Epilogue
Summer
Tate left two days after we made up. I stayed behind for a lot of reasons.
First, as I was getting further along in my pregnancy, I got tired more easily, and the thought of packing and unpacking night after night was exhausting.
There were also more doctors’ appointments and a lot more pies to bake.
My business took off once I made the announcement I was expanding, and even though I’m planning to move after the baby comes, I need to bring in money in the meantime. I cut down to only waiting tables two days a week until Christmas, and then I stopped altogether.
For Christmas, Tate bought me a brand-new SUV, with built-in satellite radio and GPS system, seat and steering wheel warmers, and all-wheel drive.
It’s the only new car I’ve ever had and it handles like a dream—even with my very pregnant belly in the way.
Thank goodness he talked me into an automatic because everything has been tough now that I’m nine months pregnant.
I’m still wrapping my head around the idea of leaving New York, but it’s for the best. He has to be with his band most of the time, and the only thing keeping me here is a paid-off house, because Mom is going with me.
We visited the memory care center right after the holidays, and it’s really an amazing place, so for now I’m just putting one foot in front of the other until the baby comes.
It’s been nice having him around, too. We’ve taken this winter to just be a couple because we know everything is going to change once the baby is here.
We’re currently doing some minor renovations on the house—fixing the rotting wood on the front steps, new appliances in the kitchen, and fresh paint—to get ready to either sell or rent it.
We haven’t decided which yet, and there’s no rush since we’re going to be living here until April or May.
There’s no way I can move with a newborn, so we’re playing it by ear.
It looks like the band is going back in the studio in the spring, so that works out well for us and will give us time to get settled in Minnesota.
The only bummer is setting up a nursery that’s going to be temporary.
But that’s okay. Our little girl is going to have everything she needs, whether it’s here or in Minneapolis, because her parents are so excited to meet her.
My mother’s situation is basically a holding pattern. The nursing home agreed to keep her until the baby comes, and we pay for her to have a nurse with her at night. It’s expensive but worthwhile so we know she’s safe—and I don’t have to worry.
It’s the day before my due date, and I’ve just pulled two bourbon pecan pies out of the oven when I feel a strange wetness between my legs.
Oh, shit.
I look down in surprise as it dawns on me what this means.
It’s time.
“Tate?” I call to him as I put the pies down and put two more in the oven. I’ve had a few twinges today but I thought they were more Braxton-Hicks contractions, so I don’t think we’re leaving for the hospital just yet.
“Yeah, babe?” He comes around the corner looking hotter than hot with a baseball cap on backwards and a smudge of paint on his cheek.
“I think it’s time.”
“Time?” He’s got a paint brush in one hand and a rag in the other. “For what? You need more supplies?”
I smile. “No, silly. Time to have a baby.”
He blinks. “But your due date is tomorrow.”
I laugh. “You know that’s just an approximate date, right? It doesn’t mean it’s going to be on that exact day.”
“Oh, shit!” He drops the rag on the counter and then lays the brush on it. “What do you need me to do? Where’s your bag? Do I have time to change?”
“Easy, there,” I say, laughing. “The first thing you need to do is help me clean up this puddle on the floor from where my water broke. Then we can both get in the shower.”
“Shower? You don’t have time to shower.”
“The contractions haven’t even really started. And I just put two more pies in the oven. We have plenty of time. Come on.” I hold out my hand.
“Babe, are you sure? We should call the doctor.”
“We have time. Come on.”
He hesitates but then lets me pull him up the stairs.
We get undressed and step into the shower. He runs a hand over my belly before leaning down to kiss it. “It’s almost time, baby girl.”
I smile.
He’s so sweet, especially when it comes to our daughter. Always talking and singing to her, playing music for her, making plans for her. He’s going to be the best girl dad ever.
He’s already the best husband ever.
These last few months have been the best of my life.
I’ve never lived with a guy before so I wasn’t sure how it would be but he blended into my life seamlessly.
And honestly, it’s nice having someone around now that I’m at the end of my pregnancy.
I haven’t gained much weight, only twenty pounds, but I feel huge and things that were second nature before are infinitely harder now.
Not with Tate, though.
My husband is…everything.
That’s the only way to describe it.
And now we’re going to meet our baby.
Tate
Phoebe was born on the fourteenth of March with a shock of wispy, soft dark hair on her head and what looks like my blue eyes.
Summer grossly underestimated how long it would take for her to be born.
From the time we got out of the shower, got dressed, put a few last-minute things in the mostly packed hospital bags, got the pies out of the oven and left the house, it was less than three hours.
By seven o’clock we were eating dinner in her hospital room, the baby sleeping peacefully beside us.
Summer was a trooper, pushing her out without meds. I’m not squeamish with medical stuff, blood and guts don’t bother me, but it was tough seeing the woman I love in so much pain.
But it’s over now, and she’s eating like a woman who just ran a marathon or something.
“You should go home tonight,” she says for the tenth time.
We’ve been arguing about this for the last hour. I don’t want to leave them, but she thinks I need to sleep on our bed and get a good night’s rest.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I reiterate.
