The Goal
Page 80
“No threesomes for Jamie,” he declares. “Maybe we should homeschool her until she’s thirty.”
“We’re turning into hypocrites.”
Tucker nods enthusiastically. “Yup, and no guilt here.” Right before he ducks into the house, he murmurs, “By the way, it was a foursome.”
I gasp. “Two guys and two girls?”
He smirks. “Three girls and me.”
“Wow.” I’m more impressed than angry. “Good for you, stud.”
Snickering, he pushes into the front hall and kicks off his flip-flops.
Inside, the house is surprisingly quiet. Ray must still be in bed, because the television is on but the volume is low, and instead of ESPN, a game show is playing.
“That you, Sabrina?” Nana calls from the kitchen.
“I’ll take the baby to the bedroom,” Tucker says, trying to keep as quiet as possible.
I head to the kitchen. “Hey, Nana. I, ah, survived.” I raise my hands in a lame victory pose.
She wipes her hands on a towel. Behind her, bacon is sizzling in a pan and the smell of eggs and vanilla fill the air. My stomach rumbles in appreciation. Hospital food is terrible.
“The baby sleeping?”
“Yup.” I open the oven door. Thick slices of golden French toast rest in a syrup of peach juice. My mouth waters. “This looks so good.”
“You should eat and then go lie down. These first few weeks aren’t easy.” She nudges me toward the table, her tone and her touch surprisingly loving.
“Do you want to see Jamie?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Carin and Hope had visited yesterday, whereas Nana had stayed away. It definitely hurt my feelings, but since Nana is my go-to caregiver, I don’t want to be a jerk about this.
“She’s sleeping,” Nana says dismissively. “There’ll be time enough for holding when the little thing wakes up. Babies never sleep for long—you have to take advantage of it while you can. Your man here?”
“Right here, Ms. James. What can I help with?” Tucker strides in with purpose, filling up the small room with his tall frame and broad shoulders. Whatever trepidation he had upon leaving the hospital seems to have worn off.
“You sit down too. We’re having breakfast. French toast and bacon.”
“I wish I could stay, but I have to go. My boss called and one of the crew members fell off a ladder on a job. He said he’d pay me extra if I came on short notice.”
“Extra money’s good,” Nana says with a nod.
Tucker leans down to kiss my cheek. “Walk me out?”
I get up without question and follow him outside to the truck. Now that I don’t have a baby bump between us, things feel awkward. He’s seen me at my worst, though, and is still sticking around. “Thanks for everything.”
“I haven’t done much.”
“You were there with me. That’s a lot.”
He runs his thumb along my jawbone. “You were out of it in the hospital. Do you remember much of it?”
Like how you told me you love me?
“I don’t remember much,” I lie. “I was operating on pure exhaustion.”
His face tightens with disappointment. “All right. If you want to play it that way, I’ll let it go for now.” He opens the driver’s door. “I’ll see you after work. Call me if you need anything.”
I want to tell him I need him to say he loves me when I’m not screaming my head off in pain or when I’m not weeping about how scared I am of motherhood.
A dozen emotions slide and pulse beneath the thin membrane of my self-control. Feeling vulnerable, I step back. “We’ll be fine. Come when you can.”
From the way his jaw hardens into granite, I know it’s not the answer he wants.
With a small wave, I hurry inside, not waiting to see him roar away. In the living room, I find Nana holding Jamie.
“She was crying,” Nana says defensively.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, fighting a smile. “Mind if I hop in the shower? I feel gross.”
“You go on ahead.” Her gaze is glued to Jamie’s face. “This little one loves her grandma, don’t you? Don’t you?”
With a lightened heart, I hit the shower. Nana’s clearly halfway in love with Jamie already. Who wouldn’t be, though? She’s the most amazing thing in the world.
I take a good, long, hot shower, which they didn’t allow in the hospital due to the epidural. Despite the pain, it feels good to be out of that hospital bed. After drying off, I throw on a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt and then examine my reflection in the mirror.
My body still feels weird and not my own. The capillaries in my eyes burst during labor, so I look demonic, all red-eyed and wild hair. I could give Helena Bonham Carter a run for her weird, crazy money. My tummy is still large and round—only now it’s squishy and soft. My breasts have grown to enormous, comical sizes.
It’s a good thing I can’t have sex for six weeks. I can’t even look at my post-partum shape without flinching, let alone want Tucker to look at it.
“You still doing the breastfeeding thing? I always used formula, and both you and your momma turned out fine.” Nana eyes me expectantly as I join her in the living room.
“They’ve said it’s the best.”
“Hmmmph. I may’ve read something like that in People. Well, you should probably feed the poor tyke then.”
She hands the baby over, and I carefully tuck Jamie against my chest and carry her to my bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lift up one side of my shirt, holding it against my chest with my chin, and then lift Jamie up to my boob. She roots around like a little animal until she finds the nipple. Thankfully, she latches on.
I sigh with relief and scoot backward on the mattress until my shoulders hit the wall. The lactation consultant warned me that breastfeeding is hard as fuck—well, she didn’t use those words exactly, but that was the gist—so I’m grateful that this is going okay for now.
Picking up my phone, I one-hand type a couple of texts.
Me: I’m home.
Hope: When can I come over?
Carin: NO!!!!!!! I haven’t finished the booties. Go back to the hospital!
Me: U sound like Tucker. He didn’t want to leave either.
