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I join in on her laughter. “Would be nice. I’m over this trip down memory lane.”
Really, there is only one demon of my past left to conquer. Once that dragon is slayed, life will be as it should—happy and peaceful and full of love.
But I have a feeling that last demon won’t go quietly. Let’s hope I am wrong.
TWENTY-ONE
SHELLY
This iswhy I haven’t been here more often. This is why I haven’t answered my phone every time it rings. Nicole Reed may be the death of me. Not literally, but pretty damn close.
“Why don’t you want to know the sex of the baby? How are we supposed to plan? How can you decorate the nursery without knowing?”
Jesus, take the wheel. I love my mother. I love my mother. I love my mother.
“And why haven’t you been answering my calls? This is one of the biggest times in your life. A time when you need as much love and support as possible.” Eyes that match my own lock me in place. “Family matters, Shelly.”
Deep breaths. In and out.
Tell her how you feel. Best to do it now than drag it out.
“Mom, please.” I pause and take another deep breath. “First of all, I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions. Second, Dr. Webster put me on a strict health regimen. Low to no stress.” My lips flatten into a straight line for two breaths. “And you stress me out.” I shrug.
I will not apologize for giving myself air and room. I will not apologize for eliminating the stressors in my life, even if it is someone I love. It may not be what she wants to hear, but this isn’t just about her. Not anymore.
“Shelly, I—”
My mother speechless is new. Is it wrong of me to be proud I put her in this state? If so, oh well.
How many times did Micah and I sit at the dining room table and listen to her drone on about how she wishes we’d find love and start a family? Far too many. And now that I have done both—not that the family part was planned—she complains I don’t spend enough time with her. She complains I am not doing this parenting thing the “right” way, because it is not how she did it.
And I am done. Done.
My mother has good intentions, but there is more than one way to love and parent. Her method worked for her, but it doesn’t make it the best way.
“Devlyn and I decided we don’t want to know the gender because it doesn’t matter.” I rub a hand over my belly, which seems to have grown another few inches in the last two weeks. “We want to give our child everything they need, but most importantly, we want them to feel loved. They won’t care what color the bedroom walls are painted. They won’t care if they’re wearing dresses or sports shirts. The only ones who care are the parents.”
Her brows knit together. No matter how many times Micah and I have told Mom that our version of happy is not the same as hers, it hasn’t clicked. And I think it may be slowly sinking in now. A little.
“I just…” Lines crinkle her forehead. “I don’t get it.” Her eyes hold mine. “But I’m trying. Promise.”
“Thank you.”
A gentle smile softens her features. “Do you have plans for the nursery?”
I wince on a shrug. “Yes and no. We’re leaving the room the same gray color. And I liked the black and white animal theme Autumn and Jonas did, so we’re going with a similar vibe. Except Devlyn is painting the animals and trees and whatnot on the walls.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“He’s excited to start.” I adjust my seat on her couch and reach for my glass of water. Each week, it gets harder to move like a nonpregnant woman. “We’re waiting to buy furniture until after the shower.”
Devlyn and I make zero assumptions about what will be gifted to us at the baby shower next weekend. The registry list has doubled since our trip to Target. Cora told me I could add things from the website that might not be available in the store. My fingers are calloused from the new additions and the registry is jam-packed with everything a baby, infant or toddler may need for the first two years of life.
We agreed to stash money and buy whatever necessities we don’t get at the shower. Furniture being the most expensive, we saved enough for those big-ticket items.
“And you’re having men at the shower too?”
Dear god, mother. Just quit with the gender nonsense.
