She must’ve been squeezing Preston too tight. He began to squirm, little arms shoving at her to let him go. Piper’s face spasmed at that, as if that rejection was too much. But she set him on the floor, where he went back to his Duplo blocks.
Myles stepped around the pile of blocks and reached for her, trying to ignore the whip of pain at her flinch. “Piper, I was worried because I love you.”
Her gaze flew to his, the surprise there making him want to curse.
“I love you,” he repeated, more forcefully, framing her face in his hands.
But she didn’t relax, didn’t lean into him. Her eyes swam with unshed tears and her voice was a ragged whisper. “But not enough.”
“What?”
“You love the idea of me. The role. Some modern version of Betty Haynes or June Cleaver, who has a ready smile and a warm dinner waiting whenever you deign to come home from work, just like my mother said. I guess I can’t blame you for that. What guy wouldn’t want that? But I can’t maintain that. And you’d already figured that out. You said it yourself. I’m not who you thought I was, and you’ve got nothing more to give. I heard you talking to Simone. And I’m not going to fight you about cutting me loose. We had a business arrangement, and it’s not your fault I forgot that.”
Disbelief was the only thing keeping him silent long enough for her to finish. If this was what she believed, no wonder she’d moved out. No wonder she looked like he’d kicked her. A part of him wanted to rage that she could think this of him, but that would accomplish nothing. The record had to be set straight.
“Do you know what the first rule of journalism is? Always verify the facts.”
A guarded hope sprang into her eyes, but she said nothing.
“Fact: Yes, I’m a guy, so coming home to a hot meal and a smile and a warm, willing wife is a pretty freaking awesome way to end the day. But I certainly don’t expect it of you if you don’t feel like it. You’re human. You have crappy days, like anybody else, and sometimes you’re the one who needs the hot meals and a smile and a blanket fort. I’ve fallen down on that the last few weeks, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know it. I don’t expect you to be June Cleaver. That’s not who you are. And I can only assume your mother gets credit for shoving that particular brand of BS in your head.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but Myles just shook his head. “I’m not finished yet. Fact: What you heard me talking to Simone about was the new assistant editor I just hired. Vanessa was playing hardball and had just sent back a counter offer I couldn’t meet. I had decided to rescind the offer rather than keep playing that game. She was the one I was planning to cut loose. That deal is part of what’s kept me so busy lately. I’ve been trying to find the right person to bring in so that I can legitimately hand off some responsibility of the paper. Because I don’t want to work sixteen-hour days when you’re there to come home to. And as it turns out, when I cut the crap and told Vanessa that, it was a decision she could respect. She starts next month.”
“You...hired help to free up time...for me?”
Myles curled his hands around her arms and shook her, just a little. “Yes. And here’s another fact: This was never a business arrangement. Getting access to the trust to save my business was a component, but I married you because I wanted to, because you’re fun and smart and sexy. I married you because I want a life with you, and when you were crazy enough to be willing to marry me, I wasn’t about to miss the chance. I want a future with you. Kids. A sloppy dog. Rocking chairs on the front porch when we’re eighty. The whole shebang. I want you, Piper. Exactly as you are. And I will fight tooth and nail to keep you because I love you more than I imagined possible. I don’t know how you didn’t know that.”
The tears spilled over and gutted him. “You never said it.”
“I did everything I knew how to show you.”
A flash of consternation showed through the tears. “You’re a journalist. How can you, of all people, not know the power of words?”
“Because I’m a journalist I know how easy it is to spin words, to twist them to say something you don’t really mean. Hell, I didn’t even learn that from journalism. I learned it at home, from my own family. Words are cheap. Nobody knows that better than someone who spends eons choosing the right one for the right impact.”
Her throat worked. “They aren’t cheap to me.”
“Then I’ll splash it on the front page. I’ll make a special section for it in every edition. I’ll hire a skywriter, if that’s what you need. Just…don’t walk away.”
She gave a watery laugh. “I don’t need public declarations. I just…need to hear it.”
Myles pulled her into his arms, his own heart starting to beat again as she wrapped hers around him. He pressed his brow to hers. “I love you. And I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives.”
“I can live with that.”
~*~
Piper sighed, the tension of the last couple of days draining away. Weak and giddy with relief, she absorbed the warmth of Myles’ arms around her, the soft woosh of his breath inches away.
He loved her.
She’d been so very, very wrong. Thank God.
And now that her world had been set to rights, she needed to rock his one more time.
Before she could open her mouth to speak, a crash sounded from the kitchen.
Piper’s gaze shot to the blocks, but of course her nephew hadn’t sat around while they’d been intent on saving their marriage. She bolted into the kitchen, Myles on her heels, then skidded to a stop at the edge of the disaster.
“I don’t think we’ll be getting our bread this week,” Myles observed.
Preston had somehow turned over the twenty-five pound bucket of flour Leah kept by the counter, dumping the contents all over the kitchen floor, splashing it up on the cabinets and all over himself. A fog of it hung in the air. But that hadn’t been the source of the crash.
