— CHAPTER SIX —
december, year one.
Sex while pregnant is not something that grows easier. If anything, it just grows increasingly harder as the bump on my stomach grows. Such a thing becomes unfortunate with the corresponding increase in my sex drive. Each passing month—presently, the seventh—results in a heightened sex drive to impossible ends. The only fortunate piece is that, for me, Harry has been exceptionally accommodating and equally as explorative as I have been in the bedroom.
"Good morning, kid," Harry rasps, his voice deep and grumbling.
Morning sex has also become a staple to our relationship. Awake and waiting, I dare to drop a hand between his legs. His erection is prominent between the both of us. Something bordering a whine parts from his lips upon the pressure. "Looks like you're ready," I press a kiss to his chest before taking my time in turning around. More recently, our favorite position has become one in which we are laying side-by-side and he takes me that way. It requires little strain on me, but maximum stimulation for the both of us.
"Sounds like you are, too," he hums, reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing a small tube of lube. Before, it was never really something that we used. During the pregnancy, I suggested it and found that it was amazing at being able to reform our bedroom experience.
Spreading it along my folds, I shiver at the feeling of his fingers.
In no time at all, he is pressing himself into me. A sigh of content pushes from my own lips now, my back pressing against his front as I clutch the material of the sheets between my hands. He braces himself on my hip, taking precautions not to press too fiercely on the growing expanse of my stomach as he thrusts in and out rhythmically. At first, he had been scared to engage in sex with me this late in my pregnancy. Once I assured him that it would disturb me more than the baby—and not even me all that much—he grew an increasingly more willing participant. "Feel so good, Gray." Broken sentences push from his lips as he wakes himself up inside of me. "You're so good for me."
Over the past few months, I've grown to be sexually insatiable. Hornier than I have ever been in my life before, I can't get enough of his hands on me. I can't get enough of him inside me. A second honey-moon period has reignited between us, falling in love all over again upon the aftermath of our second wedding.
Light, morning kisses press against my skin; down my shoulder, over the curve of my back, and on the top of my head. Anywhere that his lips can reach at this angle is in his domain. Love and affection are his language and he is fluent. Compliments fly from his lips, eager to reach my ears and assure me of the love that he has spent the past five years of his life trying to instill in me.
My fingers squeeze on top of his where they splay on my body. A thin line of sweat connects the both of us as he continues to thrust in and out of me with his rhythmic consistency. "Just like that, baby," I gasp, one hand squeezing in the pillows as I cry out for him. Having him like this is something that I doubt if I will ever grow used to: uninhibited and fresh. First thing in the morning, having him there beside me is the best feeling in the world. Having his baby inside me while he still continues to love me. While I continue in my journey to both loving myself and the world around me.
Until my love with Harry, I had never truly known the extent that love could grow. I find it welcoming and full of all of the love that I'd ever been robbed of as a child. By no means do I believe that there is a sort of cap to the amount of love that a single person can feel in a lifetime. But, if such a thing does exist, I wonder whether I will meet the entirety of my quota in Harry's arms. I do not know how I could feel anymore love in the world than this. Such love would be unimaginable and unquantifiable.
In the middle of his thrust, he pauses, a nervous laughter pushing from his lips. "What?" I ask, turning to look at him over his shoulder. As though pulled from some sort of spell, I realize that the mood between us has been lost.
"Uh," he clears his throat awkwardly, pulling out of me. "The baby's moving."
"So?" It's impossible for me to say that I've ever truly grown used to the feeling of our baby moving inside of me, but, I have definitely grown more comfortable with it happening throughout the day in whatever situation I may be in. If we're both unoccupied, I'll invite Harry to feel it, too, but more often than not it is a private experience for me and the baby to share. I suppose it does make sense for Harry to be a bit more shocked than I am in the moment.
"Gray, that—"
"Harry we can finish, I'm cleared for sex."
"I know, but—"
"You're uncomfortable?"
"Kind of?" He admits, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. "Want me to finish you off?"
