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“We’ll never forget this one, you know. But yes, it’s about to be the best one yet.”
With backward glances, Gabrielle and I walk away from the place where we really, finally, started after so many years apart. And I grip the hand of the woman who is about to make every one of my dreams come true, knowing that I’ll do anything on this earth to protect and make her happy.
32
GABRIELLE
Morning sickness doesn’t dissipate into the second trimester because, at eighteen weeks, I can barely sleep past four a.m. without getting up to puke.
I know I need to talk to my doctor about medication or a natural remedy because no one should have to exist this way, but part of me wants all the symptoms full force. There was such a long time where I thought I’d never even get the chance to have a baby of my own, so I want whatever the worst of this is so I can also get the best of it.
Liam left early this morning to meet with the factory owners where he has the sauce jarred, but it doesn’t escape my notice that he leaves me a glass of ginger ale and a sleeve of crackers on the nightstand. The man may be one of few words, because he doesn’t leave a poetic love note with it, but he demonstrates how much he cares with his actions. That same “meal” greets me every morning because my baby daddy knows I need to settle my stomach before my feet even hit the floor.
Slowly, I chew the crackers down past the bile rising in my throat and gulp some of the bubbly drink. A few minutes later, I start to feel human again, and baby boy lets me know he likes the carbonation with a few kicks to my ribs. Smiling, I rub at the spot, knowing the havoc he’s causing in my body is worth every symptom.
Sunlight pours through the windows of Liam’s kitchen as I try to stomach some toast, and the chirp of birds outside makes something open inside my chest. I love it out here, which shocked me at first. Growing up in a busy suburb, I wasn’t used to the solitude of the woods or a small town with no big box or chain stores. But as I sit alone in what I’d probably have joked was a log cabin not too long ago, I’m completely at peace.
Knowing our son will grow up on this land, one that his ancestors called their own as well, makes this that much sweeter.
The outside air calls to me come midmorning, so I pull on a sweater and some boots. The air is growing cooler, even marginally, as we round the seasons to autumn. My heart does a happy dance knowing that pumpkin everything, colored leaves, and soup season will be upon us soon, and I’m sure Liam will be grumbling as I drag him apple picking, but I’m nothing if not basic when it comes to fall.
A gentle breeze has my hair floating on the wind as I walk down the porch steps and out into the front yard. Which, essentially, is the start of the crop fields. It’s no wonder Liam built his house on this patch of land on the Ashton acres; it’s just a stone’s throw from the land he loves so much. As much as I want to design a house for our family and am obsessed with home decor ideas, as nesting hits me hard, I know we’ll stay here for a while after the baby is born. The coziness of his home is enticing, just thinking about our family of three nestled in there makes me want to burst into emotional happy tears.
Opting to walk through the fields instead of taking the path to Leona and Thomas’ house, I let my heels hit the dirt. Careful to avoid the corn cropping up on the outskirts of the fields, I mosey between the stalks letting my hands skim the plants.
Alone time like this makes my mind wander, and since it’s occupied with so many baby and motherhood thoughts these days, I war with myself for the hundredth time that I should call my family and tell them about the pregnancy.
It’s been months, and I still haven’t broken the news to them. For one thing, I know the responses I’ll get: disappointment, half-ass questions, judgmental comments, and insincere promises that they’ll get out to see the baby once he’s born. I can practically play through the entire conversation in my head, like it’s a script my parents and siblings will follow.
Their reactions will be nothing like how Liam’s family has treated me and us since they found out, with excitement, love, and so much support. At some point, I need to let my family know, but I’ve been dreading what it will do to me mentally. In some way, I know it will be the last time we truly connect. They don’t reach out to me unless it’s to use guilt to try to lure me into something I don’t want to do, and I no longer feel this pull to keep them in my life.
Sure, I don’t wish ill on them, but they also aren’t my family any longer. I get to choose now who fills that spot, and I choose Liam and our baby. The love I feel in our home, in this found family, is far greater than any I was born into.
While I contemplate just how I’ll go about telling them, a whir in the distance catches my ear. It’s probably one of the farmhands working on a different part of the fields acres away. My feet keep on trucking, the walk helping to clear my nausea and my mind.
Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, the rumbling grows louder, shaking the ground beneath my feet, and I turn to see a machine nearly at my tailbone.
“Oh my God!” My surprise is drowned out by the whir of farm machinery, and not just any kind.
An enormous combine, heading straight for me.
What the hell is going on? It’s the only thing I can think as I dive out of the way, the vehicle barely missing my right ankle as I land in the dirt on my ass. I turned my body, curling in on myself to shield my stomach and the baby from any damage. Except now I can feel the throb in my lower spine at coming down so hard.
The combine speeds by at a pace I don’t think is normal, but I guess how would I know? Did Liam get home early? Did whoever is operating the machine not see me?
Questions flood me as I slowly pull myself up, my lower half aching from the impact. The nausea is back too, making me almost double over. Could be the adrenaline and fear flooding my system, and I know I need to get back to the house and call my doctor after that fall. Severe worry swamps me as my hands fly to my stomach, wondering if my baby is okay.
Please, dear God, you have to be okay.
But before I can clear the stalks of corn and get out into the open once more to hurry back to the house, the rumble is back. The machine is just feet away, leaving a ruined field and plants in its wake, and I’ve got nowhere to go. Running will only fail me; I’m slow as it is right now, and the combine is far faster than I could ever be on foot. Diving again might injure me further, and going the other direction only puts me more at risk to be hidden in the field and susceptible to be run over.
Waving my arms frantically, I try to get the driver to stop instead. It’s close now, and I turn to the side, trying to shield my belly and the life inside. Stop, whoever this is has to stop!
I glimpse into the machine to see an older man’s face, his shocked surprise as he sees me standing there. His hand wrenches back and the grinding of gears in my ears sets every nerve on fire. The combine wheels dig into the dirt, trying to get traction, but it’s too late. It’s barreling toward me even as it slows, and I won’t escape in time.
Throwing myself again, I pray with everything I have to anyone who will listen to just keep my baby safe. To make sure Liam doesn’t find me in this state but that someone else discovers me. A garbled “I love you” leaves my lips as the ground rushes up at me.
My body hits the ground sideways, dust and leaves clogging the air as I try to suck in. Even taking a breath hurts, and my head is the last thing to smack into the hard ground. Stars dot my vision as pain radiates through my skull.
