Page 6 of Constantine: Britain's Story: Part 2
“Please, call me Liam,” he replies, and I give him a gentle smile before turning and offering the same to Niko.
Niko’s response is just, “So you’re the famous Britain, huh?” My cheeks reheat. Why am I ‘the famous Britain?’Famous to who?I look back at Liam, half waiting, half staring at him in awe. Liam Millar is Mr. Blue Eyes,huh.
“You’re really Georgia’s daughter?” He finally asks me.
“Yep, that’s me,” I say with a bashful smile.
“How oldevenare you?”What? What does that have to do with anything? The direct, oddly worded question bothers me.
“I’m 18,why?” He just continues to stare at me though, until he finally drops his head shaking it, lightly laughing.
“No reason. I was looking for you to say thank you, for the ice, and the ibuprofen.” He gestures towards the red bump on his forehead.Of course, that’s all he wanted. I just nod.
“You’re welcome, and I’m still very sorry about that.” He shrugs it off, looking over at Matthias, seeming just now to realize he’s soaking wet…and I am too. Liam drops his gaze, giving Niko a pat on the shoulder.
“I’m gonna go grab a beer. I’ll see you all around later.” As Liam walks away, I get the strangest sensation. It’s a bit like déjà vu, but I’ve never been here before, and I’ve never felt this way before, but oddly, the feeling is undeniably there — I feel like I don’t want him to leave.
NOW
THREE
Britain
12 weeks. Twelve weeks of just the peanut and me.If it’s only been twelve weeks, why do I look 5 months pregnant?!I pull my camisole down over my belly, stretching it taut. Like if the fabric were tighter, my belly would look smaller. News flash: It doesn’t.
I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The summer sun has helped put some color back on my pale, lifeless body. And thanks to prenatal vitamins, my hair is long, luscious, and golden blonde, passing my shoulder blades for the first time in a decade. Unfortunately none of that is enough to detract from the dark purple bags under my eyes. They're the only visible, outward sign of the pain and turmoil that still haunts me. But luckily, I’m able to play off my lack of sleep on pregnancy woes.If only that were the truth…
Cupping my growing belly, I whisper to the peanut, “Just you and me, kiddo. Well, you and me and the girls.” I pause, finding the courage to say out loud, “I’m so excited to see you today.” Sometimes I think if I say the words out loud, it’ll make them more true.I hope it makes them true. It’s not that I’m lyingabout my excitement, it’s just that there’s still so much hurt that it shrouds the excitement, darkening it. Every elation feels less like happiness and more like anxiety. The butterflies feel more like nausea laced with dread than with glee.
I’m trying, but it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. To get out of bed every day and pretend like I’m okay when I’m not. I try to put on a brave face for the girls, but most nights I still cry myself to sleep and I pray they won’t hear me. Another news flash: I’m normally unsuccessful. Inevitably, one of them will slip into my bed at night. It’s comforting having them there, but usually it just magnifies the fact that I’m alone, and there’s room for my grown children to try to soothe me to sleep each night. I appreciate them, but I should be nursing them overtheirheartbreak, not the other way around.
I throw on a pair of spandex biker shorts before heading down to the kitchen, well aware the girls are already up. Caroline was texting from bed at 6:00 A.M. before she even left my room. Once she got downstairs and turned on the great room TV, Elodie joined her like a moth to a flame. The girls have always been early risers and light sleepers.But Peanut, you’re going to be my sleeper, though, right? Please?
I walk out of my primary suite and down the main staircase as the bright morning sun assaults my eyes, streaming through the second-story windows of the great room. I need it, though. I need the sun desperately. Every day feels like a battle not to fall into a deep depression. Sunlight, exercise, and staying busy are my only saving graces right now.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I can see into the great room and I smile slightly. Both girls are cuddled in their respective corners of our cloud sectional with throw blankets piled around them, scrolling through their phones while an episode ofBelow Deckechoes throughout the first floor.
“Morning, girls,” I call out to them as I make my way over to the sectional to give them each a kiss.
“Hi, Mom.” “Morning,” they both say, never glancing up from their screens. I drop a kiss quickly on both their heads, then turn toward the kitchen.
“Mom, don’t forget, you have your virtual appointment with Carla at 8:00.” I feel a stab of shame in my gut at Caroline’s reminder.When did they have to start taking care of me?
“Thanks for the reminder, baby.” I just turn around and give her the warmest smile I can manage, then head straight for the coffee pot. As I make my way into the kitchen, the interior courtyard catches my attention and I make a mental note to do my session with Carla outside.
We’re still settling into the new house, and while it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, it’s been pretty great so far. I had originally hoped for a large cabin on Spearhead, not this sprawling villa on Robles Lake. But the timing of it all just fell into place, and logistically it just works. I’ll always keep an eye out for property on Spearhead, but lakefront lots only come available every few years. Robles seemed like a good compromise in the interim, only about 20 minutes from Georgia’s and 25 minutes from Sandy’s.
Robles Lake and Spearhead seem worlds apart even though it’s a surprisingly short distance in reality. The divergent lakes are about equal in size, but the sceneryhereresembles the valley floor more than the Sierra Nevadas. But Robles has a certain beauty in its own right, I suppose. It’s nestled into the rolling golden hills with sandy beaches and dusty roads, all of it seeming to be perfectly juxtaposed to the turquoise water of the lake. It is, however, a bit ironic that its name means “oaks” when there are so few trees to be found here.
The house itself is beautiful. It’s a 5-bed, smooth stucco, Spanish-influenced villa with an interior courtyard and apool. It blends into the hillside, the color of the house a perfect camouflage with the golden grasses, accentuated with a terracotta tile roof. And while we aren’t exactly lake front, we are lakeview, which is exactly what I have my sights set on…as soon as I get my coffee.
Lately, I’ve been living for my mornings, almost as much as I dread my nights. The mornings are always the brightest spots of my day. I’m always a bit more hopeful that today will be the day that it starts to hurt a little less, that the tears won’t come so easily. Every morning I sit on the patio with my one and only cup of coffee for the day, and I plan. I plan the day and that I will be better. I’ll resolve to be stronger, and to be happy, and some of the time it even works. That is, until about 8:00 P.M.
That’s when the anxiety and fear set in. It reminds me of when the girls were both newborns, and I was terrified of the nights. I could go through our days with ease, but as soon as the sun went down, I’d turn into an anxious, tearful mess. It was the fear of the unknown that I struggled with.Would the baby sleep that night? Would I get to sleep that night? What if something happened?
I did most of the newborn nights alone since Damian was working 40+ hours and going to school for his postgraduate at the same time. Whatever happened during the night, it was my domain to manage. The pressure and the fear ate away at me. So much so, I eventually stopped going to bed, opting to just stay on the couch with the bassinet beside me, crying out of fear until I fell asleep or one of the girls woke up.
It’s the same feeling I get now. It’s this fear of the unknown. The pressure that it’s all on me now, and no matter what happens, it’s on me to manage…alone. I thought,I hoped, with time, the feeling would ease, but it hasn’t happened yet. If anything, it seems to be getting worse. I was doing okay for a little bit, when I was staying at Georgia’s with Alex. But once Imoved out, every day has been a little bit harder, and I’ve cried a little bit more.
