Chapter 42
Cody
I turn around to find Emma has her scrambled eggs scattered everywhere. All over the floor, smashed into the high chair tray, in her hair… I should’ve taken her pajamas off beforehand.
Karissa comes out of the bedroom, head tilted as she puts earrings on. When she sees the mess that is her ten-month-old she comes to a stop.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, then looks to me. “Cody,” she scolds, unimpressed.
“She liked them yesterday just fine.” I shrug.
She steps closer, grabbing a washcloth.
I stop her. “I’ll clean her up, don’t worry about it.”
“Well no, now she needs a bath.” She starts wiping her down.
“You think?”
“Babe, it’s in her hair. Yes.” Karissa groans, pulling Emma out of the seat. More eggs tumble from her lap, splatting on the floor.
I laugh, hands up. “I thought she was eating them, so I kept giving her more.”
Karissa barely cracks a smile. “Think again,” she mutters, holding Emma out like she’s radioactive. Emma just laughs, kicking her legs, reaching for her mom.
But Karissa’s already in her dress, ready for church. I step in. “Hon, you’re dressed. I’ll give her a bath and clean this up.”
Her eyes flick to the clock. “We’ll be late. I’ll clean this up. You can do the bath.”
“Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll watch her better next time.”
“And you’ll give her a pancake instead,” she says, handing Emma off to me and reaching for the high chair tray.
I get her undressed and into the tub, letting her splash for a few minutes before I even think about soap. She loves baths. I know the second I pull her out it’s going to be a cry fest, so I let her have a few minutes of fun.
Something in the trash can catches my eye. A piece of blue plastic. The kind I’ve seen once before. My stomach knots, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m already pulling it out.
It says Not Pregnant.
I tilt the trash can toward me, checking to see if it’s the only one. It is. But that doesn’t stop the questions coming to my mind all at once.
I didn’t even know she had tests. We haven’t talked about another kid.
After everything this past season—the depression, the way she struggled to connect with Emma while I was working nonstop, the whole reason she started therapy—it never felt like more kids was anywhere on her radar.
Even when Ella got pregnant again so soon, Karissa’s reaction wasn’t excitement, it was pure… confusion.
I set the test on the counter, finish washing Emma, and wrap her in a towel. She smells like baby shampoo and laughs when I nuzzle her cheek, trying to distract myself.
As I get her diapered, Karissa’s voice carries over the clatter of pans. “Just put her in black leggings and that sweater hanging up, and white socks. I’ll come find her a bow when I’m done.”
“You got it,” I call back, forcing my voice to sound as normal as possible.
I brush Emma’s hair. She giggles when it touches the back of her neck every time; it’s adorable.
Out in the kitchen, Karissa’s got everything wiped down, just finishing drying the high chair tray off.
“Aw!” She smiles at Emma in my arms. “Daddy did a good job!”
“Just did what you said.” I shrug.
“You can leave her. You have to get ready,” she says, hanging the towel on the oven handle.
I set Emma on the rug, hand over her favorite baby doll and watch Karissa a second, trying to read her. She’s sorting through the diaper bag, talking to herself, making sure she has everything.
“Can we talk, hon?”
Her head snaps up, eyebrows drawing together like she’s not sure if she’s in trouble. She glances at the microwave clock.
“We have to leave in six minutes. Can we talk on the way?”
“Sure,” I say, maybe a little sharper than I mean to.
Her eyes narrow. “Did I do something?”
“It’s fine. We’ll talk on the way.” I head toward the bedroom, but her voice follows me.
“What? Cody.”
I stop, pull the test from my sweatshirt pocket, and hold it up.
“This?”
Her gaze flicks to it, then to me. She exhales slowly, like she’s already tired of this conversation.
“That’s nothing,” she says. “That’s just your wife overthinking.”
“Do you want another one?” My voice is softer now. “Were you hoping it was a yes?”
Her arms cross. “I don’t know.”
“We can talk about a baby, Karissa. I just…I thought you were a long way out from even that.”
“I know. I am. I just…I think I do want to have a baby with you too, you know? I want to give you your own flesh and blood.”
“Babe.” I breathe out, shaking my head. “My own or not, I’m gonna love any kid the same. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Good. I don’t want you to feel like you have to have another baby just for me. I’m happy.”
“You don’t want another?”