“We’re going to sleep. I already told them not to wake me overnight for the first night. I need time to recover, and so do you, because nobody is getting any sleep once we take her home.”
I grunt. “Not leaving.”
“Fine. Stay. Sleep on that stupid little cot. But don’t whine when it’s your turn to get up at three in the morning because you haven’t slept through the night in weeks.”
“Deal.”
She shakes her head. “Have I told you how sweet you are?”
“No, but I’m listening.”
She laughs.
“Excuse me—you have more flowers.” A nurse comes in carrying a huge bouquet of pink roses. I already have one from Dolly and the gang at the diner, and another from Erik and Casey—I don’t even know how they found out she was born, but I figure Tate told Sasha and the band.
“Who’s it from?” she asks me.
I hand her the card and she opens it.
“It’s from the band,” she says softly. “Angus and Ryleigh, Mick and Taryn, Sam and Kirsten, Jonny, and Sasha.”
“Hellooo…” Dolly comes breezing in carrying a massive gift bag.
“Hey!” Summer reaches for her and they hug.
“How’re you feeling, sweetie?” she asks, gazing down at her.
“I’m great. Come meet Phoebe.”
“Awww, look at her. Looks just like her daddy.”
“Didn’t you already spoil me rotten at my shower?” Summer demands as Dolly puts the bag down.
We had a shower at the diner, and Sasha and the band even flew out to attend.
It was a lot of fun—and we got so many gifts it was mind-boggling.
Luckily, some of the things are for when the baby’s a little older so they took it all back to Minnesota with them.
At least a suitcase’s worth, which is that much less we have to move when the time comes.
“This is something for you. From your mom.”
Summer pauses. “What?”
Dolly perches on the edge of the bed. “When she was first diagnosed, she knew she probably wouldn’t be here, at least not mentally, to enjoy all these moments with you.
So she wrote you letters and asked me to give them to you.
I didn’t give you the first one, the one for your wedding day because things seemed so up in the air with Tate, but now I figure you need that one and the one that’s for the day you give birth to your first child. ”
Tears puddle in Summer’s eyes as she pulls out a framed photo of her mother—holding her on what’s probably the day she was born.
“Thank you,” Summer whispers, fighting off tears. “I’m going to save the one for my wedding for another day, when I need a little wisdom from my mom. But let’s read this one together.” She hands it to me, and I start reading aloud:
Summer,
If you’re reading this, it means the disease has progressed to a point where I can’t tell you these things myself. You have no idea how much I hate that I’m not around to share this day with you, but you should know that I’m always there, watching over you and all your future babies.
This is a magical day, even though it may not seem like it at the time. Childbirth isn’t fun, and the next few weeks will require patience as you adjust to having a new little person in your lives—but savor them. Because they go by so damn fast.
Sometimes I feel like I blinked and you were all grown up.
All the nights I spend rocking you to sleep. Bandaging your scrapes and bruises. Reading you stories. Teaching you about music—take the time to savor those moments the way I wish I had. They really do go by in a flash.
But you are and will always be my greatest accomplishment, my greatest love.
Hug your babies tight and tell them Grandma Tricia loved them even before they were born. Just as I love you, my beautiful Summer.
Love, Mom
The ladies are sobbing by the end and I’m pretty emotional as well, so I wrap my arms around them for a group hug.
And then there’s a soft noise, a tiny cry, and we all freeze.
“I’ve got her,” I say, moving over to the bassinet and gently lifting the baby. “I’ve got you, baby girl.” I press a soft kiss on her forehead. “Daddy and Mommy and Grandma Dolly are all right here.”
Summer holds out her arms and I place our daughter in them. Then I sit beside her, and the three of us stare at her, somewhat awestruck.
“You two did good,” Dolly says in a voice filled with emotion. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s awesome,” Summer whispers, tearing up again.
“Not to be a Debbie Downer,” Dolly says after a moment, “but your dad stopped by the diner looking for you.”
“Ew.” Summer makes a face. “Why?”
“Said he wants to talk. Maybe find a way to build a relationship again.”
Summer snorts. “That’s not happening.”
“I told him you were pregnant and that this wasn’t the time.”
“It will never be the time,” she says. “I want nothing to do with him.”
Dolly nods. “I’ll let him know if he comes by again.”
“Thanks.” Summer smiles and then glances at me. “Have you talked to your parents?”
I shake my head. “Nope. They’ll find out when the rest of the world finds out.
The last thing we need is the inevitable negativity that would come from my family. I don’t owe them anything. If they want to be in our lives, they’re going to have to make the effort.
I’ve got an amazing wife and a beautiful baby and a whole new family, along with my band. That’s really all I need.
“You happy, babe?” I whisper once Dolly leaves and the baby is asleep.
“Very happy.” She smiles. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“You have no idea how much I love hearing that.”
“Oh, I think I do.” She leans up and presses her lips to mine.
Once upon a time I thought rock and roll was the dream—but I was wrong.
This is the dream.
Summer and Phoebe and Dolly and my band—chosen family.
As far as I’m concerned, life doesn’t get any better than that.
Thank you for reading Over the Edge. Please consider leaving a review at the retailer of your choice—it means so much to me.