Page 48 of Wrong Number, Right Unicorn

You’ll be with our baby for all time.

Stop, he pleaded,or I’ll cry too.

Errol hugged his grandmother—we both did—and we took pics of Grams and her creation and the three of us.

I lugged the cradle home and placed it in the nursery. “Why do you think she carved a unicorn into the cradle?”

Errol shrugged as he ran his hands over the wood. “She knows I’m obsessed with them. Heck, she was the one who made up stories about unicorns in the garden.”

His head jerked up. “You don’t think she saw your… grandfather in her backyard, do you?”

There was no way to answer that.

“It’s so beautiful. We’ll treasure this present forever.”

It definitely wasn’t bland and boring. We stood, our arms around one another, adoring the precious gift Grams had given us.

“I’ll be sad when the baby grows out of it.”

“But there might be another baby and another.”

My mate waddled into their bedroom and lay down. “And who will be carrying these babies for nine months?”

“Only if you agree, babe.”

“Let’s get this one out first.”

I couldn’t wait to be a father.

Chapter 23

Errol

I had planned to take my paternity leave starting on my due date if our baby hadn’t arrived before then. I was practical like that. My boss told me I could start two weeks earlier, but I kept saying, “No, it’ll be fine.”

Of course, I had been fooling myself. It wasn’t fine. The last two weeks of work had been dreadful. Just getting up and down from my seat was a struggle. And pee breaks? I had about fifty-two million of those every shift. Finally, as my due date was upon us, Davien insisted that I take my leave.

I’d argued with him about it. I didn’t want to lose too much time before the baby arrived—I wanted that time with them after they were born. Eight weeks wasn’t a lot of time. That led to me breaking down in tears. Not little tears either. I was full-on sobbing. I’d have blamed it on the hormones, and I was sure they didn’t help, but the truth was I didn’t want our child to have what I had growing up. I wanted to be there and present when they needed me.

It didn’t take long for us to realize there was only one solution that would work for all involved: quitting my job. We didn’t havea mortgage, and his job was going great, so we could manage financially with no worries. We had already been putting a lot away in savings, so even if we had a sudden expense, we’d be set.

I’d never been so relieved in my life. I was ready—ready for this baby and to start a new life.

Shockingly, my boss was really understanding. He told me to use up my sick days first, then officially file my resignation. He even suggested that I come back for just one day to close things out when I was ready, to guarantee I got all my vesting. One day—I could handle that.

The first week of being home was rough. Not the part about not going to work—that was fine. My job had been about doing something I didn’t mind and getting paid for it. It had hardly been a passion career.

All I really did at first was hang out with Grams. That I liked. But physically, I was struggling. My back was killing me. My belly seemed to enter a room three weeks before I did, and I was exhausted. I couldn’t see my feet or even my dick. I was wearing house slippers everywhere because I could get my feet in them without any help. I was miserable.

The doctor had offered to induce me, but I didn’t want that—I wanted to wait until the baby was ready to come. But after a week of waiting, I was ready. More than. At my next appointment, I pretty much begged the doctor.

“Get this baby out of me,” were my exact words.

He laughed, which was not the correct response. I glared at him, and he quickly apologized, but there was still amusement in his eyes. Was I being hormonal? Probably. Was it objectively funny? Yes. But still… I was not amused.

He made an appointment for me to check in at triage the next day for an induction. The hospital didn’t have any slots open until 7 PM, so I went home with Davien to get ready and wait.

But, of course, our baby had other plans. As I was walking around the block with Grams later that evening, my water broke. It felt like my baby and I were playing a game of chicken, and I lost. It was uncomfortable walking back with wet jeans. They were maternity jeans, but even with the extra room, they still felt awful under the circumstances.

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