Chapter Twenty-Nine
Juliet
I still can’t believe this is our house.
Every time I walk through the little arched doorway into the cozy living room, I get a wave of disbelief, as if I’ve stepped into someone else’s dream.
The townhouse is historical and full of quirks: uneven wooden floors, crown molding that’s chipped but charming, windows that creak when you open them.
And then there’s the backyard, small but ours, with the view of the ocean glinting in the distance.
This home, right next to Eaton, is perfect for us.
We’ll live here when we visit Gran and while we’re working on the Eaton Project which we expect, with all of its phases, will last at least three years, perhaps more.
Gran wants to live in her own apartment when we’re in Rhode Island, so she doesn’t stay with Marcel and me, but we have a standing Friday dinner with Gran and Sundays are family days where she comes to us, or we go to her and watch movies, talk, and play cards.
Today our little townhouse in Rhode Island is buzzing with excitement and people.
My family’s here and Gran is the center of everything, beaming like she owns the place.
All of Marcel’s friends have come with the kids and Cayden is able to make it this time after winning the hockey championships in Canada.
The kids are all fisting juice boxes and their dads carry tall glasses in hand, with amber liquid sloshing between ice cubes.
Ah, these men and their scotch. They are laughing and teasing like they’ve known me forever.
I laugh too, but as the baby grows I’m starting to feel a little like a bloated beach ball.
I’m seven months pregnant and fully in my third trimester. We wanted to do the gender reveal earlier, but neither Marcel nor I had the guts to look at the envelope the doctor gave us a few months back. I finally gave it to Gran and she knows the results.
“You are going to be surprised but happy,” she told us and so we planned the gender reveal party with all of our friends.
There’s cake and appetizers on every flat surface, and Gran knitted baby blankets, hats, and little baby socks which are strung across the mantle. Everywhere I look there’s some tiny reference to babies: rattles, teddy bears, pastel balloons.
I smooth my white dress over my belly; it accentuates the bump.
Marcel’s obsession with my pregnant belly borders on comical; he can’t keep his hands off me.
Every chance he gets he’s brushing his palm against the curve, like he still doesn’t quite believe it’s real.
And then he brushes my ass, my tits, and we retreat to our bedroom where we’ve had more sex than two people should.
We are always hot for each other. I think pregnancy has made me perpetually horny and that doesn’t bother Marcel at all.
We gather everyone outside as the sky softens with cloudy afternoon light. Marcel and I stand in front of two powder cannons. The chatter quiets, as anticipation crackles around us.
“Okay,” I say, laughing nervously. “So far, the predictions are ... seven for a boy and five for girl.”
“Seven for a boy because, apparently, I’m too dominant to make a daughter,” Marcel drawls, shaking his head with mock seriousness.
“And five for a girl because they say I’m fierce enough to handle one,” I add, rolling my eyes.
Laughter ripples through the crowd. “Truthfully, Marcel and I are happy with any gender. We know we will love our little real estate tycoon slash historical building restorer whether it’s a boy or a girl,” I joke.
“We thought our little Rayne was going to be a dancer,” Scarlett interjects with a laugh. “Nope. She’s getting A’s in science and wants to be a bio engineer. You just never know.”
Beckett's has his arms around Scarlett’s pregnant belly.
“Can’t wait to see what baby five will be.” Beckett kisses Scarlett’s neck and she blushes.
“Well, I can see how that happened,” I talk out of the side of my mouth whispering at Marcel.
“Just to let you know, I’m getting clipped after three,” he whispers. “Deal?”
“Deal.” We smile and there’s something super sexy about wanting a billion kids with your wife, but we have other plans for our lives.
“Well, who knows,” Selena interjects. “Our little fella is a pretty good negotiator, he might be a lawyer like his daddy.” And more love sparks the air when she and Griffin look at each other and then their beautiful little three year old boy.
Thad looks at his boyfriend and the two of them laugh. “Well, maybe someday?” Thad asks in his cute over-exaggerated manner.
