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To know that she loves me too, is a gift that I could never have imagined receiving. On paper, there are a million reasons why we wouldn’t work. I thank the mail-order bride gods every day that someone took a chance on putting us together. I even thanked my mom on a phone call last week, which shocked her.
“You mean it? You think you’ll be married by Christmas?” my mother had asked incredulously.
“We’ll see,” I had responded. My other brothers are getting along well with their mail-order brides too, although I’m unsure if any of them feel as strongly about their potential brides as I do about Jenna. We’re not the type of siblings to spill our emotions to each other.
When Jenna and I get home from the airport, we fall into our usual routine: dinner, hanging out, lovemaking, and then lying together in bed, our limbs entangled. I kiss the tip of her nose, and she wrinkles her face up, making me laugh.
“Hey, Matt?” she says after a few moments.
“What’s up?”
“I just love you a lot. That’s all.”
I hold her closer, kissing the top of her head. “That’s all, huh?”
“Actually,” she says before going quiet. “Never mind.”
I raise a brow. “You sure?”
She smiles gently. “Yes. Goodnight, Matt.”
Within minutes, she’s asleep, leaving me to wonder what else is on her mind.
When I walk in the door after a long day, the house is oddly quiet. “Honey, I’m home!” I call, as always, but only silence greets me. I hang up my jacket with a frown. Jenna will sometimes run errands on the weekends, but on weekdays, she usually has dinner and drinks prepared by the time I come home. It’s very traditional and homey, but I find that I like it, and my curvy girl doesn’t seem to mind either.
I walk into the dining room. It’s strangely silent and the kitchen is empty. Where’s Jenna? I stroll around, peering into the other rooms, but my luscious girlfriend is nowhere to be found.
I’m not prone to unnecessary panic, but fear begins to mount somewhere behind my breastbone. Jenna wanted to say something last night but couldn’t bring herself to actually say it. Was she planning to leave me, and balked at the last moment? No way, I think as I climb the stairs to the second floor with more haste than usual. Things are going so well--unbelievably well. She hasn’t brought up any concerns about me or our relationship, except for the elephant in the room: her band and their continued touring.
Shit, I think as I look into our empty bedroom. Maybe Sarah convinced Jenna that Lolly Popz needs her. Maybe she’s on a plane back to New York right now. Maybe…
I realize with a jolt that the master bathroom door is closed. I rap on it with my knuckles. “Jenna?” I call.
No response.
I’m about to turn around when I hear the unmistakable sound of muffled crying. I whirl back on my heel and knock again, more insistently this time. “Jenna, I hear you in there,” I say, relieved to have found her but worried to hear her crying. “Are you okay?”
The lock clicks. I open the door slowly, steeling myself for what I’m going to see.
It’s just Jenna, my beautiful Jenna, with mascara-laden tears streaming down her face. I follow her gaze to something she’s holding in her hands.
A pregnancy test.
A positive pregnancy test.
I don’t feel anything, for a moment. I think it’s shock, my brain trying desperately to process what my eyes are seeing. Then, I feel everything at once. My heart jumps into my throat and my hands fly out to rest on Jenna’s upper arms.
“Jenna, are you okay?” I ask, my voice strangely choked in my throat. “This is… this is…”
“This is incredible,” she sobs, and collapses against my chest. Relief floods me as if I just submerged myself underwater. I’m terrified to be a father, and always have been, but, God, am I excited, too. My dad Hank is as solid as a rock, which was necessary in a houseful of six boys. I’ve always wanted to emulate his presence, his gentle influence, and his silly sense of humor. I want to pass on what he taught me, and now I’m going to get the chance.
If Jenna says that this is incredible, then she must be excited, too. But I feel her hot tears still staining the front of my shirt. I stroke her hair for a minute, holding her close, before peeking down at her.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I ask. “Do you need to sit down?”
She nods. I lead her into the bedroom and she sits on the edge of the bed, leaning forward so that her face is cradled in her hands. I sit beside her, rubbing her back in large, slow circles. My own heart is still pounding, but at this moment, I know that I have to be here for Jenna.
