I SPACE OUT AS MY mother chatters away on the other end of the phone. “Tara bought me this adorable pair of earrings. I loved them so much I made her get a pair for you. They’re in the mail.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I half-heartedly respond.
“How’s the weather?” She changes the subject for the fourth time, trying to engage me. “It’s May and still cold here,” she says frustrated.
“Sunny and eighty-five degrees,” I inform her.
“I’m so jealous. I’m ready for some tropical climate. I keep trying to convince your father it’s time to move.”
I scoff to myself. “You know that man will never leave New York.”
“I know.” I can almost see her pout. “At least we get to visit soon. I can’t wait to see you.”
My parents make a trip out to Hawaii at least twice a year. I love it when they visit. My family is the one piece of my nearly perfect life that’s missing.
“I can’t wait to see you, too,” I respond sullenly.
“Oh, honey. Try not to think about so much.” Her voice softens. “It will happen when it’s supposed to.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She’s resolute. “Dad wants to say hi. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
“How’s my girl?” My father asks the same question in the same parental tone every time I speak to him.
“Fine, Dad.”
“Mmm hmm. How’s that husband of yours treating you?”
“Like a princess.”
“He better be. Don’t want to have to come out there and crack any skulls.”
“Dad . . .” I actually chuckle. You know that old saying girls marry their fathers? I think it’s true. A possessive, overprotective man raised me, and then I went and married one. Thankfully, as much as they are alike, my father and Kayne have a wonderful relationship.
“Miss you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me, too,” I reply, trying to mask my blue mood.
I hang up with my parents and go back to staring at the picture on my computer screen. I’ve been looking at it most of the morning. A survivor and her five-year-old son standing on the Great Wall of China smiling brightly. It was accompanied by a thank-you letter I received in my inbox.
Dear Mrs. Stevens,
I can never say thank you enough for the generosity of your organization. I never dreamed I would leave the country, let alone get to experience another culture in such an unbelievable way. Hope and happiness are sometimes hard to come by, but you have given me both.
Sincerely,
Stacy
I usually love receiving letters like this. Hope and happiness, that’s exactly what I want to provide. I receive so many requests, so many stories of pain and brutality, of people looking for an escape or distraction from their experiences, even if just temporarily. But seeing her hold her child in her arms does nothing but make me sad.
Kayne and I have been trying to conceive for over six months and nothing; not even a late period.
I inspect every feature of the little boy’s face—shaggy brown hair, big blue eyes, and olive skin. But it’s his smile that destroys me the most. He isn’t looking at the camera; he’s looking at his mother. Sometimes I wonder if I am being punished for not wanting to have children in the first place, and now that I do, more than anything, I feel like a failure as a woman. Like I’m incapable of doing the one thing a female is meant to do. Give her husband a child.
“Ellie?” I hear Kayne before I see him and discreetly wipe away the moisture in my eyes.
“Yeah?” I attempt to sound upbeat as he leans on the doorframe of my office.
“You ready to go?”
“I see you are.” He’s dressed in his black fatigues and gun holster, looking undeniably hot. My stomach flutters as I think back to the other night and how he arrested me for indecent exposure. What that man can do with handcuffs and a nightstick should be illegal.
I close my laptop and stand up, knowing I need either a cold shower or a firm fucking. Both of which will have to wait. Kayne is leaving on an overnight training exercise and dropping me off to stay with London while he and Jett are gone.
Grabbing my packed bag by the front door, I hop into our souped-up Jeep as Kayne locks up the house.
My mind wanders as we drive past all the beautifully manicured homes in the neighborhood. All pristine and vibrantly green.
“Are you and London going to behave tonight?” Kayne asks, squeezing my knee playfully.
“I can’t promise anything. We get lonely when you and Jett are gone.”
“I bet.” He smiles salaciously, no doubt picturing us together.
“Still, you better behave.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I foresee a G-rated evening of nail painting, Frozen, and pizza.”
Kayne shakes his head, his dark sunglasses concealing his eyes. “Poor Becks.”
“He’s a man, he’ll sleep through most of it,” I assure him.
Jett, London, and both children are outside on the expansive front lawn when we arrive. On cue, Layla darts across the grass to Kayne while London and Jett sit with a sleeping Beckett on a blanket.
“See, I told you.” I nudge Kayne as we walk up. “Sleeping already.”
He chuckles while throwing Layla around. “Higher, peanut butter!” she squeals, and Kayne obliges.
“What did you do?” I sit down next to London and grab a strand of her hair. She makes a face like she’s not sure how she feels about the chop job.
“You like it?” she asks unsurely.
“I love it.” Her long purplish red hair is now a shoulder-length bob.
“I feel like I needed to simplify my life.”
“So you cut off all your hair?”
“It was a start. You’ll understand when you have kids.”
I drop my eyes. “If I ever I have kids,” I mutter to myself.
