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“And what about school? You have to promise me you won’t give up your dreams.”
“I have no intention of giving up anything. I can have it all with Paul’s help.”
He kisses my forehead. “Paul, can you go get my wife? We’re going out to celebrate.”
Paul hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave me alone, afraid my dad will say something to upset me. “It’s okay. I’ll be right out.”
Paul nods and leaves the room. Once he’s gone my dad says, “I know I seem like a hardass sometimes, and it’s hard to be affectionate, but I really do love you.”
I swallow back tears, my voice thick with emotion when I say, “I know. I love you, too.”
Three Months Later.
I’m finally walking down the aisle.
Not that aisle; I’m graduating. Friends and family pile into the university theater. The air conditioning is broken; people are sweaty and uncomfortable crammed inside the narrow seats. It’s a long ceremony and I was fairly certain if the valedictorian didn’t wrap things up he’d be heckled off stage.
Despite the grumpy atmosphere, I’m relieved. It’s been a long four years and a lot of hard work, but I’ve finally made it. The ceremony wraps up and the crowd roars as my graduating class throws our caps into the air.
In the mayhem I find Paul, my parents, and the rest of my family sitting near the back toward the exit. Once we finally make it out of the cluster-fuck of a parking lot, we meet up with Emily and her family at an Indian restaurant. Everyone in my family is giving me gifts. Paul just smirks, empty handed.
“What is that look for?” I ask him.
“You’ll see.”
I pick at my food. I’m not sure exactly what I ordered but I think the meat is goat. There’s also something with curry and yogurt. Every element on the plate has a mush consistency, and the smell is definitely not working for me. The one and only time I tried Indian food in the past, I enjoyed it—I didn’t know what I was eating then either, but it tasted good. Pregnancy has changed my sense of smell and taste. So far this baby inside of me seems to only like candy bars. That’s all I crave, and I’m his/her powerless servant. Luckily I have Paul around to make sure I have a balanced diet or it would be all sugar all the time.
“What do you mean, I’ll see?” I ask. “What will I see?”
My mom leans over and with an exaggerated *wink, wink* says, “He means you’ll see later tonight.”
“Ew, Mom, stop,” I said.
My dad is not amused. Though he seems happy for me and Paul and he didn’t protest when I moved into Paul’s gorgeous apartment, I don’t know if he’s fully on board yet with us as a couple. That will take time. Years maybe. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to see my child dating my best friend.
He frowns at my mom. “Yeah, Sharron, stop.”
My mom snorts and apologizes. She’s had one too many cocktails tonight.
It’s still fairly early when Paul and I leave the restaurant. This whole pregnancy thing is wearing me out and I’m hardly even showing yet. The only physical changes I’ve noticed is that my clothes don’t fit like they used to and my boobs are engorged.
There are plenty of other changes though. The big one, I started noticing after the nausea finally wore off, is pregnancy hormones. I’ve heard of expecting women having mood swings and cravings, but no one told me I would be horny as shit twenty-four/seven. Sometimes all it takes is for Paul to brush against me and I’m chasing him down, humping his leg. Seriously, though. All I want to do is fuck. Poor Paul is keeping up, but by the time the evening comes around, he’s wrecked.
“My feet are killing me. Can we go home now?” I ask him on the way to his truck. I lean my head against his shoulder and wraps his arm around me, his hand on my hip.
All I want to do is eat a big bowl of ice cream, watch a chick flick, and have sex until I drift off into dream land.
“Whatever you want,” he says.
As we drive away, we’re going in the opposite direction of the apartment. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” He drives through town with that same smirk on his face. He’s up to something. Instead of pushing him about it, I lean my head against the window and watch the scenery whip by.
I see the sign for the freeway, and I deflate. I really hope he doesn’t plan to take me out of town for some kind of graduation surprise. My bladder is the size of a pea these days and car sickness is still an issue even if it’s not as bad as it was those first few weeks.
Instead of taking the freeway, he takes a left, into the old Victorian neighborhood. The sun is going down behind the cliffs. The steadfast homes that have been watching over this town from the cliffs for over a hundred years live to see another day. The speed limit through this neighborhood is forty, but he’s creeping through at a mere 25.
What in the hell is he doing?
I look over at the house of my dreams and realize there is no longer a for sale sign staked into the lawn. Someone has been hard at work fixing it up since I last saw it. There’s a new coat of paint, and all the little ginger bread details that were broken have been replaced. It’s stunning. I love the darker gray and the deep purple trim it’s been painted. It even looks like the new owners have put in double pane windows and a new lawn.
“I’m glad someone finally bought that house,” I say, looking at it longingly. “It deserves a good family.”
“Yes it does.”
He pulls into the driveway and parks. “I want to take a peek inside.”
When he starts to get out of the truck I say, “We can’t. Someone lives here now.” The porch light is on and everything.
He comes over to the passenger side and opens my door for me. “Yeah. We do.”
I sit for a moment, trying to make sense of his words. Like, what do those words even mean? I’m so confused I think I’m hearing things.”
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” I say.
He laughs and takes my hand, helping me out of the truck. Removing a key and key ring from his chain, he says, “Welcome home, Rachael,” and hands it to me.
“Shut up. This is yours?” It’s impossible to contain my excitement. I know my voice has reached obnoxious levels, but I’m having a hard time policing my happiness. Curtains flutter as neighbors look out their windows.
“No, it’s ours. The place we are going to raise our baby and start our lives together.”
The tears start to fall. That’s another thing I seem to do a lot of lately: cry.
Inside smells like sawdust and fresh paint. It’s just as I imagined. Right when you walk in the front door, there’s a sweeping staircase and a massive chandelier hanging over it. Wood lace accents are in the corners, and everything is finished off with elaborate crown molding. The arched doorway to my right opens into a sitting room the size of my apartment. I go in there first. There’s a fireplace and furniture I recognize from Paul’s friends store. It’s decorated in an ocean theme with a lot of white and pale aqua colors as accents. I can’t imagine what it would cost to furnish a house like this.
