Page 36 of For Her

“I love you, too,” he echoes, leaning in to give me a kiss.

I finally start bouncing in place and let out an annoying squeal.

“I gotta test drive this thing!” I exclaim, looking at the beautiful dance floor. “I just need a pair of socks,” I turn toward the stairs before Jack stops me.

“Hold up. Right here,” he announces, pulling a pair of my socks from the back pocket of his shorts.

“Thank you!” I squeal again, giddily trotting over to receive them. I sit on the stairs to slip a sock on each foot and then stand to put my hair in a ponytail. Oh yeah… I’m going to tear it up and I’m not even thinking of letting the basketball-sized belly under my black sundress stop me.

Jack walks over to the stereo and syncs his phone to it.

“And I’ve got the perfect song ready, because I know exactly what you’re going to do first,” he states with a knowing smirk.

“You know me too well!” I gleefully reply as the opening notes ofOld Time Rock ‘n’ Rollfills my new little studio, and I do a Risky Business slide across my dance floor.

Jack

I’m in my office, picking and strumming at my acoustic as I work on my latest inspiration, which yes, has come from these last few months of watching my wife grow our child and thinking about how beautiful our family is going to be.

When I find the rhythm I want, I try voicing out a few lines of lyrics when I hear something out of one ear that throws me off. I halt my playing and listen for the sound again as I’m always on red-alert for something to happen with Mayzie. I hear it again, and it’s definitely her voice and at first I think she must be talking on the phone but realize no… she’s singing.

I set my guitar aside and open the door to hear more clearly. Her voice drifts down the hall from the baby’s room, and after a few seconds, I realize she’s singing Michael Buble’sJust Haven’t Met You Yet.

I amble down the hallway and lean in the doorway to take in the scene of my wife using her adorably protruding belly to delicately fold tiny baby onesies before lovingly placing them in a drawer. As I continue to watch and listen, I realize two things: One - What an incredibly cool take on this song. And two - holy shit my wife can sing.

She’s not belting any notes like Lady Gaga, but she has a sweet, soft alto that she’s using in a nurturing, lullaby-like tone. I keep standing against the door frame, falling in love with Mayzie all over again, and let her get to the end of the song before I announce my presence.

“You can sing,” I state, adoringly, and she looks up and smiles in mild surprise.

“Nah,” she shakes her head and resumes her nesting tasks.

“Yes, you sure can,” I correct her as I take a few steps into the nursery and look around at all she’s accomplished. While of course I would have loved to have gone with a rock, or at least a musical theme, I know that would serve my interest more than the baby’s, so I had to go along with Mayzie’s puppy theme in blues and creams. I have to admit, it looks perfect for our little boy. But back to the subject at hand. “How did I never know you could sing? We’ve been together five years. Have you been hiding this from me by not singing around me?”

“You’re the singer in this family,” she shrugs modestly.

“Apparently not,” I correct her, “at least not the only one. And who says there isn’t room for two? Were you singing to him?” I nod at her belly.

“Yeah,” she admits coyly like she’s embarrassed she got caught. “And I’m happy to leave it at that. I’m the dancer, you’re the singer, and we both write.”

“Fair enough,” I sigh, “but don’t go anywhere,” I tell her, and I quickly duck out and go to fetch my guitar from the other room. When I return, she’s seated in one of the rocking chairs we have facing each other by the crib.

“What are you doing?” she asks with that sweet smile I love. I don’t answer except to give her one right back as I start strumming out the tune of an old favorite. While I didn’t write the song,Storybook Love, I sure as hell wish I had. The ones I have written for Mayzie will have to do.

Tears pool in her eyes as I sing to her and our little guy about a boy and girl and how their love is like a fairytale, and I nudge her foot with mine. I guess I should have known better; the poor thing’s hormones have been wreaking havoc on her emotions, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.

“Sing with me,” I gently coax her between bars. When she shakes her head, I pull out my bargaining chip. “I dance with you… please sing with me.”

Reluctantly, she closes her eyes but joins in with me while she rubs her belly. It’s a little off at first, but I change my key to match hers, and before you know it, we have the most beautiful man and wife harmony. I can tell she thinks it’s cheesy as she giggles and gets into it, but I don’t give a shit. This moment’s going in our own private box of memories.

Fifteen

35 Week

Jack

“Grrrrrr…” Mayzie grunts and I see her sitting on the edge of our bed with her foot on the bench. She readjusts and tries leaning forward again, and I realize she has a bottle of black nail polish in her hand.

“Awww, what’s the matter, Baby?” I ask teasingly. “Can’t paint your toes?”

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