“Damn, babe, did you see that? Did you see my game?” I greet Juniper with a kiss in the hall outside the players’ lounge after my shower and media interviews. I was on fire this afternoon in our game against Toronto. “I slammed that Canuk into the boards. He barely knew what hit him.”
“Yes, husband,” she soothes, playfully. “You’re strong as an ox. I’m going to need you to take your pregnant wife out for some food now, though.”
We head over to Tim’s place for Sunday dinner, only a few hours late. “I hope Alice saved us something,” I mutter as we walk to the car. Used to be, my whole family would come to watch my games in person. That was back when Tim and Alice were secretly screwing in the executive lounge and Thatcher was sleeping around with…well he wasn’t too particular now that I think about it.
Juniper squeezes my arm. “They come to plenty of your games, Tyrion. Don’t be a pouter.” Today was my last game before our break for Christmas. I was relieved to see we get four days off in a row. Juniper was able to shift around her midwife appointments so I can go with her tomorrow. We’re probably going to get to hear the heartbeat, and I’m a lying fool if I pretend that’s not the most exciting thing to ever happen to me.
When we roll into Tim’s block, I see how the house looks all lit up in the early darkness of December afternoons. “Oh, Ty, it’s like a storybook,” Juniper says. I have to admit, Tim did a bang-up job hanging those twinkly lights. We didn’t really get a good look at Thanksgiving when it was light outside. It takes me back to when we were young kids, and we used to always decorate. I catch a whiff of the pine boughs Alice hung from the windows and remember my mother, laughing, leaning out the window and asking me if I thought the greens looked okay. The force of the memory washes over me and I pull Juniper in close, spreading my hand across her stomach. I want my baby to know joy like that.
There’s so much love and warmth in the house again I almost forget how grey it felt to live there in my teens. It was absolutely dreary here for a long ass time. No fucking wonder I joined the NHL and didn’t come back home for years.
I lean in and kiss Juniper, inhaling the scent of her. Sometimes I remember that she’s mine to keep, and I get excited all over again. I feel pretty damn lucky as I walk in with her, arm around her shoulders.
Everyone else is done eating and spread throughout the downstairs. I notice Emma isn’t here, and one look at Thatcher tells me not to bring it up. “Is he drunk,” Juniper asks, settling into a bar stool while Alice hands us plates of food she set aside.
“His eyes are glassy and he’s staring into the fire silently, so I’d guess yes,” I tell her, nodding hello at Tim while he and Petey assemble an electric train under their Christmas tree. “Holy shit, Timber! Is that ours from before?”
“Watch your mouth, Tyrion Stag,” Gram yells from her rocker by the fire. She’s taking pictures of Tim and Petey while they assemble the tracks. “And of course it’s your train from before. I kept all that old stuff.”
“We didn’t get it out last year because Petey was still putting everything in his mouth,” Alice explains. “But you know better now, don’t you, angel?”
He nods. I sit on the floor next to them in delight, helping snap everything in place. Tim looks very serious when he hands Petey a beat up old engineer hat and shows him how to work the train controls. “This isn’t a toy, young man,” he says, sternly.
“Of course it’s a toy, Tim.” I punch his arm. “Petey, dude, it’s a toy train. Don’t listen to him.”
“Ty, please don’t undermine me when I’m trying to tell my son he cannot crash his trains into each other, or into his toy cars.”
Tim and I dive into a heated argument about the fun of running over toy action figures while Petey manages to get the train going on his own. Juniper watches it all with a smile on her face, one hand on her stomach, and I want to float away thinking about how this will be us with our kid in such a short amount of time. Then Gram asks me about flying out to our next game in Vegas, and I feel an icy dread in my stomach. I have to leave in the evening on Christmas to get to our game on the 26th.
When Petey starts to yawn, Alice declares it’s past his bedtime. I guess that’s our cue to go home.
I look over at my brother, who still hasn’t said anything. “Thatcher, you want a ride home?” As I help Juniper into her coat, she starts yawning, too, and Thatcher shakes his head. He still doesn’t say a word. I sigh.
Alice scoops Petey up the stairs and Tim walks us to the door, shivering a bit in the drafty entryway. “See you two tomorrow night?”
Juniper smiles, her eyes twinkling in the glow of Tim’s holiday lights. “We’ll be over as soon as our appointment’s done at the midwife center,” she says. “We’re going to hear the heartbeat!”
Tim pulls her in for a hug, and I love seeing how genuinely happy he is for her. For us. For our family. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and while I love actual presents, I can’t shake the sense that all I really want is to be over here with all of them. Not just tomorrow, but every day. I definitely understand why Alice insisted on living walking distance from her dad and siblings. I drop a final glance at Thatcher by the fire and send out all my hopes that he and Emma will work shit out tomorrow. Nobody should be in a fight on Christmas.
There’s no traffic in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, as it turns out. Juniper and I find a parking spot right outside the Midwife Center for our appointment. I know Carol the midwife stayed late and penciled us in as a special favor, so I made sure to make a hefty donation to their fund for healthcare for low-income women, which probably goes a long way to explaining the smile Carol gives when she sees us.
Carol opens the door as we walk up, shivering a bit. “Looks like snow,” she observes, and as we walk past she dips a scooper into the bin of rock salt near the door, scattering some on the sidewalk out front. “Can’t have our pregnant mamas slipping, now can we?”
We walk up the stairs to the exam room and on the way, I stop and stare at the rows of photographs. Decades of women and their babies smile down along both sides of the stairwell, including my own mother and me, moments after I was born. I kiss my fingers and touch them to the glass covering the photo, following my wife up to the exam room while Carol asks Juniper about her symptoms and talks about her transition to her new role as a judge.
Juniper gets herself situated on the couch in Carol’s office while Carol whips out a stethoscope, checking out JJ’s heart rate and blood pressure and stuff. “Everything seems to be going well,” Carol says, massaging her hands around Juniper’s abdomen. Carol grins at me as I wring my hands. I know all this stuff is important, but I wish she’d get a move on with that doo-hicky that lets us hear the heartbeat. That’s the only part I can really experience, the only connection I have to the baby at this point. I’m jumping out of my skin wanting to hear that sound.
“I think maybe Dad is a little anxious to hear what’s going on in there,” Carol says, leaning over to grab her microphone thing. “Juniper, can you slide your pants down a bit and pull up your shirt? You should be far enough along today that we can hear Baby Stag’s heartbeat with the Doppler.”
And then, Carol grabs hold of my hand and wraps it around the wand. She squirts some goo on my wife and asks if I’d like to try to find the heartbeat. I shake my head, terrified, and Carol says, “You aren’t going to hurt a thing. I promise. Here.” She guides my hand toward Juniper’s stomach and together, we press the wand against her taut skin. Juniper smiles as we start to hear the swirling static from the machine and then there it is.
“Aha!” Carol says, as Juniper blinks back tears. The static clicking sound makes way into thumps. An unmistakable, magical connection into the life my wife’s body is building. Carol drapes her other arm around my shoulder as I start shaking, trying to hold back this wave of emotion washing over me. I don’t want the sound to end, never want to break this connection with my child, but Carol turns off the machine, smiling, saying, “Heartbeat sounds just perfect. Perfectly healthy, like all the Stag babies I’ve seen.” She cups my cheek. “Including you.”
I feel so grounded right now, here with my family and this woman who literally caught me as I came into this world. I tune her out as she putters around, talking about Juniper’s hormones. I lock eyes with my wife, not bothering to wipe away my own tears that fell while we listened to our baby’s heart. “JJ,” I whisper. “I’m going to retire from hockey. I want to stay home with our baby.”