Alina
Standing in front of the bathroom vanity, one hand braced on the side of the counter, I swipe a hand towel over the fogged-up mirror, taking in the image of the woman I see staring back at me.
Her eyes are big, bright, and as blue as the sky on a clear day.
Her long, purplish hair is smooth and falls down just past her shoulders. She’s been wearing it in many new styles, even when in public: up, down, half-up, curly, straight, in a messy topknot.
Inching closer, I inspect her face, picking at a few target areas, then honing in on the new chubbiness to her cheeks, and smiling.
I am at peace with myself.
I see a face with a too-full bottom lip, a too-straight nose, two enormous blue eyes, the chubby cheeks and the makings of a double chin, and it makes me giggle. I’m happy knowing and seeing how my body is changing, preparing itself for motherhood. And for once in my life, I welcome all the changes, even look forward to them. I no longer see all the flaws. Instead, I see the beauty my husband makes sure to tell me he sees when he looks at me, every single day. Whispers of how exquisite, strong, and talented I am, words I’m starting to trust and believe more times than not.
I had been tired, chalking it up to all the late nights rehearsing and writing music. My periods have always been irregular, a side-effect of my bulimia, so the thought that I might be pregnant never crossed my mind. Not until Slater made a comment one night about how my tits were looking more luscious than ever, then quickly followed his newfound declaration with a thorough physical investigation, one involving his hands and mouth. The tiny gasp of pain I’d felt as his mouth wrapped around one nipple, then the other, suddenly confirmed what I hadn’t wanted to get my hopes up about…
“Slater?” I test whether he’s awake. My head rests on his naked chest as we lie in our bed, sated.
“Yeah, baby?” He trails his fingers along my naked back.
“My boobs ache.”
“Shit, that’s fuck hot. My cock’s aching just thinking about them. Give me another five,” he says. I lean up to give him some stink eye, but end up laughing, because he’s just so him.
“I’m serious,” I say.
“Me too. Can prove it, even,” he says, smirking cockily.
“I think I might be pregnant,” I say, then rest my head back on his chest, allowing the idea to settle between us.
“Ali?” Slater maneuvers us so we’re face to face, lying on our sides.
“Yeah?” I whisper, averting my eyes from his, a little nervous about the possibility yet worried about either outcome. I want kids; I do, desperately. But along with a pregnancy comes the fear of how I’ll handle the way my body will change and grow. How will I handle seeing the weight gain week to week, month to month? What happens if I slip? I’d never forgive myself. What if She comes back? These are the thoughts that plague my mind. Not whether I want a boy or a girl, or all the things a first-time mother should be thinking about. Instead, I’m worried I might not be strong enough to deserve this gift, a gift I so want to be ecstatic about.
“You need to get dressed,” Slater says, slipping out from under me, and my heart stills, worried that he might be upset. “Alina. I need you to get dressed, baby,” he says tenderly, repeating himself. My eyes shift to his, and I feel a weight lift off my shoulders when I see the shit-eating grin on his handsome face, his cinnamon eyes looking at me with so much love.
“What is it?” I manage to get out.
“We need to go to the drugstore,” he beams, kissing my head before rolling out of bed and reaching for his clothes.
“Slate, it’s two in the morning.” I nod to the clock on the nightstand.
“Don’t care. No way I can handle waiting until Monday for the doctor. We have to know, Ali. I can hear your thoughts. If you are, you’ll be an incredible mom. Trust that, sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but I know you. You probably already love our baby more than anything, and we’re not even sure he or she’s actually cooking in there yet.” He leans over and places a gentle kiss on my stomach. “Ready?”
“I think so,” I say hoarsely, barely managing to get the words out as I wipe away the few tears his words have caused.
Forty-five minutes later, with a column of six plus signs on six plastic sticks staring back at us from the bathroom counter, Slater and I find out we are definitely having a baby.