Carin: Listen to ur BB daddy.
“We’re turning into hypocrites.”
Tucker nods enthusiastically. “Yup, and no guilt here.” Right before he ducks into the house, he murmurs, “By the way, it was a foursome.”
I gasp. “Two guys and two girls?”
He smirks. “Three girls and me.”
“Wow.” I’m more impressed than angry. “Good for you, stud.”
Snickering, he pushes into the front hall and kicks off his flip-flops.
Inside, the house is surprisingly quiet. Ray must still be in bed, because the television is on but the volume is low, and instead of ESPN, a game show is playing.
“That you, Sabrina?” Nana calls from the kitchen.
“I’ll take the baby to the bedroom,” Tucker says, trying to keep as quiet as possible.
I head to the kitchen. “Hey, Nana. I, ah, survived.” I raise my hands in a lame victory pose.
She wipes her hands on a towel. Behind her, bacon is sizzling in a pan and the smell of eggs and vanilla fill the air. My stomach rumbles in appreciation. Hospital food is terrible.
“The baby sleeping?”
“Yup.” I open the oven door. Thick slices of golden French toast rest in a syrup of peach juice. My mouth waters. “This looks so good.”
“You should eat and then go lie down. These first few weeks aren’t easy.” She nudges me toward the table, her tone and her touch surprisingly loving.
“Do you want to see Jamie?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Carin and Hope had visited yesterday, whereas Nana had stayed away. It definitely hurt my feelings, but since Nana is my go-to caregiver, I don’t want to be a jerk about this.
“She’s sleeping,” Nana says dismissively. “There’ll be time enough for holding when the little thing wakes up. Babies never sleep for long—you have to take advantage of it while you can. Your man here?”
“Right here, Ms. James. What can I help with?” Tucker strides in with purpose, filling up the small room with his tall frame and broad shoulders. Whatever trepidation he had upon leaving the hospital seems to have worn off.
“You sit down too. We’re having breakfast. French toast and bacon.”
“I wish I could stay, but I have to go. My boss called and one of the crew members fell off a ladder on a job. He said he’d pay me extra if I came on short notice.”
“Extra money’s good,” Nana says with a nod.
Tucker leans down to kiss my cheek. “Walk me out?”
I get up without question and follow him outside to the truck. Now that I don’t have a baby bump between us, things feel awkward. He’s seen me at my worst, though, and is still sticking around. “Thanks for everything.”
“I haven’t done much.”
“You were there with me. That’s a lot.”
He runs his thumb along my jawbone. “You were out of it in the hospital. Do you remember much of it?”
Like how you told me you love me?
“I don’t remember much,” I lie. “I was operating on pure exhaustion.”
His face tightens with disappointment. “All right. If you want to play it that way, I’ll let it go for now.” He opens the driver’s door. “I’ll see you after work. Call me if you need anything.”
I want to tell him I need him to say he loves me when I’m not screaming my head off in pain or when I’m not weeping about how scared I am of motherhood.
A dozen emotions slide and pulse beneath the thin membrane of my self-control. Feeling vulnerable, I step back. “We’ll be fine. Come when you can.”
From the way his jaw hardens into granite, I know it’s not the answer he wants.
With a small wave, I hurry inside, not waiting to see him roar away. In the living room, I find Nana holding Jamie.
“She was crying,” Nana says defensively.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, fighting a smile. “Mind if I hop in the shower? I feel gross.”
“You go on ahead.” Her gaze is glued to Jamie’s face. “This little one loves her grandma, don’t you? Don’t you?”
With a lightened heart, I hit the shower. Nana’s clearly halfway in love with Jamie already. Who wouldn’t be, though? She’s the most amazing thing in the world.
I take a good, long, hot shower, which they didn’t allow in the hospital due to the epidural. Despite the pain, it feels good to be out of that hospital bed. After drying off, I throw on a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt and then examine my reflection in the mirror.
My body still feels weird and not my own. The capillaries in my eyes burst during labor, so I look demonic, all red-eyed and wild hair. I could give Helena Bonham Carter a run for her weird, crazy money. My tummy is still large and round—only now it’s squishy and soft. My breasts have grown to enormous, comical sizes.
It’s a good thing I can’t have sex for six weeks. I can’t even look at my post-partum shape without flinching, let alone want Tucker to look at it.
“You still doing the breastfeeding thing? I always used formula, and both you and your momma turned out fine.” Nana eyes me expectantly as I join her in the living room.
“They’ve said it’s the best.”
“Hmmmph. I may’ve read something like that in People. Well, you should probably feed the poor tyke then.”
She hands the baby over, and I carefully tuck Jamie against my chest and carry her to my bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lift up one side of my shirt, holding it against my chest with my chin, and then lift Jamie up to my boob. She roots around like a little animal until she finds the nipple. Thankfully, she latches on.
I sigh with relief and scoot backward on the mattress until my shoulders hit the wall. The lactation consultant warned me that breastfeeding is hard as fuck—well, she didn’t use those words exactly, but that was the gist—so I’m grateful that this is going okay for now.
Picking up my phone, I one-hand type a couple of texts.
Me: I’m home.
Hope: When can I come over?
Carin: NO!!!!!!! I haven’t finished the booties. Go back to the hospital!
Me: U sound like Tucker. He didn’t want to leave either.
Carin: Listen to ur BB daddy.
