Chapter 51 - Tessa
“Stop fidgeting,” Kenzie muttered, swatting at my hand as I tugged at the hem of my dress. “You look beautiful.”
“I look like a beluga whale in a tarp,” I said.
“You look like a woman who’s about to bring a tiny human into the world. Now, let people love you for two hours and then I’ll bring you home, and you can hide under a blanket again. Deal?”
I didn’t answer, but I let her tuck my hair behind my ear and fix the neckline, so it didn’t strangle me. My ankles were swollen, my back hurt, and my chest felt like someone had wedged a brick right under my sternum.
The barn-turned-event-space belonging to old friends of mine glowed warm and golden.
They’d strung fairy lights from beam to beam, and someone had put mason jars of wildflowers on every table.
There was a banner that read "Welcome, Baby Girl" in loopy handwriting.
A small part of me wanted to cry just because someone had taken the time.
Another part of me wanted to walk right back to the truck and lock myself in.
But then the people started coming.
Maggie and John first, Maggie’s eyes already shiny, John carrying a wrapped box like he had no idea how it got in his hands.
The Palmers came, arms full of Tupperware and casseroles. Judy hugged me so tightly I felt my ribs creak, then immediately apologized and fussed over my belly.
Teammates’ partners, some I barely knew, pressed bags and boxes at me like offerings. Chase showed up with his sisters, who immediately burst into tears the second they saw me and tried to apologize for crying. Adam hovered at the back, fussing over the food and drinks.
I smiled.
I hugged who I was supposed to hug.
I said thank you, “oh my goodness, it’s perfect,” and “she’ll love this” when someone gave me a soft bunny blanket with satin edges that made my breath catch.
But I was floating.
Somewhere above myself.
Watching from the rafters as this woman with my face opened gifts and held up tiny onesies and said things like, “She’ll look so cute in that,” when all I could picture was Nate’s hands holding something that small.
Nate’s voice saying, She will absolutely spit up on that, and I’m still taking fifty pictures.
Kenzie made everyone play games, guess the due date, guess the baby’s weight, and baby bingo. I smiled. I went through the motions. When people laughed, I laughed three seconds late.
At one point, Maggie pressed a small, flat box into my hands.
Inside was a quilt, patchworked from fabrics I recognized. Like a piece from one of my dad’s old work shirts or the square of flannel that looked suspiciously like a shirt Nate used to wear on the farm.
“It’s for when she’s here,” Maggie said, voice trembling. “So she’s wrapped in all the people who love her.”
I sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep it together.
“Thank you,” I managed, the words shredded.
People cried when I cried, and that made me feel guilty, so I wiped my face, thanked them again, and tried to act like my heart wasn't splintering.
Someone made a little speech about how strong I was. How proud Nate would be. How this baby was a blessing amid tragedy.
I smiled.
I nodded.
Inside, all I could think was: He should be here. He should be here. He should be here.
By the time the last guest left, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and my belly felt twice as heavy. Kenzie herded me toward the truck while the others loaded gifts into the back.
“You did good,” she whispered, slipping her arm through mine.
“I feel like I just survived a tornado made of diapers,” I muttered.
“And cupcakes. Don’t forget the cupcakes.”
She tried to make me laugh. I tried for her, but it came out thin and brittle.
We pulled into my driveway just as the sky started deepening from blue to lavender. My porch looked the same as always, and that felt like a small mercy.
Something quiet, familiar, stable and mine.
Maggie and John pulled in behind us.
“Do you want us to bring everything in,” Maggie asked gently, “or leave it in the truck for tomorrow?”
“Let’s just get it inside,” I said. “I’ll sort it later.”
Later, later, later. I lived in later. Nothing existed in now.
I climbed the steps slowly, one hand on my back, one on my belly.
I opened the front door.
And froze.
The air smelled… different, like fresh paint and new wood.
My living room, the one I’d intentionally left almost untouched since coming back, was not the same.
My old sagging couch was gone. In its place sat a new sectional, wide and soft-looking, with plush, deep cushions and a throw blanket folded neatly over the back.
There was a glider in the corner, upholstered in a soft, oatmeal fabric, a tiny side table beside it with a lamp that cast a warm, golden pool over the floor.
There were baskets.
And folded baby blankets.
And a small shelf with board books lined up like teeth.
My heart slammed against my sternum.
“Wh… who.... what did you do?” I whispered.