If I enjoyed getting orgasms before I was pregnant, that is nothing to the feeling of an orgasm while pregnant. All the extra goodness happening in my body makes the orgasm feel twice as powerful as it courses through my body. "Mmm," I deliberate for a moment, running my hand over my stomach. Though pulled out of me, his hand is still pressed against my stomach, splayed on the skin that stretches as our baby shifts and kicks. "I'll finish me, you finish you?"
"Deal. Kiss?" He pouts his lower lip out at me, looking at me with all the love in the world and again I am faced with the realization that nothing in my life could be more perfect than this. Every trial and every tribulation has been preparing me for this moment of happiness—so that I could truly know the significance of feeling such love and adoration. Things that I otherwise would have felt with a sort of entitlement.
I lean over and press my lips against him. Somewhat chaste, I pull away almost as quickly as we start. His brows furrow, disappointed as he leans right back in, pressing his lips against my own once more. One kiss is never enough for him.
There is a moment of shuffling as we each get into our new positions. Laying next to each other, I pout only slightly as my hand slips between my legs. "I want to see you," I say the words without a moment of hesitation. Our life in the bedroom is built on this principle of speaking about what we need and not being ashamed of it. Honestly, such a virtue has extended beyond the bedroom and has worked fantastically for us.
"Want me to stand?"
"Please."
He doesn't respond verbally, but gets out of the bed and stands at the end there. Downstairs, I can hear Stevie barking at the door. Living alone now, we've taken to leaving our bedroom door open to give Stevie free rein of the house as we sleep. More than anything, we figured that we don't have to block the sound of our sex life from anyone.
Harry groans at the sound of our dog wanting to go outside. She knows when we wake up and she has grown accustomed to the schedule that we have set for her. Usually, it is something that works in our favor. Right now, I can tell that we are both very clearly regretting that consistency now. "Leave her," I beg him, watching the hesitation in his eyes as he debates going down to let her out. "She'll be fine." I promise him, adjusting myself to grow more comfortable in my position.
I watch as Harry's eyes hungrily drink me in. His dick is slightly wet from the lube and my arousal slick around him as it presses upwards towards his navel. Erect still, I can see the dilemma in his gaze. Definitely the type to give in easier than me, I have a flash of a prediction—a moment in which I can imagine the life we will be leading as parents: me, trying to teach our child to self-soothe at nighttime and Harry unable to restrain himself from going to comfort our crying baby. I'd be there as well, me, laying on our bed begging him to just hold on a bit longer.
Just as soon as the image is there, it's gone.
"You don't mean to leave me all alone now, do you?" I ask, biting down on my lip playfully as my fingers begin to flick over my sensitive core. Swollen and needy from the tease of affection that I had been granted moments before.
"You're playing dirty."
"But is it working?"
"It is," he sighs; a sort of hungry sound parting from his lips as he takes his dick in his hand. His green eyes remain fastened on me, watching as my fingers begin to flick and swirl around myself. I drink him in the same way, vowing not to take the luxurious sight for granted. A million mornings I could see him like this and still it would never be enough. Selfish with him, I am aware of the way that any amount of time with him will never be enough.
Quiet at first, we're appreciating the way that we look in this light. His fingers pushing up and down on his length, tempting fate as his legs grow weak and his face begins to twitch with the telltale signs of his imminent orgasm. Not quite there myself, I work faster. Pressing harsher against my clit I begin to move my fingers in less predictable patterns and instead in a more spontaneous rhythm that is focused only on the feeling of pleasure.
My own head falls back on the pillow when he grabs a tissue to collect his cum instead of creating a mess that neither of us wants to clean. Closing my eyes, I let the feeling of pleasure wash over me. Starting in my stomach, I relish in the familiar feeling, sighing in relief as it claims my body. Blood pumps through my veins, a feeling of intense pleasure soon to follow.
As I come down, my heart doesn't stop hammering in my chest. "You look so beautiful like this," Harry sighs, his finger reaching down to trace aimlessly across my ankle.
