Chapter 9
Grayson
“GRAYSON.”
I’m standing at the stove, cooking bacon, when Georgia yells my name, and I don’t even stop to think before sprinting her way, my heart dislodged into my stomach.
I take the steps two at a time as Georgia yells my name for a second time.
My heart is hammering hard by the time I reach the top, afraid of what I might find.
Georgia calls my name again from the direction of the baby’s room, and I hold my breath as I head in that direction.
Outside the door, I take a minute to slow my breath because whatever I might find inside, Georgia needs me to remain calm for both of us. I can’t lose my cool while she is in the middle of losing hers.
When my breathing is regulated, I lift my hand and crack open the door, only to be left confused when I find my wife sitting in the rocker we bought last week and looking as cool as a cucumber.
“Georgia? What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, keeping my steps even and unhurried as I approach her.
Her eyes widen as she takes me in, and then she doubles over, a strangled sound escaping her lips.
Sinking down on my knees in front of her, I search for the source of her pain because the strangled sound is turning into breathless gasps, so much so that she can’t get words out.
“Peach, talk to me. Please talk to me,” I beg. “Tell me what it is so I can help you.”
This only causes her to gasp harder, and I feel so helpless in that moment that my hands fall to my knees as I try to figure out what to do.
Just as I am on the verge of calling an ambulance, she looks up at me with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face.
Laughing. She was laughing.
I should be angry, but all I can feel is pure relief rushing into my lungs.
She laughs again, and I find myself smiling back at her.
“What?” I ask again, this time less hysterical. “What has you in such fits?”
Taking a deep breath, she catches enough air to finally speak around her wheezes. “You…are….just…just…look…”
She points to a mirror that’s sitting on the floor, and I turn my head to the direction she’s pointing—coming face to face with a man who looks deranged. It takes me a minute to realize it’s me.
My hair is a mess like I ran my hand through it a million times on the way up here. There are grease spots on my shirt where the bacon popped up and a wild look in my eyes. But the cherry on top of this picture is that I’m still holding a fork, clenched tightly in my fists.
The reality of what Georgia saw when I walked in sinks in, and laughter bubbles to the surface until my wife and I both have tears streaming down our faces.
“Is this why you called me up here?” I ask, trying hard to gain control of myself. “To make fun of me?”
Georgia shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing with the movement.
“No,” she says, laughter still on her lips and happy tears on her face. “This is.”
She reaches forward, grabbing my hand and placing it over her rounded stomach.
At first, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, but as my laughter dies and I start to focus, I feel it.
It’s just a tiny flutter against my hand, but I feel it.
My little boy.
My eyes jerk up to Georgia’s to find her watching me, a soft smile spread across her mouth.
“Is that him?” I ask, my voice a choked whisper even though it’s just the two of us here.
Georgia nods, her hand coming up to caress my face while I kneel at her lap.
“How long have you been able to feel him?”
“Just a few days. At first, I didn’t realize what it was, but then it started happening a lot. It finally hit me that I was feeling our little boy.”
My throat aches as I try to swallow. I know this has been a worry for Georgia, and honestly, it’s been a worry for me, too.
The doctor told us that with an anterior placenta, it could be some time before we had this moment, and we understood that.
But now I realize how much we had both been holding our breath.
“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” Georgia asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Sliding my hand under her shirt so I can press my hand closer to her stomach, I smile up at her. “Yeah, Peach. It’s pretty great.”
______________________
“Jake.”
“Ryan.”
“Wyatt.”
Georgia and I have been throwing around names for the last hour while we drove to a store a couple of towns over. We are going to pick out things for the nursery today, and Georgia found a baby boutique she wanted to visit.
I took the whole day off so I could spend time with her. I don’t want to miss out on any part of this.
Except maybe the whole name thing because I’m starting to get a headache behind my left eye, and we are no closer to agreeing on a name than when we started.
Who knew that picking out someone’s forever name could be so hard?
Beside me, Georgia groans in the passenger seat, putting her head into her hands and shaking it.
“We are never going to figure this out, are we?” she asks, her question muffled by her hands.
“Hey,” I say, reaching over and tugging on her wrist so I can see her face, “we have time. We will figure this out.”
She takes a deep breath, holding it for a second before she pushes it out. “You’re right. I’m being dramatic.”
My eyes slice away from her back to the road ahead, and my lips twitch, fighting back a smile.
“I saw that,” she says, exasperation coloring her voice.
The smile slips free. “You said it. Not me. I know better.”
If I weren’t still holding on to her wrist, she probably would have swatted me, but I tighten my hold just a little so she can’t escape.
Huffing, she says, “You’re a nuisance. I hope you know that.”
My smile grows bigger, revealing my teeth. “Yeah, but I’m your nuisance, and that’s all that matters.”
Georgia rolls her eyes, but there’s happiness there.
Soon enough, we are pulling into the parking lot of the boutique. I hop out of the truck and jog to Georgia’s side to help her out. She already has the door open when I get there, but before she can jump out, I place my hands on each side of her waist and lift her out of the truck.
“I like opening your door for you. Stop stealing my thunder,” I tease, kissing her temple and preening a little as she leans into it.
“Fine. Next time I’ll wait for you. I’ll let you be my knight in shining armor.”
“Thank you,” I say, tugging on a strand of her hair before I grab her hand and walk to the store. “So, do you have any ideas for the nursery?”
An evil glint sparks in her eyes when she turns to me. “Oh, Grayson. I have a lot of ideas.”
Then she pulls a shopping list out of her pocket, and I watch in horror. The paper is filled, front and back, with a list of items.
I have a feeling this trip might hurt my bank account and test my patience for shopping.