinks she looks more like me than her.
Not long after her birth, when everyone had left us to bond with our newborn, Meghan had pulled out a list of name ideas. She gave me the privilege of choosing Elizabeth’s first name, her only stipulation was on the middle name.
When we introduced Elizabeth, or Lizzie for short, to her Grandpa Warren he cried at her name. He thanked us for giving her the middle name of Rosie and said that he loved that Lizzie would always carry a part of her late grandma with her.
While Meghan and Lizzie slept, I reached a decision. I’m going to ask Meghan to move back to New York and live with me. They’re my family after all, and I'll be damned if I let them go. I might be mad at her because of the last seven months, but realistically it doesn’t change my feelings for her.
Love isn’t that easy to erase .
The nurse has just left after helping Meghan give Lizzie her first feed of the day and she’s now swaddled up in her crib. Meghan has a post-birth glow about her. Her cheeks are still flushed from the delivery, and a beautiful smile graces her plump lips as she looks down at Lizzie.
“She’s so tiny, nothing like a pumpkin.”
“She’s perfect,” I whisper back and after a moment of silence, “We need to talk… about what happens next.”
Dragging my gaze away from Lizzie and up to Meghan—she’s still looking at Lizzie, but nods her head in agreement.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”