I smile up at him, tucking my head to the side as I study him. "Will you let Stevie out?"
He laughs at me. "How'd I know that was coming?"
"Please?"
"I'm on it," he agrees, bending down to grab his pants and pull them back up over his waist. Grabbing a sweatshirt as well, he bundles up to combat the cold December morning that will be waiting for him outside. "Keep the bed warm, I'm coming back."
"Can you bring me back up some tea?"
"Sure thing, kid," he leans over the bed for a quick kiss before going. Bracing himself on either side of his head, he presses his lips against mine once, then twice again. "I'll be back." Not giving himself a second to second-guess his choice in leaving, Stevie barks at the door again. "I hear you, I hear you," he says to her, but there is humor in his tone.
As he begins to descend down the stairs, I relax onto the bed once more. I shimmy back into the clothes that I'd been wearing overnight and I relish in the warmth—even though the heat that is covering my body is overwhelming. I close my eyes as I pull the blankets tighter to my chest and only open them when Harry's phone begins to buzz on the bedside table beside me.
I listen for a minute, and I can hear the kettle on in the kitchen and I know that Harry will not be coming upstairs just yet. "Harry!" I call down loud, slowly beginning to wiggle myself closer to his end of the bed. Moving has become an impossibility when pregnant. I'm just thankful that no one around me seems particularly intent on rushing me half the time.
"What?" He yells back, just loud enough that I can hear him.
"Your phone is ringing!"
"Can you answer it?"
Trust is implicit between us, mostly because secrets don't exist. We've already seen both the good, the bad, and the ugly. Besides, we're at the stage in our life where there is nothing really to surprise the other with. We're already married, I'm already pregnant, and everything else we do together. Secrets and surprises are presently at an all time low. I prefer it this way. I like looking at Harry and having this overwhelming—and correct—feeling that he knows everything about me at any given moment.
With his phone in my hand, I glance down at the caller ID. Monty's name is blaring on the screen with a picture of the two of them at our wedding. The second one. The picture makes me smile as I swipe across to answer. "Hello," I chirp brightly, laying back down on the bed with my hand spreading across my stomach, tracing the areas that our baby is beginning to stretch out with their mighty kicks.
"You're not Harry," Monty sounds somewhat distracted. Confusion is secondary in his tone at his realization that I am not who he had called.
"Standing in for him temporarily. Why are you calling him, not me?"
"Doesn't matter. His name is just higher up in my contacts. He's just Harry and you're Gracie Styles in there."
My skin flushes as I hear myself so casually referred to by my married name. "I'll never get tired of hearing that. Anyway?"
"I am just calling to check and make sure that you two are still coming up this weekend."
As predicted, at the end of November—November 29, to be exact—the mother of their baby went into labor. After a long delivery, baby girl Elliot was brought into the world. Monty and Oliver became proud fathers on that day, taking their baby home to their prepared nursery less than a week later. Since, they have been adjusting to fatherhood.
Sufficiently pregnant, I wasn't up for hosting our usual Christmas party. In passing, I mentioned it to Monty and Oliver. They both agreed that neither one of them was particularly inclined to do anything over the top with having a baby so young. As such, they asked whether Harry and I would be interested in going to spend Christmas with them in Portland. Harry and I quickly agreed, figuring that it would be a nice change of scenery, and a good chance to take some time off and enjoy ourselves before the baby is born.
"Of course we are. We can't wait." Though they sound automatic coming out of my mouth, the words are true. Though we'd seen Monty and Oliver only last month at our second wedding, we'd not yet met Elliot, nor have we ever seen their house in Portland. Getting to see them is something that both Harry and I have been exceptionally excited for. Both of us excited, too, that we could write this trip off as our Christmas present to the other, to prevent any sort of unnecessary spending for ourselves, something that we have both grown to be very adamant in disliking. "How has parenting been?"
"Horrifying. Nothing like what we expected. I can't remember the last time I slept or wanted to kiss my husband." He laughs, but it's not a bitter sound. Love rings through it all; like he is the happiest person in the world. For some reason, I don't even doubt it. "You'll be a natural."
