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The walls have been painted a fresh white, my photos and miniature tapestries rehung with care. My bed and nightstand are just where I left them, but nothing else is the same.
All the inventory I’d been keeping in my room while Midge did whatever she was doing upstairs—god, whatwasshe doing up there? Anyway, the inventory is gone. In its place is the assembled bassinet and a small glider chair. I press my hand against my trembling lips as I look at the artwork that’s been hung over the table. A framed photo of me and the girls, a framed photo of me and Bee, and two empty ones. A sticky note attached to the larger one saysFor baby’s first picturein neat handwriting.
The closet door has been removed, a small chest of drawers pushed inside. A changing table is fixed to the top of the chest, and my clothes are organized on either side of it with room to spare. The adjacent wall has been decorated with a bright mural of red poppies and spider mums. And there are hooks in the wall, holding the soft carrier I got at the baby shower and a beautiful red and orange diaper bag.
For such a small space, it looks incredibly cozy and functional and the joy and love I feel in this room is overwhelming. I step back, overcome with emotion, and sit on the bed. When I sit, I hear the crinkle of paper. I look around and find a card sitting on my bed. With a deep breath, I open it and read the brief message.
Megan—I hope you’ll forgive your friends for letting me help set up the baby furniture. And I hope you like the space. I meant what I said, that I’ll be patient. But I want to show you that I’m serious about the future—about our future. Love, Derek
P.S. Just so you know, I didn’t come inside. This is your space, and I respect the decisions you’re making as a mother. I hope this is okay.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door, and I look up, wiping the tears from my eyes with the heel of my hand. Ainsley and the girls are standing right there, grinning.
“Do you love it?” Ainsley asks.
“Yes,” I sob, and they all laugh, piling in the room.
Everyone is here—even Faye—and as they all topple into the room and pull me into a massive group hug, I feel their love so deeply.
“How did you all do this?”
“It was all Derek,” Aly says with a sheepish grin. “He organized everything. He had spreadsheets and charts and even contractors.”
“I don’t think they were contractors,” Caro says. “I think they were college hockey players.”
“Oh, they weredefinitelycollege hockey players,” Tansy says, her cheeks filling with a pretty flush as laughter fills the air.
“Well, whatever they were, this isn’t all of it,” Aly says, tugging on my hand. I frown.
“What else is there?”
“Let’s go upstairs,” Faye says with a wink. “I hear you have the keys?”
My stomach dips as they wait for me to get the keys from my purse and lead me out of the house. I unlock the door, and immediately am hit with that ‘new’ smell again. But it’s mixed with something else. Something homey and sweet and wonderful.
“Go ahead,” Ainsley says, squeezing my shoulder. “We’ll wait.”
I take a deep breath and start up the stairs. There’s a lot of them and it’s an old house, so they’re on the steeper side. When I finally reach the landing, I’m nearly out of breath. But then I take in the space and those breaths would be worth it.
The entire space has been transformed. The walls have been painted in fresh white and the old, yellowed hardwood floors have been stripped and buffed and polished to show off their natural beauty. There’s an entire wall of cubbies filled in a beautiful array of yarns, organized by color. Another half wall of cubbies extends from the wall, forming an L-shape of fluffy color. In the midst of the shelving is a counter-height table at precisely the perfect height for packing boxes. There’s even storage underneath the table for what looks like boxes and paper and packing tape.
To the right, toward the back of the open loft space, the kitchen has been spruced up. The lower cabinets are painted poppy red and the upper cabinets a peachy pink. The white countertops look new, though I can’t be sure they didn’t just receive a really good polish. I notice a Post-it note on the freezer and go to read it.
Stocked and ready for you. ~D
I open the freezer and find that it is literally full of pints of Salt and Straw ice cream. I pick one up and laugh. It’s strawberry balsamic vinegar flavored. On the other side of the workspace, Midge’s velvet sofa remains. I’d always loved it, and I feel touched that she left it, as well as the dress form outfitted in that stunning Pucci dress. The colors in the bright print feel right at home in the space. Just beyond that, in front of the large windows that overlook the front yard and tucked into the eaves is a large white desk and a red velvet desk chair on brass casters. My computer is already set up, and the desk is decorated with a beautiful brass lamp and a picture frame filled with a photo of my most recent ultrasound.
I press my hand against my chest, feeling the beat of my heart, and as if on cue, the baby kicks my side.
“Yeah, I know. Look at what your daddy did.”
I rub where his foot just was and try the chair out for size. It’s comfortable and supportive and when I spin around to take in the space, I realize that this, right here, looks like my business. It is everything I ever thought I could imagine a workspace to be.
It’s only then that I notice that against the wall to my right, there’s a small pack ‘n play. And next to that, a cozy chair, complete with a nursing pillow. It’s only just starting to sink in that not only is this all mine, but this was doneforme. And not just that, but it was given without any expectation of anything in return. My heart feels like it might burst and I have to press the heel of my hand into my chest to confirm it hasn’t actually exploded.
I spin around on the chair and look out the window at the almost bare branches that rustle in the wind. That’s when I see him.
Just below the trees, on the sidewalk in front of our house, is Derek. He’s dressed in a nice shirt and khakis, his hair combed nicely despite the wind’s best efforts to upset that effort. He’s saying something, but I can’t see who he’s talking to. I stand and lean over, and it’s only then that I realize he’s alone. His lips move and he takes a step up the pathway to the house, and then stops, fists his hands, and turns back to the sidewalk, his lips still moving. As if he’s trying to talk himself either into or out of walking up to the house.
