Chapter Twenty-Six

Jen

 

Thursday—The doc had scheduled me at nine and this was the first time I’d ever seen Dylan be specifically early to anything. He was rushing me out the door.

But we weren’t the first appointment for the day, so we still had to wait.

I checked in, then we sat in the waiting room. Chairs in doctors’ offices were never comfortable, but at least this one had butt padding. He bounced his knee next to me until I put my hand on it.

“You’re vibrating the whole row.”

“Sorry.”

“Read a magazine.” I handed him a copy of People.

“Ugh.” He tossed it down and grabbed a National Geographic.

At 9:05AM, the nurse called me in. This was a simple check-up, so I didn’t need to undress. I wore leggings for the express purpose of easily pushing them down for the ultrasound. He flitted around the room looking at the posters while the nurse took my blood pressure and weighed me. She made notes on the chart.

“The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks.” I hopped up on the exam table as she left.

Dylan stared at the poster showing the growth stages of a human baby.

“Hey…relax, babe.”

He shot me a guilty expression.

Two knocks then the door opened. “Good morning…”

“Hi, Dr. Smith. This is my fiancé Dylan.”

“Smith, huh?” he directed at me.

“You do have the most common last name in the country.”

She chuckled. “Another one of the faceless legion, I see. My husband’s joke. Dad, you can stand on the other side of her.” She read the chart. “Looks good so far. How are you feeling? Any nausea?”

“Not yet. Some scents are repulsive right now, but it doesn’t turn my stomach. But I’m constantly sleepy.”

She nodded. “That’s normal. Okay, let’s meet baby.” She pulled the ultrasound cart over and I wiggled my clothes out of the way to expose my abdomen.

We’d done this once before when we confirmed a heartbeat, so I knew to expect the conductive gel to be freezing cold and didn’t jump.

She moved the wand around on my skin until— “There we are.”

Dylan squinted at the monitor. “Where?”

She laughed. “It’s okay. Your little one is small enough it’s hard to pick out unless you have a trained eye.” Then she flicked a switch and the room was suddenly filled with wub wub wub. “Strong heartbeat.”

His gaze shifted from the screen to me, his mouth slack. I nodded and his eyes shimmered.

“Let’s snap a good photo for the fridge.”

He suddenly dug out his phone and pressed buttons.

“What are you doing?” I asked quietly.

“Recording this sound.” Aww.

Dr. Smith got all the info she needed, passed me a towel to wipe up with, and printed out our kid’s first portrait. “All we need is a urine sample and we’ll see you at sixteen weeks.”

“Thanks.” I took the photo.

She shook Dylan’s hand and left. I righted my clothes and tucked the picture into an empty envelope I brought to keep it safe.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“At this stage, yeah. I need to get the cup from the nurse and visit the bathroom, then we can go eat brunch. My stomach has woken up and I’m starving.”

He sat in the same chair when I came out. I finished up at the desk, then offered my hand to him. He linked our fingers as he stood and opened the door for us.

Outside the building, he pulled me into a hug.

“I’m not complaining, but what’s this for?”

“Thank you.” He kissed the top of my head.

I tilted my chin up. “’Thank you’?”

“For coming into my life and not leaving. I’m grateful I get to love you.”

“Softie.”

He pinched my butt, then released me. “Only for you.”

I leaned into his arm for the short walk to the truck. “I love you, too.”

When we were buckled in and ready to leave, he didn’t start the engine right away.

“Hon?”

“An actual baby…” he murmured, shaking his head.

“Hitting you now, eh?”

He closed his eyes. “That was the most beautiful sound…” The heartbeat.

Our baby’s pulse.

I reached for his hand and held it. We were in no rush. I wanted to savor him relishing in the memory we just created. It gave me a chance to study him in good light. What features would our child have? His straight nose? The prairie sky eyes? The fuller bottom lip?

Curly hair. I remembered from high-school Biology that it was a dominant trait. A toddler with Shirley Temple curls would be so cute.

“I can feel you staring,” he said, and opened his eyes.

“You don’t want to forget hearing the heartbeat for the first time. I don’t want to forget watching you carve that memory in the stone of your mind. If we don’t pause for the moments that matter, what do we hold later?”

He smiled. Started the truck. “Sometimes I forget being a writer makes you an observer. Let’s get you fed.”

The rest of our day was lazy at his apartment. I answered texts and emails around catching up on Christmas movies. Our wedding was a week from today and I’d take any moments of calm we were going to get. And it did feel cozier here with the lit tree in the corner.

Takeout Chinese soup was delivered for dinner, then we slowly made love, and I slept really well, then woke to breakfast in bed after ten hours unconscious.

“I could get used to you spoiling me.”

