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~ ~ ~
After the front lawn fight, Dean and Jason are out on the back porch, having another mano a mano chat. And I’m in the kitchen, peeking out the window—watching and listening—again. But this time I’m not alone. Eavesdropping is strong in my family, and my sisters and mother are all gathered round.
“That was freaking awesome!” Jay exclaims.
“No, Jay. It was not awesome.”
“What are you talking about? He said—”
“I know what he said. And it was messed up and wrong . . . but they were just words. Adults shouldn’t solve their problems with fighting, I want you to understand that. I could get arrested for assault. I could lose my teaching license.”
Jason scoffs. “That’s not going to happen. He’s too much of a chump to ever admit to anyone you kicked his ass.”
“That’s not the point, kid.”
“So what are you saying? You regret it?”
Dean snorts. “Not even a little.”
Jaybird starts to laugh.
“Your mom deserves someone who’s going to kick anyone’s ass who talks about her like that—and I’m happy I get to be that guy. But I don’t want you doing anything like that. Ever. You use your words. Are we clear?”
I can almost hear my son rolling his eyes.
“So basically, you’re saying do what you say, not what you do?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Wow, Dean. I think that officially makes you a dad. Congratulations.”
“I think that officially makes you a smartass.” Dean laughs, nudging Jay’s shoulder. “But thanks.”
My father steps out onto the porch next and hands Dean a beer and a bag of frozen peas.
“For your hand,” he says gruffly.
Dean takes a drag from the beer and lays the peas on his knuckles.
“My daughters tell me you’re a drummer,” my dad says as he lowers himself into the folding chair.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“He’s the offensive football coach too, Pops. And the Mathlete’s advisor,” Jason volunteers. Then he asks Dean, “Can I have some of your beer?”
Dean hands the bottle over. “A couple sips. Don’t chug it.”
The smell of my father’s cigar wafts through the window. “I was a guitar man, back in the day. When Fender was new.”
“No kidding?” Dean asks.
Listening to the three most important men in my life talk, and knowing my dad approves of Dean—he doesn’t tell his guitar stories to just anyone—is the best Christmas present I could’ve gotten.
~ ~ ~
Dean
I don’t know what wakes me—but something does. We knew we’d be getting back late from Lainey’s parents’ place, so Grams packed a bag and we all decided to spend Christmas night at Lainey’s house. But everyone’s been asleep for hours now, and the house is still and quiet. The weight of Lainey’s head rests against my arm. I run my hand down her side, over her stomach where the baby lays.
That’s when it happens. The boop, the bump, the nudge, the kick—I feel the baby moving under my palm.
And it’s the wildest fucking thing, a miraculous thing. My vision goes blurry as I watch, wait, to feel it again.
“Hey, in there,” I whisper. “Merry Christmas. We all really can’t wait to meet you.”
As if it’s answering me back, another little jolt kicks up against my hand.
So incredibly cool.
I lay there, waiting for more movement, but after a half an hour, I figure the baby’s gone back to sleep. So I slip out of bed, pull on a pair of sweats and head downstairs to check everything out, to make sure all is as it’s supposed to be.
Lainey’s made some good progress decorating the past few weeks. The kitchen, the living room, Jay’s room and two other upstairs bedrooms are finished. And Christmas is her favorite holiday, so the house is a veritable wonderland of wreaths and bows and soft glowing lights. She’s got real evergreen garland along the fireplace mantle and an eight-foot spruce in the corner of the living room, decked out in silver and gold stars and popcorn garland.
I do a lap around the first floor, looking out the back window at the shadowed trees, double checking the locks on the doors and windows. I walk back upstairs and peek into Jason’s room—where he sleeps in a burrito of blankets. Then I check on Grams, where she’s snoring away in the queen-sized bed of one of the finished spare rooms.
I close the door and go back to our room, stripping out of my sweats and slipping back into bed. Lainey shifts, turns, I wrap my arm around her and she curls against me.
“Dean?”
Her skin is soft and warm and she smells so good.
“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” I kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dean
January
On Sunday night, I leave Lainey editing a video in the living room and Jason reading in his bedroom, and head home. Grams will be the first to tell anyone that she’s self-sufficient—and these days, her social life is more active than mine—but I don’t like to leave her alone too many nights in a row with only Lucifer for company. And I stayed over Lainey’s Friday and Saturday night—fucking her in all kinds of creative ways to accommodate her ever-expanding midsection. God bless Mother Nature.
