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I love this man so much. “Yes. I’ll be your wife, the mother of our children, and your business partner.”
He slides the engagement ring down my finger. “Sometimes the heart doesn't know what it wants until it finds what it needs. And you’re it for me.”
Meeting Brou the weekend of the beer festival was fate. Deciding to try out a long-distance relationship was a choice. But falling in love was beyond our control.
I’ve never been afraid of the word different; there are far too many ordinary things in life. Love shouldn't be one of them.
Epilogue
Lucas Broussard
“I’m late.”
“Late for what?” I’ve heard those words from Wren two other times. I know what she means but I ask her to clarify in hopes of getting a different answer.
“My period. It’s late.” Well, fuck.
We just went through all of this a couple months ago. It hasn’t been long enough.
I’m not ready.
I wish I could be ecstatic. I would love to wear a fucking grin on my face for days and tell everyone I’m finally going to be a daddy. But I can’t. I have to stay disconnected so it doesn’t hurt so much if we lose this one too.
I swore to Wren I would marry her and give her babies. I’ve done both. Sort of.
But things haven’t gone as planned.
We married almost three years ago. I had the vasectomy reversal a month later since we knew it might take a while for it to function well enough for Wren to get pregnant. It took over two years but we’ve conceived naturally twice in the last six months. Both pregnancies ended in miscarriage.
Now, here we go again.
The doctor said both were random and not an indicator for any future problems. But I wanted to wait, give her body more time to heal so we’d have a better chance at being successful this time. Wren wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s eager to hold a baby in her arms.
“You don’t look happy, Brou.”
“I’m scared, Wren.” Fucking terrified. I don’t want to walk this path again. Lose my fourth child. Her third. It’s brutal.
“Don’t think about everything that can go wrong. Think of the sweet, precious baby we’ll have because everything finally went right this time.”
“Lawrence Broussard.” I’m sucked back into the present when I hear my wife’s name called.
“This is it.”
We follow the woman down the hallway into an exam room. “Dr. Nichols wants your ultrasound done before she sees you.”
“Yay.” Wren is beaming. So giddy and bubbly. She’s never made it this far in her pregnancies. Never had a bump before. Never had that lovely glow.
My wife makes a beautiful pregnant woman.
She reaches for my hand. “Come up here so you can see better.”
I’m wearing a smile but it’s all for show. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.
Wren is twenty weeks, halfway through the pregnancy. If something is wrong with this baby, we’ll find out today. Right now.
She stretches out on the exam table, legs fidgeting. “Oh, I’m so excited. It’s been a month since the last scan. I can’t wait to see our baby and how much he or she has grown.”
“You won’t believe the changes from sixteen to twenty weeks.” The woman is busy pushing buttons on the keyboard. “Just need a minute to enter your information and then we’ll get started.”
I cup both of my hands around Wren’s. I lean forward, bringing them to my forehead as I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. Please, please, please let our baby be healthy. I don’t think I’ll make it through losing another one.
“You’re shaking, Brou.” I am. Because I’m a fucking mess.
It’s my job to protect Wren and our child. But I’m helpless to do anything if something has gone wrong again. I just need this test to be done and hear our child is healthy.
The woman shakes a bottle and squeezes gel on Wren’s stomach. “Wet goo on your tummy.”
Here we go. I watch the computer screen although I don’t have a clue what I’m seeing. Just looks like a bunch of blobs to me. “I’ll do the diagnostic requirements first and then we get to do the fun stuff.”
That sounds reassuring. I don’t think she’d have used that word if something were wrong. “Fun stuff?”
“We spy on the baby and take pictures. Maybe see if it’s a boy or girl if he or she is cooperative today.”
“We don’t want to know the sex,” Wren is quick to inform her. She’s been adamant about not finding out since the beginning.
“Oh, I love when parents don’t find out. That’ll be so much fun when you deliver.”
The ultrasound tech hums and makes small talk as she scans Wren’s stomach. “Do you have a feeling about it? Most of my patients say they do.”
“I think it’s a boy. He says he doesn’t know.” I haven’t been able to assign a gender to this little person. To do so would make it real and I can’t do that until I know this baby will survive.
A galloping thud echoes through the room. “Heart rate is running around one fifty.”
Mishaps at the cider brewery caused me to miss Wren’s last two checkups and ultrasounds so I’m hearing and seeing our baby for the first time. And it triggers something deep within my chest, a sensation I’ve not felt in a long time. That is my child.
“I swear that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I could listen to it forever.”
The tech points at the screen. “Well, if you think that’s sweet, take a look at this.”
It’s a minute before I get my bearings but then it becomes clear. “Oh my God, Wren.” I laugh—maybe even sort of giggle. “He’s sucking his thumb.” I watch the screen, mesmerized by what I’m seeing. This is real.
“Does everything look okay? Is he healthy?” Please say yes. I squeeze Wren’s hand and my entire body tenses as I wait to hear the verdict. Longest second of my life.
“All looks good. He, or she, appears healthy as can be.” Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I’m not even on cloud nine. I’m floating above it. We aren’t going to lose this one.
I choke up and fight tears as I behold this tiny little person inside my wife. Part me, part her.
The tech moves the probe and is able to get a perfect still frame of the face. “Look at that, Brou. Has to be a boy because that little face looks just like yours. Minus the beard.”
“Woman, you don’t know what I look like without a beard.”
She giggles. “I’ve seen pictures.”
I can’t take my eyes from the screen as I study the image of our child. “I don’t know, babe. I think that’s your nose and chin.” Guess we’ll find out in a few months.
“Man, there’s some flipping going on in there today.”
I can’t believe how much he’s moving. I’m not sure I blink for fear of missing one of the somersaults. “Do you feel that?”
“Some of it. Mostly feels like little flutters here and there.” Amazing.
Our tech replaces the ultrasound wand on the machine. The fun is over too soon. “All right. We’re done. Dr. Nichols will be in to see you shortly.”
“Thank you for the pictures,” Wren says.
“You’re welcome. Glad we were able to get some good shots of the little prince or princess.”
“I can’t wait to show the video and these pictures to our parents. You know our moms are going to have a fit.” Wren adjusts the stretchy band of her skirt over her belly. Pregnant and still dressing like a hippie. That’s my girl.
“Josette Broussard will want her own copy.” My mom wanted to be present during the ultrasound so badly. Begged and pleaded like a toddler. I understand her excitement about the baby but this is our time.
I have no idea what’s going to happen when the doctor comes in. She may not want me in here. “Would you like me to go to the waiting room?”
“You’ve not been at many of my checkups. I’d really like you to stay.
” I haven’t been a part of this pregnancy as I should be. But that changes here and now.
“I would love to stay with you, baby.”
* * *
“Where do you want me?”
“On your side. Pillow between your knees and one under your head.”
Naked Wren. Fragrant candles burning. Relaxing music playing. Lavender oil ready to be warmed in my hands when she’s in position. Perfect recipe for a prenatal massage.
I dribble several drops of diluted lavender oil in my hands. I rub them together before placing my palms against the back of Wren’s neck. “Lavender oil is safe in second trimester. I checked.”
“I know.” Of course she does. She’s the essential oil expert and natural healer of the two of us.
I begin at her nape and slowly work my way down the muscles of her back, giving each one plenty of attention, until I reach her hips. I gently push and circle my fist into the base of her spine. “Feel good?”
“Very good. I’ve been hurting there this week.” She hasn’t mentioned that.
“Maybe it’s time you stopped working.” She’s on her feet all day at the cider brewery. That can’t be healthy for her or the baby.