He’d dragged in the stool that usually lived in the bathroom so he could get to the faucet to wash his hands. The little monkey had used it to get to the kitchen sink to fill a little bucket, the kind more appropriate for a beach vacation. It was currently overflowing—thankfully still in the sink—from the still running tap. Judging by the spreading mess of wet, he’d managed to dump at least a couple of buckets on the flour already. A sand spade was stuck in the middle, coated with glop.
Preston himself perched on the edge of the counter, looking down at where his stool had been knocked over. Seeing the two of them standing in the doorway, he reached his arms out. “Down.”
Caught somewhere between horror and amusement, Piper choked out, “Well, at least he’s not bleeding.”
“What are you doing, little monkey?” Myles asked, skirting the edge of the mess to pluck him, sticky hands and all, off the counter.
“Sand castle.” He wiggled to get down, but Myles held firm.
“That, my fine fellow, is not sand. And you have made quite the mess.”
Preston shot him a flour streaked grin.
Her husband shook his head. “Well, I do recall saying you’d be good practice.”
Piper’s lips twitched. He had no idea how accurate that statement was. “And what lesson have we learned?”
“That it takes less than three minutes for a toddler to get into things if you aren’t paying attention?”
“File that one away. As they get more mobile, the span shortens.” Was now the moment? In the middle of this toddler-authored chaos? Probably not the best time, even if Myles looked more amused that distressed. She moved over and tweaked her nephew’s nose. “We need to get this cleaned up before your mommy gets home and bans us from babysitting duty. Divide and conquer. Take him on into the bath. I’ll get started on this.”
“You sure? Seems like you’re getting the bigger job here.” He had streaks of flour on his face from Preston’s grabby little hands.
She was definitely getting the better end of this stick. “I know wher
e all the cleaning supplies are. Just...keep him wrangled long enough for me to use them.”
So Myles hauled Preston back to the bathroom, keeping him entertained with what sounded like an epic battle of rubber duckies versus the cast of Little Nemo, while she cleaned up the mess. The mindless domesticity settled her, giving her mind a chance to truly empty out from all the angst and heartache. By the time the kitchen was set to rights, she felt calmer and ready to to drop her little bomb.
She leaned in the doorway to the bathroom, taking in this new scene of chaos. Wet towels were strewn across the floor and Preston’s entire collection of bath toys floated around him in what couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches of water. Myles perched on the closed lid of the toilet, rubber duckies in both hands as he talked some sort of nonsense to Preston. Her bruised heart swelled with warmth. He was going to be an amazing father.
“Did you leave any of the water in the actual tub?”
Myles looked up and she realized he’d cleaned his own face. “A bit. Pretty sure a fair bit wound up on me. My rubber duckie armada put up a valiant fight.”
“So I see.” Moving into the bathroom, she handed him the hooded frog towel hanging on a hook.
Myles scooped a giggling and clean Preston out of the bath and briskly rubbed him down. “Jammie time, boy-o.”
Piper followed them into Preston’s room, pulling out a fresh diaper and choo-choo train pajamas. Between the two of them, they managed to get him wrestled into them both.
“We’ve got this babysitting gig down. Good team.” He lifted his hand to give her a high five.
But instead of slapping his palm, she placed her hand against his, lacing their fingers together. “Myles, there’s something I need to tell you.”
He frowned. “About the post nup? Gram already told me. We’ll tear it up.”
That was something else they should probably talk about at some point. God knew what his grandmother thought. But whatever needed to be face with his family, they’d face together. Right now was just for them.
“Not the post-nup. It’s why I was at your office at all yesterday.”
Pure panic flashed in his expression and he tightened his grip, pulling her closer, his words spilling out in a rush. “Are you sick? Miranda wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, just that it wasn’t terminal. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together, okay? We’ll find all the best doctors. We’ll—”
With a hint of a smile, Piper pressed a finger to his lips, stemming the flow. “I’m not sick. And I didn’t have the stomach flu.” She took a breath and blew it out in a rush. “I’m pregnant.”
He blinked as if she’d koshed him over the head. “What?”
“We’re having a baby.”
More blinking. “But how?”
Piper couldn’t stop the wicked smile remembering all those opportunities for the how. “The usual way. Apparently I fall into that one percent of cases where birth control failed. I suppose you have really determined sperm.”
“We made a baby? Really?” He was looking at her, but not really. Piper couldn’t read him. Was this still shock or was he trying to hold back his reaction?
“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”
Myles attention suddenly focused laser sharp on her. “I’m not.” His his grin stretched wide, bursting across his face like a sunrise. “This is awesome!” He picked her up and spun her around with a whoop that had Preston giggling. “Did you hear that Pres? I’m gonna be a daddy! You’re gonna get a cousin to corrupt.”
“You’re really happy?” God knew she couldn’t trust her own interpretation of things just now.
“Are you kidding? A piece of you and a piece of me? How awesome is that?” He laid his free hand over her flat belly. “We’re going to be a family.” The soft reverence in his voice absolutely undid her.
