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“I’m good too.”
He takes my hand in his, squeezing.
“Let’s do this.”
~ ~ ~
I was in labor for twenty-eight hours with Jason, but once again, this baby is determined to be different. The labor moves quickly and the contractions come in brutal, breath-stealing waves, with the reprieve time in between becoming shorter and shorter.
“Motherfucker . . . that hurts,” I groan after a particularly intense jab that makes me wonder—for the hundredth time—why the hell I opted for a natural childbirth.
Temporary insanity. It’s the only explanation.
Dean rubs my back and breathes with me through each contraction. He feeds me ice chips and pats my forehead with a damp cloth. When I need to walk, he stays right behind me in case I need catching, and when I feel the urge to bend my knees and stretch my arms—it’s him I hold on to—clasping my hands behind his neck and hanging off him like he’s my personal, hot, monkey bar.
“Music,” I pant during a contraction. “Dean, I need my music.”
He steps away only long enough to tap the buttons on his phone, and the eclectic playlist we created together of “songs to have a baby to” fills the room. Some are relaxing and mellow, others romantic and emotional, some are just my favorite, and still others are upbeat and rock and roll, and Eye-of-the-Tiger-empowering.
When it’s time to push, I opt for the bed, chin down and legs up, my hands hooked behind my knees—grunting and panting—with my doula on one side, my OB down below ready to catch, and Dean half on the bed with me, holding me up as pain claws through me. His whispered words keep me calm and focused and his arms, his scent, make me feel safe and invincible.
At the end of another contraction, I collapse against Dean, gasping for breath. He brushes my hair back from my face and I beg him without asking for a thing.
“I’m so tired, Dean. I’ve never been this tired.”
“One more push, Lainey,” my OB says cheerfully. “Just one more. You can do it.”
And I fucking hate her. She can take her just one more and shove it up her ass.
“Dean . . .” I whimper.
I hear the song “Almost Paradise” playing from his phone as Dean presses his forehead against my temple, whispering, “You’re doing so good, Lainey. You’re almost there, you’re so close.”
I shake my head, because I don’t know if I can do this.
He kisses my damp cheek, and his warm, rough voice brushes my ear. “I’m right here with you, we’ll do it together. I love you. Lainey. I love you so much.”
The beautiful surprise of his words and the joy they bring, gives me the last lift I need to keep going. To nod my head for him and let him hold me up.
So when those tendrils of pressure start again in my lower back, weaving their way around, squeezing and squeezing and tightening until it feels like I’ll tear in two—I hold tight to Dean’s hand and lean against him and breathe deep.
And then I push with everything I have . . . one more time. And that’s how it happens, that’s when our beautiful baby comes into the world.
~ ~ ~
Dean
When I walk out to the waiting room there are more people than I expect, considering it’s still a few minutes before 7 am. Grams is here and Jason. Lainey’s parents and all four of her sisters, two brothers-in-law and one nephew. I didn’t grow up with a big family, but I guess I should get used to it—because that’s what I’ve got now.
I tell Lainey’s Mom and Dad, “She’s good—Lainey and the baby are both healthy.”
Grams shuffles over and gives me a big hug. “I’m so happy for you, Deany.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Grams.”
And then it’s Jason I walk up to—because he’s the one I want to tell first. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“You want to meet your little sister?”
His smile builds until it reaches all the way to his eyes.
“It’s a girl?”
“It’s a girl.” I nod.
He peers closer at my face. “Dude, were you crying?”
“Holy shit—so much crying. Wait until you see her—she’s so cute—you’ll cry too.”
Jay laughs loud and easy—then he comes in for an elated, back-pounding hug.
“What’s her name?” Judith asks.
“Ava.” And I laugh for no fucking reason at all. “Ava Burrows Walker.”
~ ~ ~
After Ava gets passed around from family member to family member, like an adorable hot potato, everyone eventually heads home, and that night at the hospital it’s just me and Lainey and the baby in our room. When Lainey is done nursing, I carry Ava over to the bassinet and change her diaper. Now that she’s warm and dry and her belly is full, her dark round eyes inch closed and her tiny, adorable mouth opens in a wide, precious yawn.
I hold her close against my bare chest, skin to skin, because all the books say it’s comforting for babies. Then I rock her and tap her diapered ass gently, singing the same song I’m drumming against her diaper—“Africa” by Toto.
Lainey’s awake in the bed and I feel her eyes on me, watching me hold our daughter. Our daughter. How wild is that?
“I love you too, you know,” she says softly.
Her gaze is shiny and so damn sweet—brimming with emotion, and filled with our future.
“I mean, how can I not love a hot shirtless guy singing the best song ever recorded to a newborn?” She gives a little laugh, then she goes on. “I’ve loved you for a while, Dean. You were right—I was scared. But I’m good now.”
I slip onto the bed, holding Ava in the crook of one arm and wrapping the other around Lainey, tugging her close. That surging feeling of contentment and joy comes back again, tightening in my chest, and I’m pretty sure this is as good as it gets. That everything I didn’t know I always wanted, is right here in this moment, in my arms.
I kiss Lainey long and sweet—because she’s beautiful and perfect and all fucking mine.