London puts her hand over mine. It’s her discreet understanding gesture.
“Okay! Time to go!” Jett stands up at a breakneck speed and snatches Layla right out of the air before she drops back into Kayne’s hands.
“Daddy!” She giggles happily, and it tickles all of our hearts.
“Do you have to go?” She hugs him.
“It’s only for one night,” he assures her, their blond hair the exact same color in the sun. “And when I get back, we can go swimming in the ocean,” Jett promises her.
“With swimmies,” Layla says seriously. No messing around.
“Maybe without swimmies?” he tests the waters.
“Definitely swimmies. Mommy says I need swimmies until I can hold my breath under the water.”
“You hold your breath under water when you’re in the tub. Why can’t you do it in the ocean?”
“There are no waves or fish in the tub!”
“Oh, is that the difference?”
“Yes!” Layla confirms, like duh!
“Okay then.” He chuckles, placing Layla on the ground. “Be good for Mommy and Aunt Ellie.”
“And be a good big sister to Beckett,” she adds cheerfully.
“Yes,” Jett agrees while kissing her little forehead. I dissolve.
London and I both stand up and say good-bye to our men.
Once out of ear shot, London purrs so only I can hear. “I hate it when they leave, but god I love to watch them walk away,” she says as Kayne and Jett stride to the Jeep, muscled backs and tight asses on display.
I elbow her lightheartedly but can’t dispute her claim; their butts do look great in those pants.
LONDON AND I BOTH COLLAPSE on the bed.
“Where do you and Jett find the energy to do anything else besides run after those kids?”
“The part-time nanny is our lifesaver. She’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morning so I can actually sleep.”
We had one crazy night keeping those children occupied, out of trouble, clean, and fed. Now that Beckett is running around, he never stops moving and gets into everything. I turned my back for one second and he had unraveled an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet. Luckily, we caught him before he flushed. I left London to clean up the aftermath of that one.
“Are you sure you like my hair?” London asks self-consciously.
“Of course, I do.” I twirl a strand around my finger. “You could shave your head and still look like a supermodel. I hate you for that.”
“Stop.” She taps me lightly. “I do not look like a supermodel.”
“Sure.” I close my eyes and smile. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Whatever.” She brushes me off. “Wanna send a picture of us sleeping together to Kayne and Jett?”
I grin. “Yes.”
London grabs her phone off the nightstand and shimmies up next to me.
“Okay, close your eyes.” She positions the lens above us, rests her head on mine and then clicks away.
“Perfect.” She picks out the best picture and then hits send with the caption:
London: Bedtime is no fun without you.
Her phone dings a few seconds later.
Jett: We’ll bring the fun tomorrow night. Behave.
London: Behave? Now there’s definitely no fun in that.
Jett: Send me a pic of your tits.
London and I both crack up. Men and their one-track minds. We pull our shirts up and send the boys more sinful selfies. Us kissing, touching, fingering, coming. That should hold all four of us over until tomorrow.
When we finally do go to sleep, I realize this has been the first night in a long while I haven’t pined over what I don’t have and appreciate what I do.
I WAKE UP WITH A sharp pain in my abdomen. “Oh.” I roll over and try to breathe.
“London?” I shake her awake. “London.”
“Mmm?”
“Ouch!”
“Ellie?” She opens her eyes.
“Something’s happening.”
“Something like what?” She sits up and throws the covers off us then gasps. “Ellie, did you get your period?”
“I just had it.” I look down at the blood staining my inner thighs and the sheets. “Oh!” Another stabbing pain immobilizes me.
“Okay. Come on, up.” She scoots out of bed. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“Yes.” She rushes around her bedroom, putting on clothes and pulling her hair into a low ponytail. “Go wash off. Where’s your overnight bag?”
“Downstairs,” I tell her as I slide carefully off the bed.
“I’ll grab you a change a clothes and check on the kids. Then straight to the ER.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” I ask and she creases her eyebrows.
“Absolutely. I’m not letting anything happen to you on my watch. Better safe than having to deal with the wrath of Kayne.”
She has a point there.
“Okay.” I walk slowly into the bathroom and turn on the shower. My stomach constantly tortured with cramps. As I wash away the blood, I worry what besides my period would make me feel this way. Vaginal cancer is the only thing that comes to mind. The thought terrifies me. My mother’s sister was diagnosed at the ripe old age of thirty-five. The disease runs in my family. I dry off frantically and find my clothes on the stripped bed in London and Jett’s room. Thankfully, the blood didn’t stain the mattress. By the time I make it downstairs, London has the car keys in her hand and is kissing Layla and Beckett good-bye.
The ride to the hospital is tense and quiet. London holds my hand the whole way, while every bump jolts my fragile insides.
The ER is relatively quiet for a Saturday morning. Only one other person is in the waiting room.