Piper laid her hand over his, fighting tears again—happy ones this time. “I thought you’d be…well, honestly, I had no idea how you’d react. I’ve been freaking out.”
“Why? You’re going to make an amazing mother.” His unshakable conviction bolstered her.
“We didn’t plan on this. We haven’t even talked about kids or a timeline—”
Myles cut her off with a lingering kiss. “Sweetheart, I think we just need to accept that we’re never going to do anything on a normal timeline, ever.”
She settled against him with a contented sigh. “You make a good point.”
“And you know what?” He laced his hands at the small of her back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Epilogue
14 Months Later
Piper woke disoriented. Was it the baby? She listened with that part of her mother’s brain that could assess in an instant whether she needed to get up, while keeping her eyes shut. If it was nothing, she’d slip back into blissful sleep. For at least five more minutes.
But she didn’t hear Parker. She heard…birdsong?
Her eyes flew open to see daylight. Daylight? What time is it?
The bedside clock read 8:14. Dumbfounded, she stared. That couldn’t be right. Could it? She hadn’t slept this late in months. Not since well before Parker was born. Hearing absolutely nothing in the house, she had a moment of irrational panic. Had everyone suddenly died in the night?
This is what the zombie apocalypse sounds like.
She rolled over. Myles wasn’t in bed, but the newspaper was. On his pillow lay a copy of the Sunday edition, neatly folded so that his editorial was front and center. If the zombie apocalypse had hit, he wouldn’t have left her reading material.
Propping herself up in bed, Piper picked it up and began to read.
The Wishful Observer
Sunday, June 18
The Things No One Told Me About Fatherhood
By Myles Stewart
Confession: Before this time last year, I’d never given much thought to being a father. Parenthood was one of those things that hung out on the horizon of the distant, hazy Someday. A Thing You Are Supposed To Do, but not one I’d given any serious consideration. At least not until I met my wife. Even then, with occasional daydreams of what traits our offspring might get from each of us, it was still a Thing of the Future.
The whole prospect became very real in the months following our wedding, while my wife valiantly struggled through what I am convinced was the worst case of morning sickness the world has ever known. (Editor’s note: She informs me there is a condition known as hyperemesis gravidarium that is far worse. I shudder to imagine) Either way, it’s a horrible thing, to see the woman you love fighting a personal war against an enemy you can’t see and not being able to do anything more than offer sympathies, cold washcloths, and endless supplies of ginger ale.
There are so many things I simply didn’t know.
No one told me that finding out I was going to be a father would feel like winning the lottery.
No one told me that I'd be having lengthy conversations with my wife's swelling belly, already striving to teach my kid the important stuff in life, like the fact that, when it comes to Star Wars, nothing before Episode IV actually counts.
No one told me that quite a few of the injuries in the delivery room are from fathers passing out upon seeing the harsh, brutal reality of labor. I didn't actually do this, but it was a near thing. Men, there is a reason the Almighty did not see fit to saddle us with the responsibility of growing humans. Quite simply, we aren’t strong enough. If the continuation of the human race fell to mankind alone, we’d never have survived this long. All of you take a knee for a minute and honor your mothers and the mothers of your children.
No one told me that seeing my daughter born would make my heart crack clean in two because it was growing three sizes, Grinch-style, in the span of one breath and the next, when I heard her cry for the first time.
No one told me I'd love her so much that I wouldn't even mind the fact that she's entirely a creature of the night and believes that sleeping is for wimps. Thoug
h, that could be the sleep deprivation talking. God makes babies cute to override our instincts for self-preservation because we'd never go through this for anything else.
No one told me she'd have the sweetest smile on earth and that I'd already be planning interrogation tactics for the boys who want to date her—who, of course, she won't be allowed to actually go out with until she's thirty.
No one told me that I'd be the one to cry when she started day care. You'll recognize her as the most beautiful little girl there, the precocious one with the shockingly full head of hair and the philosopher's eyes. Don't believe me? Spend five minutes staring into her eyes and see if you don't start contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
No one told me that parenthood would be the greatest adventure of my life or that each day would be full of more joy than I thought existed in the world.
Most of all, no one told me that I could actually feel even more for my wife than I did the day that I married her—which says a lot, because I flashmobbed my own wedding just for her. She and Parker are my greatest treasures. So rather than spending Father's Day being celebrated as a father, I'll celebrate the gift of being made one. I can’t imagine anything greater.
P.S. Piper, I love you.
No matter how many editorials he wrote, she never got tired of seeing that post script. He used it on every single one, regardless of topic. But this one. This one made her feel gooey inside. He’d said once that he figured she’d be surprising him for the next fifty years. It seemed he planned to do the same for her.
Slipping out of bed, she went in search of her sweet husband. The reason for the silence became readily apparent once she hit the living room. Myles was fast asleep in his favorite chair, feet stretched out on the ottoman. Parker was snuggled up on his chest. Unlike her father, she was awake, her big blue eyes fixed in a staring contest with Loaf, the corgi mix they’d adopted from the shelter. As Piper watched, Parker reached out a tiny hand and booped Loaf’s nose.