"What does that mean?" I accuse, breaking into a smile that I know he can't see as I begin to twirl the blanket that is resting on top of our comforter.
Monty laughs again, this time at the obvious offense that I've taken in my tone. "It means that you can't practice for this job. But, you'll be a natural at it. You just have that thing about you, Gracie."
In my head, I find myself retreating back to the time that Harry and I had gone to babysit Zana. It was one of the first times that I'd really been alone with Zana, and one of my first times being back around a baby after I had lost my own. That night had woken up so many feelings that I didn't even know that I had. I found myself a mess. I'd turned to Harry then and opened up about one of the darkest feelings that I'd ever had: Maybe I wasn't ready to be a mother yet. Maybe Harriet wouldn't have been happy with me. His response had been instantaneous, and has stuck with me since.
Enough of that. It would have been impossible for her to have been unhappy with you as a mother, just like it would be impossible for you to be a bad mother at all. Everyone has a way of rising to the occasion, and motherhood would have been no exception. I know it's easy to write this off as being some sort of grand sign about how things weren't right and the timing wasn't right but that's just not the case. Sometimes, shit just happens. There's no rhyme or reason and it fucking sucks. But that's just the way things go. Someday, if you ever decide to have kids again, you are going to be the best mother in the world and I can't wait to experience that alongside you. If I were to live my life all over again, you are exactly the kind of person that I would want my mother to be. You are kind and you are giving and you are understanding to the nth degree. I know it's human nature to look for an explanation and to look for a sign, but you're digging where there's nothing. Sometimes, shit just happens.
Then, even more recently he had said something of the same; his faith and certainty in me never wavering.
Hey, hey. You don't need to cry.
I just love this baby so much.
You don't need to cry over this. They know that we love them so much. They know that they are coming into the world to meet the best mother in the world—
You don't know that.
What? There are few things I am more certain of in this world than the fact that you will be a fantastic mother.
How?
You took me in when I needed a home. That's what good mothers do. You never judge me. That's what good mothers do. You're unfailingly kind to every person that you've ever met. You give people second chances. You love with your whole entire heart and soul. You hug like you never want to let go. That's what good mothers do. Kid, just because you didn't have a good mother yourself doesn't meant you're totally blind to the concept. It doesn't mean that you can't be a good mother when its your time to be a mother.
Aware of the prolonged silence, I clear my throat. "Well, I'm sure that you and Oliver are naturals, too. Either way, I'm really excited to see you. I miss you, a lot."
"I miss you, too."
"You're sure it's okay if we bring Stevie?" When Monty and Oliver first extended the invitation, they had been more than happy to additionally host sweet-tempered Stevie. Though I can't imagine them changing their mind, I'm not sure whether anything with Elliot would have made them change their mind since the initial offer.
"Absolutely." He falls quiet for a minute, neither one of us knowing exactly what to say. I've always appreciated this about Monty: he's always been the type of friend that I don't necessarily feel the need to talk to. We're as comfortable in silence as we are in the midst of conversation. "I just wanted to call to check in. We'll see you this weekend?"
"I can't wait."
"See you, Gracie." With that, the line clicks dead and I am left in the sudden silence of the room around me. There is a temporary ache of loneliness, quenched immediately when I hear the creak of third stair and know that Harry is on his way back up to me. Even such the notion of that is enough to warm my heart. Just thinking of Harry is enough to turn my mood around completely.
☤☤☤
I did something that I've never done before: I put Stevie in a costume. Mostly, I was surprised that she let me do it to her. Even since we got her, it is very obvious that she continues to mellow out in her older age. About nine now, she is definitely more forgiving of us doing things like putting her in Christmas tree costumes for Christmas. She doesn't shake out of them immediately and she doesn't try to take them off herself. In fact, for the duration of the car ride to Portland, she laid down in the backseat and just left the costume alone entirely. If I didn't know better, I would think she actually liked it.