Now I’m not saying every day is a good day. I’ll always be a work in progress, and my guard is always up, waiting in case She tries to come back into my life. She has a few times over the last few years, but with Slater by my side, I’ve been able to shut Her down. My goal? To keep Her out. I still visit Kristie and attend a few groups, and I’ve even gone so far as becoming an open book about my illness with our fans and the media, sharing my journey and my road to recovery in hopes it might help someone else. I still have my lists tucked away inside that beautiful box Slater gave me, the same one I carry with me everywhere. On days when I feel I need a pick-me-up, I pull it out and use it to help ground me. To remind myself that I am enough.
Roar!
Ping!
Roar!
Ping!
I can hear both my and Slater’s phones going off.
Damn group chats.
“Somebody’s gonna get us in trouble again if she doesn’t shake a leg,” Slater says, coming up behind me and wrapping his strong, protective arms around my distended belly. I knew he was standing in the threshold watching me, but I knew if I acknowledged him, we’d never get out of here on time.
“I know, I know. I promise, I’m almost ready,” I lie, and he kisses the back of my neck, before turning me around and going onto his knees so he’s eye level with my stomach.
“Your mother is a beautiful fibber. Do you know that?” he asks, and then looks up when he sees my whole belly shaking from my laughter.
“Don’t tell him that!” I laugh, swatting his arm. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
“The luckiest.” he chuckles, kissing our son as he so often does, before he stands back up and pulls me in for a kiss.
“Don’t listen to your daddy, baby boy, even if he is the hottest man alive.”
“How long will you be, babe? Should I factor in a quickie?” he asks, looking down at his phone, grinning because I have been even more ravenous for him since becoming pregnant six months ago.
“No. Paisley will really kill us,” I pout, then say reluctantly, “Ten minutes, I just need ten more minutes,” as I reach for my foundation and blush. “And tell Paisley I said to calm down, we’re always late and she knows it. Besides, it’s Sunday. It’s not like Rusty doesn’t know we’re coming.”
“On it,” Slater says, leaning against the counter and tapping away furiously.
“Oh…and remind Fife to bring the lyrics to “Greenroom”. I want you to hear them.”
“Tell me I inspired that one?” Slater says giving me a knowing smile referring to the latest song I wrote with Fife, and although I won’t admit it outright, this song is definitely inspired by our sexy times. I’m still writing lyrics, something that’s become more therapeutic than ever. I know I’ll never stop. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but Fife’s and my collaboration called Fighting Weight, is generating Grammy-nomination buzz for both Song- and Record of the Year. Slater swears it’s because Fife and I write gold, but I tend to disagree, arguing instead it’s due to Sicken Union putting their unique spin on the title song, not to mention the seductive voice of a certain lead singer who’s responsible for making it hit double platinum.
Happenstance is still together; we’ve released two albums that have charted to number one on Billboard and on a bunch of other Top 40 lists. Our latest album, Beasts of Beauty, hit gold in both Canada and the US. It’s been surreal. We’ve done a few small tours around North America, and are considering a world tour in the not-too-distant future, but my first priority is to my little man, and so for now, the world will have to wait.
“Sounds like you could have, eh?” I say. “But lyricists never share their secrets to their inspirations, didn’t you know?” I tease in Slater’s direction, and his laugh hits me between the legs like always. Tossing my makeup aside, I shift over, positioning myself between his legs as best as I can with my belly in the way. I wrap my arms around his neck. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You sure did. That night was so hot. Inspiring, really…”
“Jesus, Alina,” he says, rising and placing a kiss on that sweet spot between my neck and collarbone.
“On second thought, maybe you’d better text everyone and tell them to start without us,” I laugh, while lifting my arms above my head so Slater can remove my sundress.
“This never gets old, Ali. Thank you for giving me everything you are.”
“Thank you for fighting alongside me. We’re doing it, everyday, together.”
“Always, baby. Now I need to feel you.”
He might not call me “Shadow” anymore, but Slater Jenkins will forever be my light in the dark, and for that I’m eternally grateful.
I am enough…
The End