I ran my hands over the basketball shaped roundness under the cotton shirt, a little kick here, another jab there bumping up against my palms as if the little guy nestled safely inside was saying hello.
I focused on the mattress in front of me, papers spread out, pictures a scattered mess. All these months I’d been documenting the pregnancy, every day, every kick, every ache and pain. I’d been writing down my experience, collecting any and all images--even taking one every month to show the progress of my swelling belly. And now it was time to organize what I had.
I’d started doing this from the very first doctor appointment. Hell, I’d even taken a picture of the positive pregnancy stick with my cell phone and printed it off—the very first proof of what was going to change our lives.
Mine.
Jameson’s.
And our son I carried.
I picked up the first ultrasound picture that had ever been taken, the little bean shape in the center of the black-and-white image nothing like how a baby looked as you held it in your arms, or even a profile picture that you got when you had the anatomy scan.
I’d been seven weeks pregnant for that image.
I set it down and picked up the next image, this one a couple weeks after that first ultrasound. Because I’d been spotting here and there, the doctor had been overly cautious, much to my relief. Besides, I would take as many images of the little baby inside of me as I could, things that I could show Jameson so he didn’t feel like he missed out on anything.
I looked over every printout I’d gotten from my doctor appointments that showed my weight gain, the size of my belly, the growth of the baby. I started making a journal, writing down a page or two every single night before I went to bed, nothing really of much importance in most of the entries, but a look back so that if Jameson wanted to, he could read about how many times the baby kicked that day.
And despite the fact I really had no friends therefore there was no baby shower, no surprise gathering thrown in celebration, I was fine with that. I was used to taking care of myself, or supporting myself in all ways.
Over these last months, I’d scrapped and saved every single penny, buying everything myself, stocking up on wipes and diapers early on. I’d read every magazine I could, the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book from front to back so many times the pages were dog-eared.
I was doing the best I could with what I had.
And I wished most of all Jameson was here to experience it all firsthand.
I leaned back again, crossed my legs at the ankles, and stared at the picture that sat on my dresser across from me. I couldn’t see it very clearly because of the distance, but I didn’t have to to know what the image was. It was seared in my brain. I’d memorized every single line, every single color, every facial expression.
Everything.
It was a picture of Jameson and I years ago, our graduation, one of the first milestones we’d experienced together. In the image I was staring off at the camera, a huge grin on my face. Jameson was looking down at me, a little smile curving his.
God, I couldn’t wait until he was back home. I couldn’t wait until I could share this new milestone with him. I just hoped things worked out. I just really hoped they did.
Chapter Eight
Jameson
The reunion: ten months later after Jameson left
The sporadic letters Lia and I had exchanged during all these months hadn’t been enough. Not seeing her face or hearing her voice had been the worst kind of fucking pain. Yeah, I left so I could gain knowledge and experience, to help those who needed it the most. But leaving Lia behind had been fucking awful.
Not telling her how I felt for longer than was even acceptable, I knew that all of that had to change. This wasn’t even about both of us sleeping together ten months prior. This wasn’t about me being in love with her well before that. This wasn’t even about me realizing that I'd been nothing but a coward as I lay in bed alone across the fucking ocean wishing I’d been more of a man and just confessed how I felt before I’d left.
But I was a coward. The very idea that if I’d told her how I felt, and she didn’t reciprocate those feelings, I would be gone and I couldn’t have done anything to try and make things right. The time would pass, distance would make that absence even worse, and things would be so much worse than I could ever imagine.
That’s what had gone through my mind as I kept my fucking mouth shut while in her presence, and had said nothing in the sparse letters we’d shared.
But I was back now, having come home a little earlier than projected, and all I wanted to do was surprise the only woman who had ever meant anything to me.
I pulled the SUV next to the curb in front of Lia’s one bedroom duplex. The house was old, with white siding, black decorative shutters on either side of the windows, and a seventies aesthetic feel inside.
I sat there for several minutes, just staring at the front door, wondering if I should have called her and let her know of my arrival. That would have been the right thing to do, but I’d been so damn excited.
I didn’t want to shock Lia, didn’t want to just show up unannounced like an asshole, but I’d been unable to stop myself from just coming straight here, anticipating this reunion for so long that all I’d wanted to do was act.
Lia was my life. My everything. She wasn’t just my best friend, but also my family. With parents that couldn’t care less about me because I hadn’t wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps, parents that had cut me off when I’d told them of my medical aspirations, Lia had been the only one to stick by me through it all.
I exhaled, my heart racing, my chest tight, and my stomach in knots.
Running a hand over my mouth, I felt the day-old scruff make an appearance on my cheeks and jaw. I should have shaved. I should have changed out of the clothes I’d worn on that long ass flight across the ocean.
Go in there. See her. Talk to her. Hold her and tell Lia how much you love her.
I forced myself out of the vehicle and headed to the front door. The sun was just starting to set, my flight having come in just a couple of hours ago. I’d gotten my bags and headed straight to Lia’s, not stopping anywhere because the only important thing to me was her.
Always her.
Once on the front porch I just stood there and stared at the door, hearing muffled sound on the other side. Her neighbor wasn’t home, which I was thankful for, because I wanted this moment just for us, without any background noise from someone on the other side of the wall.
I wanted this to be about her and me.
In my head I’d thought about this moment for so long that now that I finally stood here, I was scared shitless. My pulse was racing, my throat was tight and dry. I felt dizzy, my face flushed, my breathing coming out in rapid pants.
I braced a hand on the door jam and closed my eyes for a minute, exhaling slowly, trying to gather my thoughts and just focus. This shouldn’t have been as nerve wracking as it was, but when you were about to reunite with the one person who meant everything to you, when you were finally going to admit your feelings, things went upside down in your head and body.
Before I could stop myself, I brought my knuckles up and rapped three times on the door. And then I took a step back, my heart in my throat, sweat starting to form on my forehead. Only seconds had passed, but it felt like a lifetime as I waited there for her to open the door. Then I heard the lock disengage. The door swung open. And my breath caught as the world faded and I stared at Lia.