Harry laughed at me when I suggested that we get a costume for her. I thought it was a good idea. I thought that it would make Elliot's first Christmas special. Harry, on the other hand, thought it was a bit tacky. To which I just gestured around the entirety of our house that he had—as usual—absolutely transformed for the holiday. Effectively silenced, he drove me to the pet store where I could get the costume for her.
Now, I would even dare to say that he likes the costume.
As we pull up to Monty and Oliver's driveway, Harry is the first one out of the car. "I'll come over and help you out. Wait for me," he says to me, as though it is the first time he has ever said it before. Seven months pregnant, my stomach is bulging. Getting in and out of the car has become a hazardous occupation for me as much as I loathe to admit it. I still like to clutch at the glimpses of my total independence, even if it is no longer the wisest option. Clumsy already, my swollen ankles make most everything seem impossible without assistance. Fortunately, Harry is always seconds from my side.
In the backseat, Stevie perks up as she notices that we've stopped moving. My hand rests on my stomach as I turn and look at her. "Stevie," I say, speaking to her in that playfully warning tone as Harry exits the car and makes his way over to my side. There's a fresh layer of snow laid out on the ground and I can tell that he is being extra-cautious to ensure that he doesn't slip. "Remember to play nice with Elliot. She's a baby, you have to be gentle." Even though I doubt if she can understand me in the first place, I do feel better for having warned her, at the very least.
When the door beside me opens, a rush of cool air covers me. Christmas Eve, the sun has set and the lights that decorate the neighborhood are glowing. Monty and Oliver have opted for a simpler look—beautiful and classy—with white lights hanging everywhere. Inherently I think of my own house; the house that Harry donned with colored lights, festive blow-ups, and light features galore. It hadn't ever been my style to decorate so excessively before, but now I can't imagine not doing it.
I take my time in unbuckling myself and zipping up my jacket before moving to get out of the car. Harry is patient with me, his hands held out ready for me to take them as I slip one leg out of the car and then the other. "Easy, easy," he hums, the picture of perfect patience as he bears the majority of my weight while helping me stand outside of the car. Once out, he leans inside and grabs my bag and phone before shutting the door behind me. "Can you take Stevie?"
"Can you get her out of the car?" I ask, taking a moment to orient myself in my new, standing position.
He nods, leaning back into the car to get our dog out of the backseat. She hops out immediately, eager to land by my side. Still protective as ever of me in the midst of my pregnancy, she seems to have latched on to me even more now. All along she's always had a closer bond with me than Harry, but my pregnancy seems to have amplified such. Harry hands me the leash as he makes his way to the trunk to grab both of our bags.
Taking both of them in one hand, he comes back over to me and wraps his free hand around my waist to act as support for me as we make our way up the shoveled walkway to the house. He treats me like I am a fine piece of china—delicate and breakable. Sweet and endearing as it is, I do find it to be a bit frustrating at times. Though, I know that is just the pregnancy speaking. I'd never thought it possible, though, there does become a point in which you just are done being pregnant. Rapidly reaching that point, it is slightly dismaying to know that there are still a full two more months: still two more months of lugging my baby around and two more months until I get to meet them.
Halfway up the walkway, the door swings open and Oliver comes running out. "You didn't tell us you arrived!" He scolds, taking Stevie's leash from me and one of the bags from Harry. "Monty is inside feeding Elliot. We didn't hear you—we wouldn't have made you carry this all yourself."
"Oh, it's fine. Don't worry, please, we're fine." I assure him, holding on tighter to Harry's waist as I carefully avoid a patch of ice on the ground. Oliver mumbles something unintelligible as he leads us into the house, immediately welcoming us into their living room. The smell of cinnamon and cookies immediately overwhelms me, beckoning me in deeper. A soothing piano playlist plays soft Christmas songs and I can see Monty in the kitchen, gently rocking Elliot as he holds a bottle to her lips. The sight is the picture of domesticity, love, and peace. A tender moment, I'm sure, in comparison to the screaming and the diapers and whatever else they go through on a daily basis. Though still, this is one of those moments in which I can tell that the two of them want to put a stamp on as being worth it.