Behind me, people started shuffling up the steps, carrying gifts. Their voices floated toward me, happy, busy, muffled.
I took a step into the room and felt the floor tilt.
“What did you do?” I said louder. My voice sounded wrong in my own ears. “Why did you touch anything?”
Maggie came in behind me, setting a bag on the new couch. “Sweetheart, we just wanted to...”
“Where’s my couch?” I demanded.
“Tessa...”
“Where is my dad’s chair?” My voice hit a new decibel as panic crawled up my throat. I spun around, wild. “Where is it? Why has everything changed?”
John started to say something, but my ears were ringing. Heat crawled up my neck, into my face, behind my eyes.
“This is my house,” I choked. “My space. The one place no one had changed, no one had turned into a story or a photo or a… what did you do?”
“Tess...” Kenzie reached for me.
I jerked away.
“You had no right,” I snapped. “None of you. You don’t get to come in here and move everything around and... and... take my things... change my life...”
I knew I wasn't making sense, but it was like everything was bubbling out of me uncontrollably.
“Tessa,” Maggie said softly, eyes filling. “We just wanted...”
“I don’t care what you wanted,” I exploded.
The words tore out of me, hot and shaking.
“Everyone always wants something. Everyone wanted Nate to be more, to give more, to be everything to everyone until he wasn’t anything anymore.
.. Everyone keeps taking things from me. JUST STOP TAKING THINGS FROM ME!”
Silence punched through the room.
I heard a step creak on the stairs. When I looked up, Eli was there, halfway down, hands braced on the railing.
His face was shadowed, lined with worry.
“Tessa,” he said calmly. “We didn't get rid of anything, just moved it.”
“Where?” My chest heaved. “Where is it? Take it back. Put it back where it was. I can’t... I can’t do this, I can’t come home and find everything different, I can’t lose anything else, I can’t...”
My vision tunnelled, and the room blurred.
“Hey,” Eli said, voice low, steady. He came the rest of the way down, closing the distance between us. “Look at me.”
I shook my head, backing away, but my back hit the glider. I hated the feel of it. Too soft, too unfamiliar, too not mine.
“Why would you do this?” I gasped. “Why would you take the last things that felt like… like me and rearrange them? Is there anything in my life that gets to stay what I knew it as?”
“You’re not listening,” Eli said, stepping closer. “Please, breathe with me. We didn't get rid of anything. I want to show you something.”
“Don’t you dare,” I whispered, pointing at him with a trembling hand. “Don’t you dare talk ...”
I was gasping for air with tears blurring my vision when Eli closed the last bit of distance, hands hovering like he wanted to reach for me but was waiting for permission.
“Tessa,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”
My breath hitched.
Someone touched my arm, Maggie, I think, but my knees gave out at the same time. Eli caught me before I hit the floor, lifting me like I weighed nothing, even though I felt like a hundred pounds of wet sand.
“Let me go,” I sobbed, shoving weakly at his chest. “Put me down, Eli, I don’t want to see any more, I don’t want...”
“I know,” he murmured, voice rough. “I know you don’t. But you have to. Just this once. Just trust me. Please, Tess.”
He started up the stairs.
I clawed at his shoulder, at his shirt, nails digging in.
“Eli...”
“I’ve got you,” he said. “I’m not letting go.”
My tears dripped hot and steady onto his neck. The baby shifted against his ribs, where my belly pressed into him.
At the top of the stairs, he turned right, not left, in the opposite direction from my bedroom. My pulse spiked.
“Eli, where are we going?” My voice was small. Terrified.
He nudged a door open with his foot.
And carried me into the nursery I had been avoiding putting together.
It smelled like fresh paint and baby powder and something else, something clean and soft and heartbreakingly new.
Eli set me gently into a chair, his hands lingering on my arms as if making sure I wouldn’t bolt.
It wasn’t just any chair.
It was my dad’s recliner.
The same worn fabric. There was a little scuff on the right arm where his wedding ring used to rub when he was thinking.
Same deep seat that had once swallowed me whole when I was five and curled into his chest to watch movies.
It felt… smaller now.
Or maybe I was just bigger.
The room around it blurred as my eyes filled, then slowly came into focus.
The walls were painted a soft, warm cream with hand-painted wildflowers climbing up from the baseboards, lupins and daisies, the same flowers that grew along the fence line of the farm.
Between them, someone had painted small horses in motion, running, rearing, grazing.
I could tell by the detail that whoever did it loved them.