“Definitely,” his boyfriend answers and they look at each other like there is no one else in the world.
“I know that look,” Marcel nuzzles my ear. “Makes me want to ditch this and take you upstairs.”
“Oh, please take me upstairs ... soon. I’m dying for you.” I answer by nuzzling his neck while our guests laugh at us.
Gran pipes up from the back, “Well, blow the cannon so we’ll all know!”
My heart’s racing as Marcel takes my hand. We count down together, and then ... Boom! Pink powder explodes into the air, drifting in soft clouds, clinging to our coats, dusting Marcel’s grey hair, painting my white dress and raining down on my belly.
A baby girl.
Everyone screams, cheers, and claps. Marcel absolutely loses it, his laughter rolling out like thunder.
He grabs me, spins me in the air even though I squeal for him not to.
He’s shouting plans already, ridiculous plans about dance recitals, and pony rides, and building her the best treehouses in Rhode Island, California, and New York, each with a different shade and architectural design.
I’m laughing and crying all at once, my hands on his face as he finally sets me down.
“We’re having a girl,” I whisper.
Gran smirks knowingly, arms folded. “And the next one will be a boy. Then another girl.”
Marcel groans, shaking his head. “Slow down, Gran.”
I kiss Marcel as he sets me down, pink powder smearing between us. “We’re having a little Grinchette.”
His grin softens, his hand instinctively sliding back over my belly. And just like that, it’s real, she’s real.
“No, we’re having an angel, just like her mama.” We kiss and the rest of the day is a blur.
When the house is finally quiet, powder still lingers faintly in the air like sugar dust settling into the cracks of our little home. Plates are stacked in the sink, balloons sag in corners, and a stray pink ribbons flutter across the floor.
Everyone’s gone, Gran is tucked into the guest room, Marcel’s friends are off to their hotels and, for the first time all day, it’s just us.
I walk upstairs and lean against the doorframe of our bedroom, watching Marcel undo his tie.
He’s still covered in streaks of pink, faint smudges in his hair, on his shirt collar.
The man looks like he wrestled a cotton candy machine and lost.
He catches me staring, and instead of looking sheepish, he smirks. “Don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I lie, grinning.
“You were. You were going to call me over-indulgent for wanting to give you and our daughter the world.”
“You’ve already given it to us,” I tell him, stepping inside.
His smirk falters into something softer, something that makes my heart soar. “A girl, Juliet. We’re having a daughter.” He says it like he’s still testing the words, making sure they’re real.
I undress, toss my clothes into the hamper, cross the room and curl onto the bed, patting the space beside me.
He sits, his hand immediately on my belly again, as if it’s magnetic. I cover his hand with mine.
“She’s going to own you,” I whisper. “You know that, right? You think you’re in charge, but she’ll have you wrapped around her little finger.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, but his eyes are damp. “Just like her mother.”
For a moment we’re silent, just breathing together, my head resting on his shoulder.
The house creaks, the ocean hums faintly beyond the windows, and it feels like the world has folded in around us, making this moment ours.
I tilt my head up to kiss his mouth; it tastes faintly of wine and frosting.
His thumb strokes over my belly, reverent and in awe. “You and her,” he murmurs against my lips. “My two girls. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you both.”
I don’t answer right away. I just kiss him again, deeper, because words aren’t enough. And when he finally pulls me close, curling his big frame around me, ready to make love.
“Grinch,” I say softly against his lips.
“Yes, my angel?” He slides down my body, ready to devour me.
“You’ve always deserved love, it’s just that those you were trying to cherish didn’t deserve you. You’re home forever now. You can say goodbye to the Grinch, and be Marcel, the builder of communities, the dearest of friends, the greatest of husbands, and soon the very best father.”
Tears drip down his cheeks as he looks into my eyes and quietly says. “I will strive everyday to make that statement true.” And then he dips his face between my legs and sends me straight to heaven.