I stop in my tracks, watching Monty as he continues to rock and feed Elliot. Elliot's eyes are shut, but Monty's aren't. He's staring down at her, looking at her with all of the love in the world and I can feel is rattle through me with a shocking ferocity. I hold myself tighter to Harry in response to it.
He notices. I know that he does. Though, he doesn't say anything. Not yet. "Where should we put this down?" Harry holds up the bag still in his hand. Oliver releases Stevie from his hold and lets her explore the house at whim. She moves in slow, concentrated steps—as though she had taken note of the warnings that I had offered her earlier.
"Here, I'll take you and give you a moment to settle in." Oliver leads us down the hallway in the direction of the spare room. He opens the door and a bed is waiting there for us, a festive throw blanket laid on the edge of the bed and a dresser for us to store our clothes for the long weekend. "Take your time. We're just finishing up with Elliot."
"Want us to take Stevie?" Harry offers as he sets the bags down on the bed.
"No, no. It's okay. I'll just finish up dinner and call you when it's ready. Can I get either of you something to drink?"
"No, we're okay." I answer for both of us as I sit down on the edge of the bed. Already, my feet are beginning to grow sore from the weight of carrying around my baby. My swollen ankles don't do much for support anymore.
Oliver gives us a smile before shutting the door on the way out, leaving Harry and I alone in the bedroom. "Are you okay?" He asks me, turning on me as soon as the door clicks shut. He comes over to sit beside me on the bed, wrapping his arm around me in the simplest form of contact. "Tell me what's going on?"
Times like these, I fall impossibly more in love with my husband; my best friend. Even just the slightest change in my demeanor and he knows that something is wrong. Not wrong, not necessarily, but he knows that I need him in this moment. He's always had a spectacular way of knowing exactly what I need and when I need it. In this way, he knows me better than anyone else in the world. Sometimes I wonder whether he even knows me better than I know myself.
I lean into him.
With Harry, I don't mind being weak. With Harry—I'll amend—I don't think that emoting is weakness. I find it to be a part of honesty. Emotions aren't weakness, but natural. "Every once in a while, it just seems more real."
"What does?"
"The fact that there's a baby inside me. That in two months, we'll have a baby." I play with the fabric at the hem of his shirt. His breathing remains constant as he waits for me to continue. Before I even know that I have more to say, he knows that there is more. "I don't know. Every once in a while I just have these moments when I realize that once the baby is born, that baby is with us for life. I didn't... I didn't have that last time. Last time I went through it and at the end of the day I just went home and nothing changed. Once this baby is born, everything will change."
Slowly, he begins to nod his head, sensing my head. "What do you think is everything?"
"We won't be able to just go out and do what we want. Everything will be based on that baby for the next eighteen years of our life." To me, this is something of a novelty. To Harry, I wonder if this is just a repeat of what his life was like before he knew me; back when he was living in England with his sisters. Back then, he was more of a parent than I've ever been before. It's never been a secret that he is the more prepared of the two of us.
"That's one way of thinking of it." He agrees, nodding his head. With our proximity—with his cheek resting against the top of my head—he messes up my hair in the process.
I pause in the middle of my movements, curious to see where he is going with this. "What's another?"
"Obviously what you're saying is valid, kid. Our lives are going to change. But how about instead of thinking of that we are losing, what about all that we're gaining? We're gaining a child. Our child; a baby that is equal part you, equal part me and is physical proof of our love. That isn't a bad thing. I think that's the best thing." His hands begin to rub up and down my arms as though he is trying to warm me. I'm always cold now. I hate it; though, I love the way that he is able to warm me up.
"Okay." I agree.