He wore a hoodie over his bare sculpted chest. “If I did it every day, it wouldn’t be special.” He kissed me, then left me to eat.

Water flowed in the kitchen sink. Probably washing dishes.

I double-checked my schedule: final fitting for my dress and a hair trim by Beth’s stylist, another arrangement of discretion. Hopefully, my regular gal wouldn’t feel put out when she realized I cheated. Charlene had been cutting my hair since I moved to Big Bear.

My phone rang with an unknown number. “Hello?”

“What’s this I hear about you getting married on Christmas?”

“Daddy! Wel—uh—you’ve been out of town.” I cringed.

We told my family about the engagement at Thanksgiving, but I’d let Beth send the invites to my father. I loved him, but it was harder to stay close in recent years, and I never knew when he was away.

“I’m looking at an invitation now. Why didn’t you call?”

Dylan appeared in the doorway.

“We only settled on Christmas Day last Friday. It’s a small wedding in our friend’s backyard. They offered space, and Dylan and I met on Christmas Eve, and—”

“You want me to walk you down the aisle or what.” Not a question. A statement.

“You want to?”

“You’re my daughter, Jennifer.”

“Okay. Thanks. Do you have a tux? If not, a black suit is fine, and either a champagne gold or red tie—”

“Of course I have a tuxedo, Jennifer. I’m an adult.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll email you the specifics, then?”

“That’ll be fine. See you soon.” Then he hung up.

“Well, that didn’t sound horrible…” Dylan said.

I set the phone back on the nightstand. “No…Dad wants to walk me down the aisle.”

“Oh.” Brows up, he came over and sat on the bed. “Do you want that?”

“Sure. Yeah. He did it the first time, even though he didn’t like Lee much.”

“Good judge of character.”

I snorted. “In hindsight. He thought getting married fresh out of college was too young.”

Dylan squeezed my free hand. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll make a good impression. If you want that.”

I sighed. “I don’t need my dad’s approval. It’s weird with him…on the one hand, he was great to me growing up. On the other, he’s chosen to not give Shelley the same experience and I can’t be okay with that. She deserved a full-time father.”

He nodded. “She did. Every child does. So I’ll ask again—do you want him to walk you down the aisle? It’s okay if he’s only a guest. You don’t owe him this role if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

Grateful for his support, I leaned into him. “I think I need to talk to Shelley first before I make that decision.”

“Why did you agree? I only heard your end.”

“He just said it and it took me off guard. He expected to do it from the moment he read the invitation.”

“Ah. Well, you’ve said he’s a traditional guy.”

“Yeah. Unless he’s stumbled upon it, he doesn’t know about the baby.”

“And…you don’t want him to know before the wedding.”

“It’ll be easier? Especially if he’ll be involved.”

“Okay.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “No stress.” He stood and started walking out. “Finish up so you can make your appointment.”

Bacon, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and orange juice was a good start, and thankfully, nothing my pregnant body found revolting, yet. Might change in a week or a month.

Since my hair would be washed at the salon, I twisted it up, held it with a clip, and put my time toward my makeup. No dark circles to conceal, yay, but I felt like doing something a little special and used eye shadow along with my typical mascara. Gloss instead of lip balm.

And a tiny dab of perfume.

A flannel shirt, leggings, and easy-off shoes, and I was ready to go. I found Dylan watching TV and leaned in for a kiss goodbye.

“Mmm, you smell good enough to eat.”

I grinned, dodged his greedy hands, and said, “Later, big boy.”

He settled back on the sofa and his gray sweats didn’t hide much, if you know what I mean. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

Laughing, I headed out. Despite the surprise call from my father, I felt good this morning, waking up with energy, and I was savoring it while I had it.

My dress designer’s studio was in Santa Monica. The hip building wasn’t what I’d typically think of to associate with fancy gowns, but it fit Monique. I pressed the buzzer, then the door was unlocked for me. She had a two-story space, like some loft you might see on the East Coast—all brick and steel. Support posts were painted matte black.

“Hi! Jennifer, you have that bridal glow. Did you bring your shoes?”

I shook the bag I carried.

“Excellent. Let’s get you changed.”

I didn’t see a dressing room around, but no one else was here. I undressed while she went to grab my gown. Like before, I wore a strapless bra. With the dress opened up, I did my best to get in it without stepping on the skirt, and pulled the bodice up to where it should be.

Monique fastened the back. “Let’s slip on those shoes and see if you can dance in this.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder to steady me while putting the pale gold pumps on, then she stood back to give me room to move on the dais. One huge mirror showed all of me and the dress. I walked around, then twirled.

“Yeah, I don’t feel in danger of stepping on the hem at all.”

“It looks perfect from my end.” She clapped her hands. “Done! Now—accessories. Have you picked your jewelry? Are you wearing a veil?”