“I’d love another. But I’m not gonna force you to carry a baby.” I let out a laugh, and she does too, the tension easing.
The drive to church is quiet, but not uncomfortable, I think we’re just in our own heads. Emma’s in the back, babbling to herself. I watch her little foot kicking the seat in the rearview mirror.
Church smells the same as it has since I was a kid. Old hymnals and fresh coffee. People smile and wave when they see us, some still making comments about having a newly married glow or something.
We slip into the pew, joining my family. Karissa settles Emma on her lap and the music starts a minute later, soft at first, the piano filling the room. Emma sits back against Karissa’s chest and chews on a rubber giraffe.
I keep my arm draped around her, thumb brushing her shoulder every now and then. My mind drifts to that test in the trash. No matter what the future holds—with or without more kids—I’ll be content. And I want her to know I mean that.
When Pastor Charlie starts to preach, we swap Emma. She leans back against me, and I press a kiss to the top of her head. If there’s anything I want in life, it’s to make sure she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that with me, she’s always safe, loved, and wanted.
* * *
Wes and Addie are across from Karissa and me at the table. They’re not exactly radiating newly engaged bliss. She’s got stiff shoulders, and he’s focused way too hard on cutting his steak, jaw tight.
“So…” Jesse draws out, glancing between them. “When’s the wedding?”
Addison doesn’t look up. “June. We haven’t picked a date,” she mutters.
“Really?” Mason asks.
Addie’s eyes flick to him, sharp. “Yeah.”
Wes shoves a bite of potatoes in his mouth, still not looking up. “We’re figuring it all out.”
“I don’t know,” I say, leaning back in my chair, observing both once more. “Seems like Wesley’s in the doghouse.”
Addison shoots me a glare that could cut steel. “You want in on it too, Cody?!” she bites.
“I mean…it’s been a while since we had entertainment with dinner.” I shrug, and Karissa’s fingers instantly dig into my leg under the table. Mom’s giving me her signature glare. But my brothers laugh and Addison stabs more green beans onto her fork.
Mom clears her throat. “Well, whenever you two decide, I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”
Ella reaches for her drink. “Yeah. I’ll be there. Whenever, wherever. You just let me know.”
The conversation fizzles out, but the tension between them is still burning hot.
After we clean up, Wesley steps out onto the porch. He doesn’t say goodbye, so I know he’s not leaving, just getting some air. Something inside tugs me to follow, so I grab my sweatshirt and give Karissa a meaningful look. She nods, silently understanding.
Wesley eyes me when he hears the door, like I’m the last person he wanted to see.
“You wanna tell me what that was about?” I ask.
He sighs. “Not really.”
I cross my arms. “Why’s that?”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you suck at lying?” I lean against the porch post. “Try again.”
He can’t help but laugh once, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s just mad at me.”
“Yeah…no shit.”
He laughs again, this time more of his nerves showing. I can see him trying to find the right words.
“Just say it,” I tell him, and he sighs.
“My dad and I got into it last night. Addie was there, and I snapped at her in the midst of it all. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
“Was she trying to get involved?”
“Yeah. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even batted an eye.”
I hum, leaning against the porch rail. “Yeah, well apologize and then tell her next time not to get involved.” I shrug. To me, it’s black and white.
He huffs a laugh, but it’s humorless. “You make it sound easy.”
“’Cause it is,” I shoot back. “Say you’re sorry, tell her you love her, and move on. Don’t overcomplicate it.”
“I did apologize. I don’t even know how many times. I barely slept last night because she was still pissed,” he argues.
“What did you tell her? When you snapped, what’d you say?”
“That she needed to stay out of it…she was making it worse.”
I hum again, shifting my weight. “Yeah…blame game. No one likes that.”
“I know. But I said sorry and—”
“She just needs time to get over it,” I cut in, but not unkindly.
“You guys are gonna fight, Wes. You’re both gonna mess up.
That’s just life. The trick’s learning how to work through it.
Especially when you get married…it doesn’t magically get easier.
It’s hard, but if you love each other—and I know you do—it’ll be alright. ”
He nods, letting the words sink in. “Yeah…you’re right. I just have to give her time.”
“Right.”
“Thanks,” he says with a small nod.
“Yup.” I push off the porch post, glancing at him. “Now go sit your ass beside her and let the grudge go.”
He laughs, shaking his head, and follows me back inside without disagreement.