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His face is pale, full of worry, but I’m smiling by now.
I guess the game is up. I can’t keep it from him any longer, and although I wanted to wait for later, now’s as good a time as any.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper, taking his hand in mine and pressing it over my belly.
Both of us feeling the little kick of the tiny life inside me.
“Our son,” I tell him, watching his eyes turn silver in the dim light of the porch.
His shoulders shake when he holds me closer to him, keeping his hand on mine.
On our baby.
“Oh, Holly… Why didn’t you say anything?” he finally asks, sniffing back his emotions while mine are streaming down my face.
But all of it good.
Both of us are happier than ever, and I’m relieved as hell that I don’t have to struggle for the right moment.
“I kinda thought you might’ve noticed,” I reply dryly, reminding him that all the new clothes I’ve been buying haven’t been just for fun.
“I feel so stupid,” Steve says to himself, shaking his head with a smile.
“I was just glad to see you looking healthier, eating better,” he explains.
“I never thought…,” he says, his voice catching in his throat before I put my fingers to his lips.
I finally feel it when I press our heads together in silence, just sitting on the semi-dark porch with nothing but the hum of a luxury car and crickets chirping.
The place I never knew and the one thing I was so sure I’d never have.
Home and a family.
Without even seeing it in the daylight, and after convincing Steve by showing him it’s perfectly safe for him to make love to me still, we both agree that this is it.
“I don’t think we need to hand the keys back after two weeks,” Steve remarks, rolling off me, clutching my hand to his lips.
“Or ever,” I pant. Moving his hand with mine to let him feel just one more time the most special gift we could ever give each other.
EPILOGUE
SOME TIME LATER
Steve
“I don’t care if you think you’ll look like Santa because you’re pregnant again or not,” I tell her hotly.
“I’m Dad, so I get to play Santa,” I repeat for the tenth time. “He’ll know it’s you anyway, and since when did Santa wear a double D bra and earrings for chrissakes?”
Holly smirks, then screws her face up. “So I’m Mrs. Claus. You can be Mr. Santa, or whatever you call it,” she reasons that, apart from it not mattering, our son Luke is only just over a year old.
“I don’t think he’s gonna mind, either way, honey. After putting Luke down for the night, I just thought to leave cookies and carrots out for the reindeer….”
I feel my head tilting, maybe like a second pregnancy has affected Holly in a way I can never understand.
She sighs patiently.
“… Then,afteryou’ve fed the reindeer, you can wish Mrs. Claus a Merry Christmas?” she says, stabbing out each word. Shifting her gaze down and bending her knees as she opens her legs and lifts her skirt past her knees, making me laugh instantly.
