“I think once we decide what to name her, that would be a great idea. We could paint them gray, don’t you think?”
“We should probably decide on a name, then,” he muses, leaning in to kiss my temple.
“I had another idea, but it might be a bit old-fashioned,” I reply.
“Hit me with it, kitten.”
“What do you think of Violet Grace Cruz?” I ask.
I watch him close his eyes, his lips moving as he repeats it several times. “I like it,” he finally says.
“Then I’m gonna grab the letters so I can get this project going. We have to get the tape for the trim as well as roller brushes.”
“Kitten, you’re not going to be painting, remember?” he states. “The fumes won’t be good for you or the baby, so you and Jolie are going for a spa day while Dex, Brock, and I tackle the nurseries.”
“Oh! I forgot about that. Lately, I seem to be forgetting so much that it’s driving me crazy,” I reply.
“That’s what I’m here for, to keep you focused,” he teases.
I giggle and swat at his arm before grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers with his. After talking to Jolie, as well as my therapist, I’m trying to let him know that I’m willing to move forward with our relationship. All these months together have shown me that I have a man who will walk alongside me no matter the battles we might face. His patience as we wait for news from his attorney concerning a new trial or at the very least, a thorough independent review, as well as the constant delays with Clark’s case, is unbelievable to me.
Because I’ve ranted, raved, broken down in hysterics, and bed rotted a day or two. Yet Cruz simply shrugs and keeps onkeeping on. He’s good for me too; the confidence and self-worth are still a work in progress, but every single day I feel more like the old me.
Yes, what happened to me was terrible and traumatic, but at the end of the day, I’ve been chosen to be my daughter’s mom, and what a blessing that’s going to be for both of us. I still have my days, of course, but the panic attacks have lessened. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when the trial starts, but maybe that jerk will take a plea deal since there are so many additional charges that have been added.
He doesn’t say anything, just gives my hand a light squeeze as he pushes our cart, one-handed mind you, to the checkout area. He never lets my hand go, even though he has to twist at an odd angle to get his wallet out of his back pocket. I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. It’s as if something has shifted between us.
Part of me laments the fact that if I play my cards right we’ll be having sex sooner rather than later because my body no longer resembles the one I remember from a few short months ago. My breasts are huge, which Jolie takes great delight in picking on me for, and my belly is loud and proud, as are my hips and ass. I suspect I’ll be needing a whole new wardrobe once I lose my baby weight because there’s no way on earth my jeans will go over my hips any longer.
Still, there’s going to be a little girl at the end of this pregnancy, and while I’ll forever hate how she was conceived, she’s worth the shift in my body. “Ready?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, just got lost in my head for a minute,” I reply.
As we walk out to his truck, he lightly probes, asking, “Is there anything you need to talk about?”
Be brave, Mindy, and tell him what you want, my mind whispers.
“Actually, yes, but can we wait until we get home?”
“Whatever you want, kitten,” he says as he helps me into the passenger seat before he proceeds to load up the bed of the truck.
How did I get so damn lucky? And will I have the guts to follow through with our pending talk?
