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ChapterThirty-Seven
TESS
Tonight was, bar none, the craziest experience of my life. Back when Daisy was born, I wasn’t allowed in the delivery room, and frankly, I didn’t want to be in there. Mac’s ex and I didn’t have that kind of relationship. Besides, I was seventeen. Not even an adult yet. I would’ve been totally unprepared for what I just witnessed Brooke do.
Oh. My. Motherhood.
For the record, I didn’t force my way into the proceedings. Brooke begged me to stay, probably for Mac’s sake more than hers. She was kind of busy, as you can imagine. And Mac was pacing the room like a bonafide lunatic. He was saying all the right things, of course, encouraging stuff about how much he loves her, and how brave she is and also how strong. But Brooke couldn’t really hear him. She was panting pretty hard. And she needed someone who would hold her hand without stopping to hyperventilate into a paper bag.
I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say there was a lot of heavy breathing (not just from Mac) and a ton of goop and so many tears and oh my goodness my sister-in-law is a rockstar.
MOMS are rockstars.
Which reminds me, I need to call my mother again. And tell her thank you. And say that I love her. And also that instead of being freaked out after seeing Brooke give birth, I’m starting to think I want to do that someday too. I might’ve changed my mind.
About being a mom, I mean.
That’s not why I wrote that note to Spencer, though. My message was about something else entirely, but I didn’t have time to explain myself before we rushed off to the hospital. I just grabbed a piece of paper and borrowed a pen off Mr. Dudley’s clipboard (why the man brought a clipboard to a barbecue is anybody’s guess) and I quickly wrote out I CHANGED MY MIND. The sentence was chicken scratch, but I figured Spencer expects that from Tess the Mess. Then, to add an element of unexpectedness, I folded the note up neatly, just like my sisters and I used to do when we’d pass messages in elementary school.
And I know he’s read the note. He texted me that he did. He also texted that he can’t sleep, and I guess that’s my fault. But the thing is, the two of us really do need to talk, so now—thanks to my messily-written and carefully-folded note—Spencer and I are going tohavethat talk. There’s simply no way around it. I forced the issue before I could think twice. And, apparently, Spencer has stuff to tell me too now, and I have no idea what THAT could be. So my stomach is rolling again, and not just because I have a newborn nephew who is all squishy and red and mewling, and his name is Edward, in honor of my dad, but Mac and Brooke are going to call him Teddy.
Phew.
Where’s a paper bag when you need it?
* * *
The ranch is peaceful when I finally return, still an hour before dawn. My brother drops me off on his way to check on Daisy and grab a change of clothes for Brooke. They also need their infant seat, which they didn’t bring to the barbecue. I remind him to pick up the tiny yellow jammies I gave them at their baby shower. And when I say tiny, I mean … minuscule and perfect.
Sigh.
Before I climb out of his truck, Mac pulls me in for a hug and plants a kiss on my cheek. Like, an actual kiss. From my brother. When he tells me how proud he is of me, I feel as if my head and chest might explode. I mumble something about being so proud of him, too, but I can barely get the words out. My body is achy and stiff, and I’m completely exhausted, but my heart is happier than it’s ever been.
Warmth and light radiate through me, from my fingertips to my toes. It’s like I’m filled with the belief in the certainty of love. The emotion is so concrete. I saw love come to life in the maternity ward.
Crossing the ranch, I check for the familiar glow of sunrise at the horizon, but it’s still too early. The morning birds haven’t started singing yet either. I want nothing more than to sprint straight to the dining hall, but I head up to the girls’ cabin first. The door to my small room is shut. I assume Mrs. Lockhart is in there. The kids and the counselors are all sleeping, and I heave a huge sigh of relief.
My absence caused no harm.You didn’t drop the ball. If I’ve learned anything from Spencer, it’s the importance of responsibility. Responsibility and cologne. Mmm. He smells so good.
I should probably brush my teeth.
Mrs. Lockhart’s giant black purse is on the bathroom counter. Evidence that she stayed. A large makeup kit and her toiletries line one of the sinks. Even her bullhorn is present, hanging by its strap from a towel hook. Apparently, the mayor doesn’t travel light. She must’ve brought all this stuff with her, without knowing she’d even need it. I brush quickly (thank you, toothpaste!) then creep out for one more check of the girls. Soft snores sneak up from sleeping bags, and a shiver travels up my spine.
Unfortunately, all my sweatshirts are in the room with Mrs. Lockhart, and I’m in too big a hurry to get to the dining hall. So I ignore the goosebumps on my bare legs and take off at a jog. Skipping back down the path, away from the cabins, I pass the trees where Clive made me scream. And now my pulse is sprinting. But not from that memory. This is about Spencer.
I changed my mind.
That’s what I told him. And as terrified as I am of rejection, the risk of losing something this good is even scarier. So I’m going to be honest with him about the fact that I see us as more than friends or coworkers. Just the thought makes my heart pound harder than my feet as I race to the dining hall.
Toward my future.
Bursting through the door, I see Spencer across the room. He’s propped against a wall, legs up on a bench. His head is tipped back, and his eyes are shut. On the table in front of him is my note.
I move slowly, keeping my steps careful and quiet. Closer. Closer. Until I’m right beside him, breathing in his sweet, spicy scent. He smells like soap. And slumber.
Like sunshine in a sweatshirt.
Suddenly he sniffs and startles awake. Blinking and shaking his head, he meets my gaze.
