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When we get back to Saxon and Catie’s house, Saxon says, “I think you should stay the night and we should get drunk,” and I laugh and agree. So he pours us both a big whisky, and while the girls sip their lemonade and talk about babies, the two of us discuss being a dad, and our hopes and dreams for fatherhood.
Juliette and I sleep in their spare room, and then next morning we say goodbye with big hugs and promises to see more of them, and head up the coast to the lighthouse where we’ve booked to stay that night.
Later that day finds us sitting together on the sofa in the viewing room, watching the setting sun flood the sky and the ocean with blues and purples and oranges.
I’d already talked to the baby in Juliette’s tummy before we found out it was mine. I’d been determined to love it and treat it as my own. But knowing it’s mine makes it extra special.
I sit in the corner of the sofa, and she sits with her back to me, and I rest my hands on her belly as I kiss her.
“I can’t wait until you have a bump,” I murmur.
“And stretch marks,” she says. “Yeah, terrific.”
“I’ll kiss every one.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re full of shit.”
“I mean it!” I brush up to her breasts. “And I look forward to seeing what happens to these, too.”
“Yeah, Catie gave me a few warnings about that.” She laughs.
I chuckle and kiss her cheek. “I’m glad we’ve got them to call on.”
“Yeah, me too. For the first time, I don’t feel scared about it. I mean, I know you would have been supportive and everything, even if it wasn’t yours, but I did feel kind of alone. Now, I don’t. I feel as if we’re in it together.”
“Definitely.” I slide a hand beneath her chin and lift it so I can kiss her lips. “Ka nui taku aroha ki a koe.”
“I love you too.” And she kisses me back, while the sun bathes us both in its caramel-colored light.
Epilogue
September 12th
Henry
“It won’t be long now,” Alex says.
I’m lying on a row of chairs in the hospital waiting room, looking up at the ceiling as I talk to him on my phone. It’s just gone eleven p.m., and I’ve been up since three a.m., which is when Juliette’s contractions started, so I’m pretty exhausted.
“The midwife says it might still be a few hours,” I point out.
“Eh,” he says, “I have a feeling it’s going to happen this side of midnight. It wants to be born on my birthday.”
I chuckle, glad I gave him his present of a framed photo of him and his family yesterday. “Maybe.”
“I’m guessing you’re tired,” he says.
“I’m considering taping my eyelids to my forehead to keep them open.”
“Couldn’t you get a few hours’ kip now?”
“I’ll sleep when she does,” I tell him.
“You old softie.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sigh. “Anyway, you said on your text you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“It could have waited, bro.”