Sometimes, I play a game with myself. It's a secret game; one that I don't tell Harry about. Sometimes, I'll close my eyes and imagine what our baby will look like. Will they have my freckles? Harry's nose? The shape of my eyes? The color of Harry's eyes? Harry's curls? Will they have my small hands? Will they take the shape of my calves? In my head, I imagine all of the different ways that our baby could take form and live outside of my womb. The secret in it is self-preservation. Fear manifested after losing my previous baby. In the silence, I can protect myself from sharing this part of me with someone else.
Though I've hurdled the hump of the point in which I lost Harriet, I still feel like someone is waiting to pull the rug from under my feet. This is the truth that I hold to myself.
"You're holding something," he tells me. Not a question, but an observation. Not accusing, not threatening. Just the observation alone tells me everything that he would had he spoken anyway. He'll never force me into sharing these thoughts with him, but he wants me to know that I can. Automatically I think back to the night before the intern exam. We'd been sitting on top of his car.
You're not okay.
I'm sorry?
You're not okay, are you? You haven't been for a while.
Define a while.
I don't think you've been okay since I met you.
You hide it well. But I think I know you well enough now to know that something's not right. It's not my burden to bear, and I'm not prematurely offering to help. I guess I just want you to know that I know; that I see you. I can see you're hurting and I just want you to know that when you're hurting, I'm hurting, too.
That conversation has always been a spot that I hold on to. A space in which I feel free and that I feel I can be myself. In that moment—and, most others—he saw me as I was; as I am. He didn't judge me. He just saw me and accepted me as I was. I hadn't known how desperate I was for that kind of validation until it was offered to me. Never once in the time since have I ever gone back on that kind of friendship. He's never taken that from me and I've never taken it from him.
Trust was born on that day.
"I'd like to keep it for me." I say softly. I know he'll be okay with that. He would never challenge me on something like this. I'm grateful for it. I don't know how I would put my feelings into words, anyway. I'm grateful that he would never make me.
"That's enough for me," he tells me, though, we both know that he doesn't have to say that words.
He tucks his hand under my chin then and pulls my lips up to his in a soft kiss. The kiss says everything that neither of us knows how to. "I love you." The words exist between us in every moment of our lives.
"I love you," he repeats, a wide, broad smile tugging on his features. "Why don't you rest for a bit and I'll put our clothes away?" He offers, reaching over already to begin unzipping my bag and putting my clothes in the dresser. "If you fall asleep, I'll wake you up when dinner's ready." With that, he presses a kiss on my forehead as he begins humming familiar songs as I drift off to sleep.
☤☤☤
On Christmas morning, Harry and Monty are both hungover. Oliver and I had spent the night sober, both of us taking care of Elliot. I'd been using the time to practice my skills with newborns, something that hasn't really been developed in the way that I would like when I consider that I'll have one of my own in two months. Monty and Harry, meanwhile, were drinking cheap wine and reminiscing on the past. Until we were going to bed and Harry tried to get a bit handsy with me, I didn't realize how much he had truly drank.
Stevie was the first one awake from our family. From the sound of it, Elliot had a hard time staying asleep through the night. When Stevie woke up, I started to pull myself out of bed to let her out. I knew that Harry had to be having a hard time getting up so early and figured that it would be the least that I could do. Of course, my movement woke Harry up and within seconds he was gripping his head while simultaneously telling me to go back to sleep and get my rest. I fought him on it for a moment, but he ended up winning when he ducked out of the room with Stevie hot on his heels.
I couldn't have fallen back to sleep if I wanted to.
So I got out of bed. Walking down the hallway, I relished in the smell of cinnamon that continued to coast throughout the entirety of the house. It was in the kitchen that I find Monty. His head is resting on the table with a steaming cup of coffee next to him. "Merry Christmas," I say softly, pulling out the chair next to him. He starts at the sound, but ultimately smiles at me as he adjusts his position.
Leaning over the table, he presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. "Merry Christmas."
"Coffee breath."
