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8
Izzy
Fantasies
Hours later, I look around Bobby’s dining room table. Kit and Bobby are basically intertwined. Kit’s leg over his, their hands clasped beneath the table, they think no one notices they’re basically sitting on each other.
No one would mind if she just cut to the chase. Sit in his lap. Take your comfort.
I look to Tink and Jon. Not conjoined. Not touching. Not even talking. But they’re in the same room. There’s that, at least.
Jack sits on Jim’s other side and watches his sister. He’s ready to swoop in if she has a spontaneous stress-induced breakdown.
Aiden on the end. Silent. Watchful.
If Bobby is the Kincaid family patriarch, then Aiden is the guard. The gatekeeper. Nothing escapes his eagle eyes.
Then there’s Jim… I don’t know his role, exactly.
Perhaps the court jester.
I sneak a last glance at Jim before my stomach cramps again for the third time in the last ten minutes. Every time I cringe, he cringes. Every time I flinch, he flinches.
Setting my cutlery down without rush, I stand and excuse myself to use the bathroom. I’m eight months along; using the bathroom a hundred times a day is totally legit.
That’s my story, anyway.
Smoothing my top over my hardened belly, I escape and rush to the bathroom before I groan from the pain radiating around my back and stomach.
I’ve spent the last thirty-six hours trying to find rhyme or reason to the radiating pain. I’m not stupid. I know they’re contractions, but they’re not regular. I can’t set a timer to them, and just when I think it’s all too much, they stop for hours, only to restart later and taunt me.
Dealing with them in silence has brought my stark reality to the surface. I’m having a baby, and I’ll be doing it all alone. When Bean decides to make his grand entrance, I’ll be alone. I’ll drive myself to the hospital. I’ll labor alone. I’ll deliver alone.
Because that’s the life I made for myself.
Alone.
I could ask Kit or Tink. Even Tina. Any of them would be there in a heartbeat, but I don’t want them. I don’t want anyone, really. Because the person I truly want, doesn’t actually exist.
The person I want isn’t a person at all, but the fantasy vision of my dream husband. In my fantasy world, we’d be married. My baby wouldn’t be an accident. We’d be celebrating, and the announcement would be a time to celebrate, not to break furniture and shout at each other. In that world, my baby would be celebrated and cherished, and when he arrives in this world, the only tears would be those of happiness and relief that we got through delivery okay.
But, that person doesn’t exist.
That world doesn’t exist.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and clasp the lip of the sink in my white knuckled hands. I ride out the painful contraction with barely a whimper escaping my lips.Get used to it, lady. They’re only going to get worse before they get better.
“Izzy?” Jim’s deep voice penetrates the thick bathroom door, then a softtap-tap-tap.“Bub’s… are you okay?”
I panic and flush the toilet in an attempt to authenticate my reason for coming in here. My stomach cramps and has my lip aching with the way I bite down to combat the pain. “I’ll be out in a sec.” I wash my hands, because I’m a weirdo that’s terrible at lying, and when the contraction passes, I take several long breaths to try to pull my shit together.
Swiping smudged mascara from beneath my eyes, I open the door like my world isn’t on the very blade of a knife and walk straight into Jim’s large chest.
“Woah.” He grabs my arms when I stumble back in surprise. “You okay?”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
His presence assaults my senses. I can smell him. I can feel him. I can see him, though I’m trying not to. The deep timbre of his voice makes my knees shake, and my fingers itch to reach out for him. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, when I know, I truly just want to lick his.
