Chapter 30
Mason
It’s Sunday morning, and Cody and Karissa’s house looks like a bomb went off.
There are toys scattered from one end of the living room to the other—stuffed animals under the coffee table, sippy cups and bottles lined up by the sink. It looks like we’re running a daycare.
We’ve been babysitting Emma and Gage since Friday. Two days. That’s it. And somehow it feels like two weeks.
When we left the hospital after visiting Wes and Addie’s baby, Cody and Karissa walked out with us.
They were whispering about maybe canceling their weekend getaway.
A weekend we have all said they needed. Megan and I didn’t get why at first, until they explained Mom was supposed to have their kids.
But now with Weston coming two weeks early, Mom would be pulled in two directions, and they didn’t want to overwhelm her.
Wesley can’t just take time off. Farming doesn’t work like that.
Especially in early May with rain coming next week. He’s planting corn.
All that to say, before I could blink, Megan offered us up to watch the kids.
Cody looked straight at me first—one of those silent She serious? With everything going on? looks.
Truth is, I was surprised too. Questioned it once we were alone in the truck. She just shrugged and said she was fine. Really, truly fine. Said holding Weston, standing in that hospital room, that’s when she felt it. A quiet kind of peace only God can give.
And for the next few days, I kept waiting for her to crack. To break down behind closed doors. But she didn’t. Not once. She really does seem okay. And I’m grateful. I feel like I can breathe again.
Of course I want a baby. I’d be thrilled if she walked downstairs tomorrow waving a positive test. But the pressure? The timing charts? The way everything became scheduled and monitored and forced? It was a lot.
And yeah, I’m a guy. My wife tells me to meet her upstairs, I go. But the motive behind it…the countdown…the expectation… It messed with me more than I thought it would. It stopped feeling like two people making love and started feeling like a test I kept failing.
Now, the house is finally quiet. Both kids are still asleep, the sun just starting to climb over the horizon. There’s a haze of light spilling through the blinds and the faint hum of the baby monitor on the counter.
I’m on my second cup of coffee, sitting at the kitchen table like I’ve aged a decade overnight. My back hurts. My brain hurts. My respect for Cody and Karissa has tripled.
Megan was up with Gage three times last night, rocking him, humming under her breath, whispering soft shhs.
I took the middle shift, sometime around three, when he decided crying was better than sleeping.
Then Emma woke up coughing, asking for water, and insisted it had to be in the pink cup, not the blue one.
I don’t think either of us slept more than two hours straight. And I only got up once.
Megan tiptoes out of the bedroom a few minutes later. Her hair’s in a knot, her silk pink-and-white pajama set buttoned incorrectly. It looks like she’s one of the survivors from whatever explosion hit this house.
She doesn’t say anything, just pours a large cup of coffee and joins me on the couch. “Huh, this better do the trick,” she says with a tired smile.
I reach for her, rubbing my hand against her back. “You didn’t have to get up yet.”
“I wanted to have a few minutes of peace before all hell broke loose.”
I can’t help but laugh and kiss her cheek.
We sit there for five minutes, just listening to the sound of the baby monitors and the quiet before Megan clears her throat.
“When do you think they’ll be home?”
I lean back against the couch. “Not sure. I don’t know how they do this every day.”
Megan shakes her head, looking down into her coffee. “Me either.”
And then, right on cue, the baby monitor crackles to life. Gage’s cry starts small, soft and whiny at first, but within seconds it’s a full-on wail.
Megan’s already on her feet before I can move. She starts toward the stairs, and as soon as her hand hits the railing, Emma’s voice joins in—high-pitched, loud, demanding.
I groan and push myself up after her. “And there goes the peace.”
Megan glances back at me with a tired grin.
The next few hours blur together in a haze of noise, crumbs, and tiny demands.
Emma’s three, which means she’s part angel, part dictator.
One minute she’s giggling and showing me her new dance moves, the next she’s crying because I cut her sandwich into squares instead of triangles.
Gage is everywhere—straight for the dog bowl, the stairs, basically anything he shouldn’t play with.
He’s got two teeth coming in and a temper to match, sucking and chewing on anything he can put in his mouth.
Megan’s hair’s falling out of her bun. She’s exhausted, but she keeps going, kneeling on the rug to stack blocks, wiping away Gage’s drool, and fixing Emma’s butterfly wing costume every time it shifts.
Watching her like this, I realize again just how good she is with kids.
Emma squeals the second she sees Cody and Karissa pull in, running full speed into her mom’s arms. Gage lights up the minute Cody gets ahold of him. All smiles, pointing and babbling about who knows what.
