Thursday, September 13
(Franco)
This morning has been eerily quiet. We dressed, grabbed the bag she packed yesterday, and drove to the hospital.
The smell of a hospital always makes me nauseous, and given that my stomach was already queasy, I'm in quite a state by the time they take Gem back for prep. I kiss her and tell her I'll see her in a few minutes, because they've promised I can see her before they sedate her.
There are magazines on the table next to me. My phone is in my pocket. But neither offers the kind of distraction I need, so I stand and take a walk down the hall. Not far enough that I'll miss them when they come out for me, but far enough to stretch my legs. And then I return, and the pacing begins because it's how I deal with nerves. Down to the end of the hall and back.
Repeat.
Repeat.
When I'm at the end of the hall, I see the door that Gem walked through open. My feet instinctively start walking faster. And when I see strawberry blond hair, I pick up the pace. She's clothed, holding her bag, and she looks stunned.
When I'm a few steps away, she smiles at me, and it stops me dead in my tracks. The smile is off, fear or shock is mixed in amongst excitement or happiness. I can't put my finger on it, but it's quickly making me uneasy.
"Gem?" I prompt.
One exaggerated breath in and out and her smile grows. It's forced, like she's trying not to cry. And then she shakes her hands and arms at her sides—warding off nerves or bracing herself, I'm not sure which.
"What's going on?" I whisper. Sifting through all the contradictions in this scene is not something my brain is capable of at the moment. I need answers to make sense of it.
Her smile is trembling now, but the joy in it is significantly outweighing the shock and apprehension, and it's building at an alarming rate.
The two steps to get to her, despite my urgency, are in slow motion. Her eyes never leave mine, and in the time it takes to enter her personal space, she's placated me without saying a word. I'm reassured. Comforted. Guaranteed. At peace. Loved. Needed. Wanted. And I know, without a doubt, that she's mine. And I'm hers. Whatever she's about to tell me, it will only make us stronger.
"We're pregnant." It's the sweetest and softest declaration of a dream come true I've ever heard.
I've been surprised in my life.
I've been happy.
I've been grateful.
I've been in awe.
I've been in love.
But not like this.
Not overwhelmingly all at once like this.
"You're pregnant?" I question.
She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks into her wide smile, and she repeats louder this time, "We're pregnant."
Shock's loosened its stranglehold on me, and I pick her up off the ground in a hug and yell, "Holy shit, we're having a baby!"
Gemma is laughing in my arms, and she doesn't even shush me.
The nurse walking by does, though.
Gem calls her dad and tells him briefly what's going on, so he doesn't make a trip to the hospital. He asks a few questions, but she reassures him that everything is fine. After that we head home. The ride home is quiet; we're both lost in our thoughts. Forever I've been a planner, tried to do everything in the right order, at the right time. I prided myself on being responsible and methodical. But from the very moment I met Gemma, the script got thrown out the window. I've taken chances on her, with her, that I wouldn't have considered in a million years with anyone else. I guess when you find the right person, there are no rules. You make them up as you go along.
When we get home it's empty, Adelaine's at work. I follow Gem up the stairs so she can change into different clothes that aren't sad I'm-going-to-the-hospital-to-have-an-operation-I-don't-want clothes. When she's in her bra and panties, I stop her and kneel in front of her, hands on her hips, and kiss her just below her belly button. "I can't believe my bun is warming in your oven."
Her fingers thread through my now grown out hair and I tip my chin up to catch the smile I know will meet me. "That's a lovely analogy. A little Franco or a little Gemma bun." Gem is officially the most content human I've ever seen.
"It's a little Gemma bun," I declare.
"You think it's a girl."
It's a gut feeling, maybe because I've dreamed about her so many times. I lean back on my heels and look her over, nodding all the while. "It's a girl," I confirm.
This is real.
A baby.
A baby girl I'm already in love with.
I fucking love Gemma.
And then the thoughts flood in...
I need to buy a kid's drum kit.
Decorating with Douchebags has some serious work in store to make the spare room into a nursery.
I wonder if Gem will eat pickles with ice cream.
Rebel is a good name for a little girl.
Fuck minivans, they're lame.
Gus will be a righteous godfather.
"Marry me." It's the only thought, in my patchy stream of consciousness that I verbalize, because it's the only one I can make a reality at this moment. And I'm so amped up I need action. I need to do something to propel our family forward. The time for delay is gone where she's concerned.
She's staring at me. Stunned. "Was that a question?" she asks, because my delivery was definitely telling more than asking.
I nod, and then smile sheepishly. "Sorry, my manners are shit when I get excited. I know this is sudden, but honestly, I could've asked you to marry me that first night at the Y-Not. You're kind of a big deal, Gem. And I want in on it. For life. Marry me?"
She bends over and pulls my t-shirt over my head. Apparently, we're going to discuss this with words and action. "We don't have to go the traditional route. I mean I'm already moving to America to be with you, and we have a baby on the way. I don't want you to feel obligated to marriage. We'll still be a family without a ring on my finger."
I follow suit by standing and stripping off my jeans while the debate continues. "What if I'm down with tradition? What if tradition and the idea of being married to you rocks my fucking world?"
She's smiling at my choice of words, but I know she felt the love behind them. "The tattooed, naughty American boy wants to be married?"
"Only to you," I answer seriously.
For the second time today there are happy tears in her eyes. "Only to you," she repeats whisper soft. "Let's get married."
I trace my fingertips up her arms from her wrists to her shoulders. Goosebumps break out in a riot. I love that. "I love you, Gem," I whisper because the room is suddenly too quiet, so peaceful and I don't want to disturb it. I want to live in it with her.
She places a soft kiss on my chest and speaks into my skin. "I love you, too." The words are warm as they settle in.
Reaching around behind her, I unclasp her bra and slip it down her arms. My lips want to feast on her neck. Brushing away her hair, I hold it up on top of her head. My tongue treads lightly, and she sighs. "We're going to consummate the fuck out of our engagement." Lips parted, my kiss tugs at her flesh where her neck swoops into her shoulder. Followed by a nip and peck to soothe it. I'm making my way around to stand behind her. My mouth is mapping out a path of pleasure.
"I thought you were supposed to consummate a marriage." Her words are faint, breathless.
My hands are on her hips, thumbs tucked inside her panties, as my mouth continues making a meal of her. "I vote from now on we consummate everything."
"Perfect," she moans.
The tip of my tongue glides slowly down her spine, and when I reach the small of her back, her panties start their descent. "The big things." A kiss to the skin revealed as the fabric dips below the cheek. "And the small things," I say, teeth to skin mid-thigh, biting softly. "We consummate all the things."
Releasing her panties, they drop from her knees to pool at her feet. She wastes no time in stepping out of them.
In a matter of seconds, she's stripped me of my underwear, and we're tangled on the bed. Two bodies creating friction, trading promises, dispensing love.
We were made to do this, Gemma and me.
We did, indeed, consummate the fuck out of our engagement.
For hours.
Then I held my girls while they slept.