Holland

After one week in the hospital and one week home, I think I’m getting the hang of this mothering thing . . . sort of. King, of course, surpassed me right away in the parenting department when he had to juggle a newborn and a sick girlfriend. He worked hard, balancing the baby’s needs with mine, giving me time to rest and time to bond with our princess. I fall in love with that man more and more every day.

“Here, let me take her so you can get some practice time in, Mommy.”

I shift Juliette from one arm to the other and smile up at him from the plush rocker in her nursery.

“I can do it later. She’s wide awake right now. I want to spend time with her.”

Truth is, I have never wanted to play the violin less in my life. Before Juliette and King, my life was all music all the time, but now that I have a family to take care of, I have no desire to play.

“You sure? You haven’t played in weeks.”

“I know, and I will. I’m just a little tired. Don’t worry, I’ll get back to it, I promise.” He hesitates, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here alone for a few hours? I can cancel if you need help.”

“No, I’m fine. Go on, get out of here—but kiss me first.” King is dressed in a suit for the first time in weeks. He has a ‘business meeting’ this afternoon. I don’t ask for details because I don’t want to know. He looks so handsome in his black suit, with his dark waves combed back and clean cut face—irresistible, really. One of our agreements when we decided to keep our baby was that I wouldn’t give up going to Juilliard. The other was that he would get out of the drug business. He’s been working on his end of the bargain for months now, and I haven’t done a thing about getting back to playing. If I stay quiet about his end of the deal, maybe he will forget about mine. Anyway, the less I know, the better. As for Juilliard, King wants to live in his penthouse in New York during the school year and come back to Texas when I’m on breaks until I graduate.

All of that seemed like a good plan until this little bundle of sweetness looked up at me with King’s big brown eyes and stole my heart.

Having eclampsia scared the shit out of me. Hell, the whole experience of having a baby scared me so much that I’m thinking Juliette will be an only child. Being sick taught me that life is fragile and unpredictable. Anything can happen. You never know when your time is up, so I want to spend as much of it with King and Juliette as possible. I can’t imagine going to Juilliard or playing in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra now. There may have to be some revisions made to our original plan. I know King’s not going to like the idea of me putting school on hold indefinitely. He had to do some fast talking and probably donate a hefty sum of money to keep my spot open this year. He still thinks that my lifelong dream is to play the violin professionally, but Juliette and King turned my dreams upside down. The only dream I have now is to spend my life loving the two most important people in my world.

King bends to press his lips against mine, and without breaking the kiss, he kneels down in front of me and places his hands on either side of my face. Lost in the fog that surrounds us in these moments, I lace my fingers behind his neck and into his hair with my free hand and prepare to be swept away until a certain little someone begins to squirm and fuss. The fog lifts as we turn our attention to Juliette, and I swear she knows what she’s doing. As soon as she has us sucked into her baby euphoria, she stills and starts cooing. Stinker.

“Always stealing the show, aren’t you, little lady?” I snuggle her closer and touch my finger to the tip of her nose. “Look, she’s smiling.”

“She probably has gas.”

We watch her until she scrunches up her face and starts to turn red, followed by a squishy furrp. We burst into laughter. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

“That’s my girl. Told ya . . . gas,” he says.

“Yeah, guess so. When will you be home?”

I stand, and he follows me to the changing table.

“In a couple of hours. Shouldn’t take long. We’re meeting at the club and then—”

I hold up my hand, gesturing him to stop. “No, no, I don’t want to know. Just go and come back safe. I love you.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, King, I’m fine. Ugh, go.”

He rolls his eyes before he disappears down the hall, only to poke his head back in a second later to ask me one last time if I’m sure I’ll be alright. Some things will never change.

I sigh and shake my head, listening for the door to close downstairs. When he’s gone and I’m finished changing Juliette, we head downstairs.

I look out the window and find myself wishing it were warmer outside. The porch swing looks inviting, but the March air is still too cool for sitting outside.

If we sat in the turret, it would feel like we were outside, but when I see the piano and my violin sitting silently in the sunlight, my stomach drops. I feel guilty not practicing or playing at all lately, but I’m busy, damn it. I’m supposed to be focusing on my baby, aren’t I?

Not according to Mama. She’s been over here every day reminding me of how many hours and minutes it’s been since I’ve practiced. She’s totally obsessed. One day, I wanted to throw my violin at her and tell her to go become a professional musician herself.

She actually brought it up to my bedroom while I was feeding Juliette and tried to swap me. I had to remind her that I was breastfeeding and she couldn’t exactly do that for me. That was a week ago. I told her I’d call if I needed her, and I don’t, so I haven’t.

Back upstairs, Juliette and I curl up in the center of our king-sized bed on top of the soft teal comforter. King decorated the house to suit me . . . no royal gold bathrooms here. Nope, just lots of open, airy spaces. He had the decorators use a soft color palette of yellows and greys throughout the first floor, and upstairs in Juliette’s room, a darker grey that we have added pink accents to now that we know she’s a girl. Our room is my favorite, though, with round top windows surrounding a window seat, crown molding and hardwood flooring, with a large, white rug in the center under our bed. The teal bedding was chosen with me in mind, and it ties in beautifully with the teal and silver wallpaper on the accent wall behind our bed. The room also boasts a fireplace with a mantel covered in my belongings and at first, empty picture frames. I’ve already filled over half of them with photos of Juliette and King.

An hour later, when Juliette is asleep, I slide my arm out from under her and scoot off the bed. I sit behind the desk that King has set up in our room so that he can work from home.

I pick through the organized folders until I find what I’m looking for, my Juilliard letter of acceptance. I’ve looked at it every day this week trying to decide what to do. It’s only March, but I need to make a decision. I know for sure I can’t go to school this fall. There is no way I can be the mother I want to be while going to Juilliard and traveling for performances. The schedule is grueling. But I still have some soul searching to do about whether or not I want to go at all. I could wait a few years until Juliette is in kindergarten, but would they take me then? Probably not. And cue the tears. Everything makes me cry lately, which is probably why King is so freaked out about leaving me alone. As with all things pregnancy related, he has read up on postpartum depression, and he follows me around with a Kleenex box trying to make everything all better. The problem is that there usually isn’t anything to make better. I cry when I see a baby bird on the edge of the deck outside or when the mailman is late. Last night, I cried when a detective solved a mystery on television.

I love him for it. I love him for a million reasons, and that makes me cry too.

I abandon the letter when my little peanut starts to squirm and cry. I gather her up and we have a good old cry together, swaying back and forth in front of the bay window.