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Making my way inside, I catch her coming out of what will be the baby’s room.
A paintbrush in her hand, and just as I predicted, a little smudge of bright blue paint on her rosy, round cheek.
“Hey, you,” I greet her, feeling my heart, as well as something else, swell when I watch her curves moving over to me.
Teasing me under that denim, with only parts of her bare skin and breasts flashing me all the right signals with every step she takes.
“Hi…,” she says innocently. And I know in a second that she’s up to something.
“Whatcha been doing?” I quiz her, trying to sound casual but dying to know once her own smirk flashes across her features.
It’s hard for us to really surprise each other because we’re so bad at keeping things a secret for longer than a few minutes.
But sometimes it works, like today with the lingerie. And my after-dinner surprise….
I pretend to look past her, eyeing the closed door she’s just come out of.
“Painting inthere, huh?” I ask with mock suspicion, letting her chirp a simple ‘yup’ before I move to go past her and see for myself what’s really been going on while I’ve been away.
“Brandon, no! It’s a surprise,” she calls after me, reaching for me and missing as I take longer steps, throwing the door open.
“Aha!” I exclaim, pointing an accusing finger into the mostly empty room.
But the wind’s taken out of my sails when I see the antique crib she’s sanded back, painting it the same color as the eaves outside.
Baby blue.
“I’ve been working on it whenever you go out,” she confides in me, hooking her arm around my waist and resting her head against me.
“Is it blue for a reason?” I ask, slowly catching on but feeling more than just a little swelling of pride and emotion.
And there I was telling her not to climb ladders…
“We’re gonna have a little baby boy,” she whispers, sliding a tiny photo from her overalls pocket.
“See?” she squeaks. “I guess I went out myself when you thought I was here all alone. Does that make me horrible?” she asks, gnawing at her lip.
But I’ve forgotten all about it already. My eyes are transfixed by the blurry little image of our unborn son, the picture trembling in my fingers as I crimp my mouth. Holding back the urge to cry, scream and yeah… shout for joy.
“He’s so beautiful,” I whisper, tracing the tiny features until all I can see is my broad fingertip covering the little guy.
“And you did all this for him?” I ask, sounding like a man who’s forgotten about his surprise.
Almost.
“Well,” May says, sounding very practical. “Now we know it’s a boy, we can do blue…,” she says, but I can’t help feeling I’ve kinda spoiled her surprise by seeing it half-finished.
“I think you’re beautiful too,” I remind her.
“I love it, and I love him. And I love you,” I rasp, feeling my throat itch – that lump to match the little something that must’ve just got in my eye.
“And what about you, mister?” she asks me, always saying the right thing. And never making a big deal if I do, on the rare occasion, actually get emotional.
I see my chance, though, and the way I’m feeling right now, the house, my girl, and now our first family snapshot? It’s the perfect time.
“Ohhh… I just picked you up some lingerie,” I tell her absent-mindedly, acting as if it’s no big deal.
She gasps with pleasure, gripping my arm and begging to see.
