Chapter 22 #3
Somehow, with just a day’s notice, Charlotte has transformed her bungalow into a witchy refuge from the world, complete with thick ropes of Spanish moss dripping from the rafters and enough candles to make the house feel like it’s vibrating with spells about to be cast. The corners are full of midnight-and-black flowers and jars of dark river stones, and the air smells like cedar incense and woodsmoke from the bonfire in the backyard.
It isn’t just a party; it’s a place where magic feels real.
Just like the album Beatrice gave the world.
We toast her number one with our friends—Beatrice nursing a half-glass of champagne, even though her doctor said a full glass would be fine—and head out to dance around the bonfire in the backyard.
It’s a warm night for mid-January, and the flames make it even warmer.
Bea and I don’t need our coats as we sway to the music blasting from speakers, me cradling her belly while she swirls her arms through the air, and our friends bounce and spin around us.
Around ten, we break for snacks, and I give Bea the pendant, a swirl of heavy silver with an opal in the middle, modeled after an ancient fertility symbol.
“Oh, Archer,” she breathes, eyes shining as she lifts it from the box. “It’s so beautiful. I love it so much.”
“I was going to give it to you in the hospital,” I say as I help secure it around her neck. “But I felt like you should have it tonight, instead. To mark your first number one. The first of many, I’m sure.”
She looks up, her hand pressed to the stone at her throat. “But what if I don’t want it to be the first of many? What if I want to go out on a high note, retreat from society, and live in a castle in Ireland with a bunch of cats like Enya?”
I shrug. “I mean, as long as Charlie and I get to come, too, I guess.”
“Really?” she presses, making it clear she’s more serious about this than I thought.
“Well, I’m in New Orleans until the end of the season,” I say. “But as soon as I retire… I mean, as far as I’m concerned, the future is wide open.”
Her eyes flash. “So maybe we could do some property scouting in Scotland this summer? I mean, if you like it as much as I do? My friends there were saying I could probably get a Global Talent Visa to live there full time. And as my partner, you could come with me.” She lifts her hands in the air.
“No pressure, of course. We could just look and see. We don’t have to decide anything right now.
Or even this summer. It’s just something to consider. ”
I nod, catching her excitement. “Yeah, I’m up for that. I’ve always wanted to live abroad at some point. We’ll just have to be sure we have at least one guest room. Maybe two, in case Charlotte and Nix and your parents decide they all want to visit at the same time.”
Beatrice grips my hand, biting her bottom lip. “You’re serious? Seriously serious? You wouldn’t be sad about leaving New Orleans?”
“I’m not going to be sad about shit as long as I’m with you, baby.” I pull her into my lap, silencing her protests that she’s too heavy to sit on anyone right now with a kiss.
We’re still making out five minutes later when Beatrice lets out a soft “Oh!” of surprise and jerks her lips from mine. Before I can ask what’s wrong, my lap floods with warm liquid, and the love of my life’s eyes stretch so wide, I can’t help but laugh.
“Don’t laugh,” she says, blinking fast. “My water broke!”
“I figured,” I say, breath rushing out as the immensity of what’s about to happen hits full force. “Guess we should get our asses to the hospital and get ready to have a baby, then.”
Her hands ball into fists between us. “Yes! Oh my God. Finally. We’re going to have this baby. She’s finally going to be outside my body instead of inside, kicking the crap out of me!”
She’s loud enough that Elly, who’s filling her lemonade at the kitchen counter nearby, overhears and squeals, “Oh my God! She’s coming? Charlie’s coming?” The moment Beatrice nods, Elly shouts to the party at large, “The baby’s coming! You guys! Everyone, the baby’s coming!”
We’re instantly swept up in the helpful bustle of our delighted—and slightly drunk—friends, who dance us to the front door, then stand cheering and waving in the yard as I pull out into the street.
Nix and Bea’s parents are close behind us in their rental car.
Charlotte stays back to shut down the party, but has promised to be at the hospital in an hour or less.
Turns out, she didn’t need to rush.
Bea’s in labor for a long time. Long enough that everyone else is nodding off on the couches in the waiting room by the time her doctor finally announces it’s time to push. And push she does, practically squeezing my hand in half with a strength that doesn’t surprise me, not in the slightest.
She’s a warrior, my girl, a fact she proves as she delivers Charlotte Baylor Blue Nix with a primal roar at 6:15 the next morning.
Charlie comes into the world wailing, eight pounds, four ounces of spitfire, just like her mama, with a head of dark hair and big brown eyes so wise, I suspect she’s been here before.
She has presence, an almost unearthly beauty, and my giant hands.
Once she has those long fingers wrapped tight around my thumb, I never want her to let go. My heart leaps out of my chest to kneel at her tiny, perfect feet, vowing to love and protect her forever, no matter what.
Later, in Bea’s room, after the rest of the people who love us have gone home to get some rest, and Charlie has drifted off to sleep in her mama’s arms, I confess, “I didn’t realize it would be like this.
That I’d take one look at her and want to burn down the world to keep her safe. She’s so perfect, Bea.”
“I know, she’s the most precious peanut ever,” Bea murmurs, snuggling closer to my chest. We barely fit on the hospital bed together, but Beatrice insisted on a family cuddle, and I wasn’t about to say no to that.
Not ever. Not in this life or any other.
“And she only looks a tiny bit like Charlie Brown. So, we dodged a bullet on that one.”
“Hush, woman,” I rumble. “She’s the most beautiful baby in the entire world. Are you crazy?”
Bea looks up at me, grinning. “Just messing with you, Dad.”
I smile, loving how that sounds.
Dad. I’m this little girl’s dad, and looking at her now, I can’t believe I was ever scared of that. Because this? It’s the best feeling in the world.
“I don’t even know how to describe it,” I murmur, marveling at her sweet face as she yawns in her sleep.
“Describe what?”
“How this feels.”
“Is it like looking into the sun?” Bea teases.
I nod. “Yeah. But she’s a different kind of sunrise. One I didn’t know was out there until now.”
Bea hums beneath her breath. “A different kind of sunrise… I like that.”
By the time the nurses come to take Charlie to the nursery for a few hours, so Beatrice can get some rest, she’s written the chorus to a song about a different kind of sunrise that’s so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes.
But if the nurses are surprised by a dad getting sappy after the birth of his baby, they don’t show it.
In fact, they seem pleased with how emotional Beatrice and I both are, congratulating us in warm whispers as they wheel Charlie away, promising to bring her back as soon as she wakes up and is ready to nurse again.
“An embarrassment of riches,” Beatrice murmurs against my chest when we’re alone in bed. “I have an embarrassment of riches, Archer Blue. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her forehead. “Me, too.”
She’s right.
I’ve never felt richer than I do right now.