“Please fill this out.” The nurse behind the counter hands me a clipboard. I sit with London and fill out the paperwork in a fog.
“Do you want me to call Kayne?” London asks as I return to the clipboard to the receptionist.
“No.” I curl into a ball next to her. “Let’s just see what the doctor has to say.” Although I’m pretty sure I might already know the answer. Maybe that’s why I can’t get pregnant? I’m sick.
“Ellie Stevens.” A male nurse calls my name. London and I follow him through the door, past several pulled curtains, until we come to an empty alcove with a bed and strange machines. It reminds me of when I was in the hospital after I was shot. I shiver. I haven’t been back to one in almost five years, and I was hoping the next time I did visit, it would be under happier circumstances.
“Okay.” The young male nurse with light-brown hair and eyes looks over my information. “I see you’ve had some cramping and bleeding?”
“Yes.”
“Any chance you could be pregnant?”
“No. I just had my period last week.”
“Okay. And I see you have a family history of vaginal cancer.”
I nod, close to bursting into tears.
“Well, I’m going to check your vitals, take some blood, and then the doctor will be in to see you.”
I nod again, incapable of speaking.
“I’m John, by the way,” he says kindly as he checks my pulse and takes my blood pressure.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply softly, sinking into myself.
When he draws my blood, I wince and look away, concentrating on the small television in the upper left-hand corner of the room.
“All right.” He picks up a tray with several vials of my blood. “I’ll go get these to the lab and the doctor should be here shortly. It’s not too busy this morning. For once.” He smiles then walks off.
I once again curl up into a ball on the thin mattress and stare off into space. The cramps haven’t subsided and there is a constant throbbing in my lower abdomen.
“How about some trashy TV?” London turns up the volume and scoots her chair closer to the bed. “I never got to watch television growing up. It was always piano lessons or French tutors or studying. It was such a sheltered existence,” she reminisces.
She has told me this before, but it doesn’t sound like she was sheltered; it sounds more like she’s cultured and worldly.
“The only words I know in French are ménage à trois.” I try to joke, but when I giggle, my sensitive muscles contract painfully.
“Those are really the only important ones,” she jests.
London strokes my hair as I lay on my side miserably, watching trashy reality TV. I don’t know how long we wait, but another episode of the same show comes on.
“Ellie Stevens?” An older man in a white coat announces my name.
“Yes, that me.” I turn onto my back. He looks at me as if he recognizes me.
“I’m Doctor Holiday.” He introduces himself as John rolls in a machine behind him. “We never formally met, but I’m the doctor who performed your surgery the night you were shot.”
“Oh, yes. I remember hearing your name.” I struggle to sit up.
“It’s good to see you doing well.” He smiles as he pulls up a chair next to me.
“I think that is yet to be determined.”
Doctor Holiday grins slightly as he pulls up my shirt. “How’s your fiancé?”
I look at him thrown. “He’s my husband now. You know him?”
“We met briefly. Quite the intense individual.”
London snickers. “That’s one way to describe him.”
Doctor Holiday pushes on my abdomen. “Any pain?”
“A little.” I wince.
“Still bleeding?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good.” He takes a seat in the chair and plays with the knobs on the machine John rolled in. “When was the last time you had your period?”
“Last week.”
“And everything seemed normal? Normal blood flow?”
I take a moment to think back. “Actually, it was lighter than usual, and it only lasted two days.”
“Mmm hmm. A little warm.” He squirts some jelly on my lower stomach. My heart starts to palpitate.
A few seconds later, a new nurse comes in with a folder. “Labs,” she announces as she hands it to John.
“I think I already know what it’s going to say.” Doctor Holiday puts the wand of the machine against my belly and swirls it around. There’s nothing at first, but then we hear it. A strange, underwater thumping sound.
“Oh, my god!” London slaps her hand over her mouth.
“Just as I suspected. John, can you confirm?”
John flips open the folder. “Yup. Positive.”
“Positive for what?” I ask, behind the curve.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Stevens, you’re pregnant. That’s your baby’s heartbeat you’re hearing.”
“What?” I repeat again in utter shock.
“Ellie, you’re pregnant!” London erupts.
“But what about the bleeding? And my period?”
“That wasn’t your period,” Dr. Holiday explains. “You were spotting. It’s normal, and the cramping is probably just from the implantation of the fertilized egg in the lining of your uterus. My advice is make an appointment with your OB as soon as possible and try to eliminate stress during your first trimester.”
The information is a little slow to sink in.
“I’m really pregnant?”
“You heard it here first,” the mild-mannered doctor beams.
“Can I hear it one more time? Just for a second?”
The doctor glances back and forth between John and London. “Sure. Why not.”
“Give me my purse.” I motion to London. She hands it to me and I pull out my phone.
“Okay.”
Dr. Holiday puts the wand back on my stomach and the fast-paced underwater sound fills the tiny room once again, and I cry.