“I love you, Lainey. I think it started that first night. When I woke up and realized I’d let you get away and I was . . . wrecked. Then when I found you again—and that feeling, the love, it was still there—and it grew every day.” I kiss her again, promising. “It’s going to keep growing, Lainey.”
“Yeah.” Her pink, pretty lips slide into a smile and she rests her head on my shoulder. Together we gaze down at the miracle we made and we plan the life we’ll make from this day on.
Epilogue
Lainey
June
I walk through the lake house on Miller Street—our house—recording footage on my phone for a goodbye video I’ll put together later on. The Lifers probably would’ve enjoyed a live post, but I opted out because there would’ve been an excellent chance I’d be a blubbery mess by the time it was done.
Every room in this house has its moments—its memories. Jason’s room, is where I told him about the baby for the first time and the attic is where he and his friends bonded over de-ghosting the house. Dean and I have made love in the master bedroom more times than I can count—and that’s also where he told me we were in this together. I walk through the beautiful nursery, the room that only family helped put together and the first place Ava slept when we brought her home.
I touch the striped navy-and-white walls in one of the spare bedrooms and remember Dean’s wicked voice and sexy suggestions. I walk through the room Grams slept in on Christmas, and where she’s stayed a few nights since when she’s come over to help us with the baby.
Down in the living room, I run my hand along the fireplace mantel and close my eyes and remember fresh-baked cookies and the feel of cuddling with Dean under a blanket while a snowstorm raged outside. There have been so many kisses in the kitchen, so much laughter that as I stand beside the marble-topped center island, the echo of it rings in my ears.
I walk to the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard, and press my hand against the pane. M
y eyes dart between the beautiful princess-cut engagement ring on my finger, and out to the patio where last month, Dean dropped down to one knee and popped the question—in the warm glow of the firepit and the view of the lake.
And that’s the one that does it—that makes my throat clog and my vision blur with tears. Because I’m going to miss this house so much, every room and lamp and curtain . . . and every memory we made here.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against his solid chest, pressing his face into my neck, kissing the skin there.
“Time to go, Lainey.”
Facebook offered to renew my contract for Life with Lainey and I accepted. Now that the house is done, we’ll be branching out—decorating rooms in other people’s houses—and my first project in the fall is Callie’s Mom, Mrs. Carpenter’s kitchen. But for the summer, we’re taking Life with Lainey on the road, and I’m doing a six-week series of videos on the best places—bars, beaches, family spots—along the Jersey shore, as Ava and I go on tour with Dean’s band, Amber Sound. It’s going to be an adventure, but Ava’s a mellow baby, easygoing, and she loves music—Dean’s drums in particular—so I think we’ll survive.
Jason didn’t want to leave his friends to come on tour, plus he got a job at the Bagel Shop for the summer, and is taking a math class at the local college to challenge himself. So for the weeks when Dean, Ava and I will be down the shore, Jason’s going to live with Grams. Though she says having the house to herself since Dean moved in with me has done wonders for her social life—she’s excited to have Jay staying with her and Lucy for a bit.
Dean turns me around to face him and presses a firm, hot, kiss to my lips that’s meant to distract me—and it does the job.
“Don’t be sad.” He brushes the back of his hand along my cheek. “It’s going to be all good, I promise. But come on—we’ve got to go. We’re going to be late.”
Dean takes my hand and tugs me toward the door. Because while we still have a week before we leave with the band and we don’t have to clear out of the Miller Street house just yet—he’s found a house that he wants me to look at. A place he thinks will be a perfect home for us, where we’ll be able to stay forever.
Dean lifts Ava from the travel crib and talks to her in a way that makes my bones go gooey.
“Right, Ava-baby? Tell Mommy—don’t be sad.”
He hands her off to me, and I cuddle her close—smiling as I kiss her cheek and smell her soft skin and touch the baby-silk of her blond hair. She’s got her daddy’s eyes—cerulean with flecks of gold and beautiful.
We walk out to the car where Jay is already waiting. I buckle Ava into the car seat where she’ll be asleep in five minutes—a car ride is like chloroform to her. Jay climbs into the back beside her and I slide into the front passenger seat.
Behind the wheel, Dean gives me one of his dirty-boy, player smirks—and then pulls a satin scarf out of his pocket, shaking it out with the hands that I love.
I roll my eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. It’s a surprise. You love surprises—and this is going to be a good one, because you’re going to love this place. Humor me.”
I let him tie it over my eyes, and then his breath is brushing my ear as he whispers, “You look hot tied up in a scarf. We should use it again tonight.”
“Jesus, I’m right here,” Jason groans. “I can hear you.”
There’s a flinch in Dean’s voice. “Sorry, dude.”
The car starts and I feel us drive off. Dean holds my hand and my stomach swirls—because this is another new beginning. After about ten minutes, the feel of the car changes from smooth road to rocky gravel, and we come to a stop. Dean turns the car off.
“I’ll come around and get you,” Dean tells me. “Don’t take off the scarf.”
A few seconds later, he guides me out of the car . . . and then sweeps me off my feet, carrying me. I hold tight around his neck, laughing.
We move up a few steps, maybe two, and he sets me down.