Once they bring their stuff in and get settled, Cody laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “You two look like you’ve been through basic training.”
“Felt like it,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
They thank us at least fifteen times, shoving cash in our pockets even though we try to hand it back.
The second my truck doors close, the silence hits me smack in the face. No more crying. No singing. No clatter of toys hitting the floor. Just quiet.
Megan leans her head against the seat, sighing hard. “I can’t wait to go to bed tonight.”
“Same,” I mutter, glancing over at her. Her eyes are half shut. She looks so wiped yet so beautiful at the same time.
We get home. It’s barely past five but feels like midnight.
She tosses a frozen pizza in the oven and heads straight for the shower.
I set plates out on the coffee table, a bottle of wine—pouring two glasses—and queue up the next episode of One Tree Hill—our latest binge-watch. Megan’s choice, of course.
When she comes out, her hair’s wrapped in a towel, she’s in her favorite pink pajama set, and her pink fuzzy slippers drag across the floor.
I smile from the couch and her whole face softens. “Oh, honey, I love you,” she says, her voice half whine, half laugh as she steers her way over to me.
That makes me smile.
She sinks down beside me, tucking her legs under the blanket, the smell of her shampoo lingering in the air, and we eat in company of the TV playing.
But when the plates are empty and the wine’s half gone, she leans her head on my shoulder and lets out a deep sigh.
“You okay? Just tired?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles, and then picks her head up to look at me. Her eyes wandering everywhere but at mine.
“What is it?” I shift in my seat.
Her sigh is heavy, and then she looks at me. “I don’t know if I want kids anymore.”
I blink twice, waiting for her to say she’s joking, but she doesn’t.
“B-because of this weekend?” I stutter.
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
I rub my jaw, trying to find the right words. “Well, Meg—”
“I’m not saying never,” she says quickly. “I know how bad I wanted it. How hard we’ve prayed for it. Cried over it. But after this weekend… I don’t know, maybe God showed me why it’s not supposed to happen. At least not yet.”
Her voice is unsteady, her hands fidgety on the stem of her wineglass, like she can’t believe what’s coming out of her mouth.
I reach for her glass slowly, setting it down on the coffee table. My mind is spinning with what to say. When I look back at her, she’s holding her breath, her blue eyes wet. The woman I love more than anything in the world looks like she’s bracing for impact.
“That’s okay.” I reach for her, hand on her thigh. “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.”
“But I feel crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” I say. “What part from this weekend made you come to this?”
“The nights. Getting up like that with Gage. Him needing nothing. I thought only newborns did that. I didn’t think it still happened at his age.
I mean, he’s almost one. And Emma? She…she’s three and she still got up too.
You’re telling me for at least three years straight you’re not guaranteed a full night’s sleep? ”
I laugh and shrug. “I guess not? I don’t really know. I’m sure every kid is different.”
“Okay, well, you switch to work nights every few months, which means you’re not going to be helpful.
It would just be me. And then what? I have to go teach all day after getting three hours of sleep?
No wonder she has depression; it seems exhausting and lonely. I can’t do that, Mason. Not right now.”
The living room goes quiet except for the TV still humming in the background. I reach for the remote and pause it, the sudden silence settling between us.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Then we don’t have to right now. We’ll take some extra precautions and—”
“You’re not upset?” she asks, voice small but hopeful.
“Of course not.” I turn toward her fully. “You’re not saying never…right?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just definitely not right now.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Then right now isn’t our time. We’ll do our part and leave the rest to God.”
Her chin trembles, just barely, and a tear slips down before she can wipe it. I pull her into my chest, and she folds into me like she was waiting for permission to let go.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I murmur into her hair.
We sit there for a long while, quiet, her sniffling every so often, my thumb tracing small circles on her back.
“Mason?” she whispers after a few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“Can you love me how you used to? Before everything got so serious?”
My chest tightens in the best way. I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, my thumb brushing her cheek.
“Yeah, baby,” I say softly.
She moves closer, sliding her hand over my shoulder, and when our mouths meet, it’s slow, gentle, like we’re rediscovering something we almost forgot.
She shifts into my lap and my hands find her hips, pulling her in. The kiss deepens. She threads her fingers into my hair, and her body presses closer. I feel her relax, melting into me.
I slide my palms up her back, guiding her gently until she eases down against the cushions, pulling me with her. The couch shifts under our weight.
“You wanna stay here?”
She hums a yes, her quiet laugh mingling between our lips. I settle my body closer as her hands slide under my shirt, slow and teasing, and the night settles around us as we lose ourselves in each other again.