***
Mom walks into my house, and she forces a smile at me as I lean against a wall with my hands in my pockets.
“Are you and Bella back together?” she asks me.
How does she even know we’re apart?
“Not yet,” I tell her instead of asking how she knows. “I need your help with something that might aide in me getting her back though.”
“Of course,” she says without hesitation.
I push off from the wall, and I gesture with my head for her to follow me into the empty room I spent the night before clearing out. It was a guestroom, since it’s the second largest room in the house.
“What’s this?” Mom asks, confused.
“It’s going to be a nursery.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and I keep my expression stoic.
“Bella’s pregnant,” I explain.
Her breath catches in her th
roat as she fans herself.
“Not planned, I assume, since you two broke up. How is she taking it?”
She’s not having the reaction I expected. She looks more worried than excited right now.
“She’s… I honestly don’t know. In order to get her back, I need to prove how serious I am about her and our baby. She’ll never believe I love her if I just say it, especially now. I mean, you have no idea how badly I fucked up.”
Her eyes immediately water, and she swallows hard.
“You love her?”
Not sure why that’s so hard for people to believe. I’ve been obsessed with her since I met her, and I’ve gradually gotten in over my head without realizing it. Took me a while to realize that drowning sensation and need to see her all the time was love.
It’s not the flowers and unicorns the greeting cards paint it to be.
No. Love is a consuming, unrelenting beast that bitch slaps you in the middle of the night like a rude awakening during a dream. It devours you whole, and it leaves you wrecked when it starts to slip through your fingers.
“Yeah. I love her,” I say, trying not to let her focus on that part and break out that damn wedding book again. “But if I want her back, I need your help. Can you turn this room into a perfect nursery and help me baby-proof my house?”
She holds up a hand, more tears in her eyes. Then she walks away. I listen and start counting down when the door to the backyard shuts.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
On—
Loud, celebratory squeals cut off the final number in my head, and my lips twitch as I poke my head around the side to see my mother in my backyard through the window. She’s dancing. She’s really fucking dancing right now.
Oh for fuck’s sake. Is that the electric slide?