Page 84 of Never Really Mine
“Hey…” I murmur, scooting in closer. “What can I do to help? Do we need to push this off?”
She shakes her head. “No, surprisingly it’s not that. I mean like… a hospital bag. A plan. Who’s going to be at the birth center with us? My mom has been pressing me to come, but…”
I shudder softly. “I love your mom, and it’s totally up to you,” I tell her. “But… I wouldn’t mind it being just us two.”
“Oh thank god,” Marley sighs. “I don’t want her in the room. She can be in the waiting room. I figured you were going to be surprised, and be on her side, saying I need my mom there.”
I chuckle. “Butterfly, that is up to you. If you want her there, then she can be, but, if you don’t, I will help you tell her that.”
“She’s going to be so upset,” Marley whispers.
“Well, it’s a good thing she isn’t the one who’s pregnant,” I say, kissing the side of her neck. “So, we need to pack a hospital bag. We can do that tomorrow, after the meeting?”
“Yes, please,” Marley hums. “I know it sounds stupid, being that I could go into labor tomorrow, but if all goes well, can we make a plan for the next few weeks? What, with moving, and everything?”
“Absolutely,” I reply. “I’m happy to do whatever you need to make you comfortable.”
The meetingwith Jake goes well, with Marley getting excited at the prospect of the nursery, and what will be our room. The possibilities are endless with the house, and I could see the wheels turning in her brain, this time for a good reason, rather than the anger that was welling up last time.
We’re back home now, sitting in the living room as we pack the hospital bag. Apparently there are all sorts of posts on the internet about what is totally necessary, and what isn’t, so Marley is treating the information like it’s a bible. The bag sits nearly empty in front of us, while we talk.
“If we decide to keep moving forward,” I say, swallowing a lump down my throat, “Closing would be in three weeks. You’d be about thirty-five weeks. We can either stay here until you’recomfortable and healed enough to move, or we can try to get as much done before the babies come.”
Marley folds a soft pastel-green onesie, and lays it in the bag as she thinks. “Right now, I feel okay with packing. I feel good about the house. I want to move forward. I almost want to try and get in and settled before they come.”
I nod, the feeling of everything coming together grounding me. I fold a baby blanket and put it to the side so Marley can put it in herself. I don’t think she’s realized it, but her nesting instincts have started to kick in. Just the other day, she had to rearrange the kitchen storage, and when I asked her why, she couldn’t give me a solid reason, only that it didn’t feel right the way it was.
“We can do that,” I say. “But if at any time, you change your mind, you have to tell me.” I raise my eyes, staring down at her intently. “You are going to be going through a lot of changes in the next few weeks, and I want to make sure you’re most comfortable throughout this.”
Marley looks up from the second onesie. “Thank you. I will. I promise. We’re working on communication, right?”
“Right,” I say.
She pauses for a moment. “I’m still working on it, I promise. But… I’m in this, Beau. I want us to be together, not just as co-parents. I want to be your partner. I want this.”
I reach out, taking her hand. “I want that too.”
49
MARLEY
Ifeel good. Better, more… stable. Every day this week, Beau and I talk, and not just about the weather, or how I’m feeling physically, but wetalk. He holds me every night, and I think the fact that we can’t bury our feelings in a physical act, instead having to verbalize them has been a game changer for us.
He, of all people, knows how bad I can lose myself to my depression, but I don’t know if he realized how well I’ve gotten at masking it, to not only myself, but to him. I’ve been clawing my way out from this hole for years, only to dig it deeper and fall back in. I’m terrified for after I have the babies. I’ve read some of the information on postpartum depression, but I’m going to try my best to stay on top of things, no matter how hard it gets.
I won’t lie, I miss the physical intimacy we had, but I think this is for the best. I haven’t had a contraction now since the day we went to the hospital, and I feel good. Dr. Ness told me at my appointment this afternoon that I don’t have to be in bed twenty-four seven, but to still take it easy. I was starting to go a little stir crazy, and Beau was only letting me go from the couch, to the bed, or to the bathroom. Until my appointment today, I hadn’t left the house in nearly a week.
My mom and Nikki were here to visit everyday, helping me organize all things baby. We separated things into totes, labeling the sizes and whether they would be for Baby Boy, or Baby Girl. A majority of the items I’ve got can be worn by either baby, and are more neutral colors. As expected, my mom has hounded me on names, continuously. Beau and I have talked, and added, then erased so many names, that at this point, I’m sure we won’t decide on something until they are here.
Josie, Fallon, and Megan were here too, helping me pack up the rest of the house. It probably sounds crazy, moving into a new house when you’re pregnant with twins that could arrive at any time, but that’s what my instincts are telling me. The packing has almost helped with the nesting instinct though.
Beau is trying to get the closing moved up on the house to give us more time, and we should know by tomorrow if we can. The house is already empty, so it’s just a matter of the inspection and appraisal being cleared.
I’m sitting on the couch, folding a newborn onesie on top of my bump, when Beau comes into the living room. He’s been working outside for the last hour, since we got back from the clinic, and he’s all sweaty. His hair is tied back, but he looks like sin. The droplets of sweat running down the side of his cheek has me feeling almost animalistic.
I bite down on my lip as he strides toward me. “Hey, butterfly,” he greets. I release my lip when he bends down to peck me on the lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I reply. “Packing, nesting, the usual.”