“No veil. My hair appointment is this afternoon. I’ll have an up-do, of course, but I haven’t thought about any adornments.” For my first wedding, my hair was pulled back with a barrette with a veil attached. Took five minutes.

“I have some combs and clips with crystals. Are you thinking bun or chignon?”

I shrugged. “I was going to let the stylist do her magic and say yes or no.”

“Ah…well, there are tiaras, headbands, fascinators, hair pins, or you can have fresh flowers.” Monique picked up a big book. “I have most of the accessories in this book.” She flipped pages to a listing she wanted. “This is something that would be beautiful, for example.”

“Wow. How do people even do that with hair?”

She chuckled. “Magic. In all seriousness, a ton of bobby pins and sometimes four hands. The super sleek and polished styles have their place, but I’m personally particular to the soft and romantic looks. Like here.” She turned more pages. “The hair is simply gathered at the nape and the encrusted comb tucks into the top. Or this one…is a similar idea but with jeweled hairpins. And this—” More pages flipped. “—tucks into a braid quite nicely.”

“They’re all really pretty…” And too many good options gave me analysis paralysis.

Her gaze turned sympathetic. “How about I pin your hair in a bun and we play with some of these pieces?”

“Yes, please.”

“Maybe text photos to your friends, too?”

“Good idea!” I hurried to my purse for my phone.

 

****

 

Dylan was still in his hang-around-the-house-all-day outfit when I returned. His nose was in a book. “Hey, babe. It’s almost dinnertime.”

“If we were senior citizens.”

He looked up. “Wow. Shiny.”

I made my blown-straight hair shimmy. “I feel a little fancy. Wanna go out for dinner?”

He put a bookmark between the pages. “Sure, okay. Where?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter.”

He suddenly smiled. “I know just the place.”

“Will I need to change?”

“Yep.” Setting the book aside, he stood and came to me. “Are you hungry now, or….?”

“Or what?”

His hands slid under my shirt as he wrapped around me, dipping below my waistband to palm my ass. “We work up an appetite?”

I arched a brow. “When do you not have ‘an appetite’?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “True. I promise not to muss your pretty hair.”

“Okay, fine.”

I figured that meant me on top, but he wanted to enter me from behind.

“God, you’re wet, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Hormones,” I moaned.

“Thank you, Mother Nature.”

After a fun romp of doggy style, I cleaned up while he showered, then found a blouse and skirt suitable for dressy casual. A slight combing set my hair back in place, and I chose lipstick over gloss for the evening. Did I bring my nice coat? I rummaged in the closet—yes.

I draped it over the couch by my purse.

Dylan walked out of the shower rubbing his towel over his body instead of wearing it, so I got a view of his pinch-able ass when he turned to the mirror. This part of being an observer was a favorite part of my day and I blessed his personal trainer.

What would the view be in twenty years? Would he be like the fifty-year-old movie stars? Yeah. I couldn’t see him getting lazy and fat and complacent. Though I doubted he’d dye the gray when it started coming in, except if he had to for a photo shoot. The pressure there was on Jake, not the other guys. Would Dylan one day have a Santa beard?

I think I’d like that. Standing at our front fence dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Klaus and handing out candy canes to the kids that came to look at our lights. The other three-hundred-sixty-four days, he’d be lumberjack chic and smokin’ hot. Silver fox, indeed.

“I feel you staring, Jen. What’s on your mind?” He finished his ritual and disappeared into the closet.

“Just pondering the future,” I replied.

“What part?” He reappeared in boxer briefs and buttoning a black shirt.

“When your beard is white but you’re still sexy.”

One brow arched. “Do you have a secret Santa stripper fantasy, Ms. Donovan?”

“No.” I bent over laughing. The image! “Oh my God, no.” Stripper Santa… I sucked in air to catch my breath. “You’re nuts.”

He returned to the closet.

“I was thinking distinguished silver fox.”

“Yeah, I could rock that.”

He came out with black pants on and holding shoes. He dropped the short boots at the foot of the bed, then tucked his shirt in and zipped, buttoned, buckled.

“Tights, huh?”

“It’s chilly at night.” And the cable-knit tights went well with my skirt.

If you lived in snow part of the year, you learned how to layer without looking like an Eskimo twenty-four seven. Hence, tights, thermal base layers, fleece- or flannel-lined jeans…

He stood. “Let’s eat.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

When we pulled up to Morton’s Steakhouse, I understood needing to dress up a little.

It was also a place too classy for paparazzi.

“It’s perfect,” I said.

Dylan kissed my knuckles, then ran around the truck to help me down.

Ladies, marry a man who’ll feed you steak.

When we were home, he finally got an e-mail from Richard with the pre-nup draft.