"Sorry, sorry." He apologizes, backing away while a smile. There's a dazed, exhausted look in his eye. From the kitchen we have a view to the backyard where Harry is walking around with Stevie. He's playing with her a bit, encouraging her to get the energy out, but it is very obvious that he is struggling through it. Still, there's a smile on his face as he claps around for Stevie to follow him and expend her energy before she's back in the close confines with Elliot. "I don't know how he's doing it."
Aggressively my head is nodding up and down in adamant agreement. "All jokes aside, he's a superhero. Super-human, at least." While I speak, that familiar warm feeling bubbles in my chest. It's the feeling that I always get when I talk about him. More and more often, I find that these are the kinds of conversation that I have with Monty.
Monty looks at me and gives me a sly sort of smile. "I don't know if I ever would have put the two of you together."
"You're telling me that now?" Automatically, my eyes fall down to my severely pregnant stomach.
Monty laughs loudly and immediately winces at the sound. His hands move to his temples and he begins to massage them. "Not like that. I just think about back in the day and where you are now. Now, you're the best couple I know. Oliver made me believe in my own personal soulmate, but the two of you made me believe in it on a worldview. Maybe you even put us to shame."
"It's not a competition."
"Love never is," he agrees, leaning back in his chair as he looks at me. "Thanks for helping with Elliot last night."
"I was more than happy to. I need all the practice I can get."
"No, you don't." He shakes his head at me, bringing his cup to his lips. I look at him curiously, the words going against everything else that I would have believed.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugs his shoulders, something of a knowing smile playing on his lips. He's looking at me from the standpoint of someone who is a parent. At this point in time, I still don't fit into the club. In only a few months, I'll have a lifetime membership. "You'll see. I'm proud of you, Gracie."
"Thank you." I reach over and grab his hand in my own. He squeezes back. His mouth opens to say something, but before he gets the chance, the front door swings open and Santa Claus walks straight in the door.
My jaw drops as I try to make sense of what I'm seeing, my eyebrows tugging low in confusion. At least, until a low, broad Scottish accent streams out a slew of curses as something gets caught in the door. I'm laughing the entire moment filling me with more happiness than I know what to do with. "Get over here and help me up," I tell him, struggling out of the seat. He kicks off his shows and hurries over to help me up, immediately tugging me into a tight hug.
"Hiya, hen. Ye look radiant," he presses a kiss against my cheek. His own face is tinged red from the cold. Mostly hidden under the fake bear and the Santa hat, I can still make out the very familiar features. "Yer house is damn near impossible tae find," he insults, but the sound doesn't even land as he claps Monty on the shoulder.
"I didn't know you were coming," I tell him, taking his hand in mine as he leads me over to the living room to sit me down on the couch next to the tree.
Fitzy shrugs his shoulders. "I didna either. Oliver invited me last night and I couldna say no, now could I?" He nudges me slightly as he sits down next to me. "Where's me lad? And the bairn?" He looks around for Harry, Oliver, and Elliot. "And the pup?"
"Harry and Stevie are outside. Oliver's getting Elliot ready." Monty recaps for him, following us into the living room with his coffee. He looks at the tree. Last night, Harry had helped him set up the pile of presents. We brought some presents for Elliot that sit prettily next to the pile from Santa. Even though she won't be able to really open any of them, they still wanted to get in the habit of making Christmas something special for her.
"Honey, can you make me a cup of tea?" I turn to Fitzy, a look of longing in my face. Pregnancy has made me helpless in a way, dependent on the other people around me as I grow increasingly unwilling to get up and down for the more unimportant happenings. A quick kiss is landed on my cheek as he agrees, heading into the kitchen to make me a cup. "Did you know he was coming?"
"No, Oliver didn't even tell me he invited him."
"This is the best Christmas I've ever had, I think." I tell him, reaching over to squeeze his hand again. "Maybe I'll tell Harry to dress Stevie up in her costume again and we can take a big Christmas card together. Me and Harry in our Christmas pajamas, you and Oliver in yours, Elliot and—" my hand cups my chest as I am not even able to continue on. "This is truly all I could have ever wanted."
Monty looks at me with a fond smile. "And it's not even half of what you deserve."