Page 135 of Love You Madly

My breath catches in my chest and I feel my throat tighten. The text brings so many emotions to the forefront of my mind–confusion, anger. After everything, Matt chooses now to say these things to me?

Is it because he’s aware that I’m with someone else now–because I’m finally happy?

Without further hesitation, I swipe back to my messages and block his number–barring him from my life completely. Matt doesn’t deserve to hold space in my life. That part of my life is over, and I’m not going to fall back into old patterns again. I’m not risking what I have with Owen for anything.

The following weekend when we have Barrett again, Owen and I decide to take the kids for a walk. He took the news of Matt’s text to me better than I expected. It’s obvious that he is grateful my first instinct was to block Matt rather than reply to him.

Today is one of those crisp fall days, the kind that makes everything feel cozy. I’ve been trying to walk more now that I’m getting closer to having the baby and we’ve been going forwalks like this almost every day. Owen pulls Barrett and Sara in a big red wagon behind him.

I smile, pulling out my phone to snap a few pictures. Sara is babbling and giving me her biggest smiles while Barrett flashes me a giant grin.

“We should do this every year,” I say, the words coming out before I think about the fact that I’m absentmindedly making plans for our future. Owen said he’s all in with me but there’s still a part of me that wonders if he’s ever going to wake up one day and realize just how crazy it is to commit to someone like me–someone with all the baggage that I have.

He looks at me, his expression softening. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As of yesterday, we’ve been together for two months. I still get those same drunken butterflies in my stomach every time he looks at me and somehow, I know that won’t go away any time soon. This is what I want for my life–him, us, the kids–this is my future. I know, without a doubt, this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

The cool breeze swirls around us as we continue walking and I feel our future unfolding with every step we take.

epilogue

HE DIDN’T HAVE TO BE - BRAD PAISLEY

OWEN - OCTOBER 29, 2013

The last month has been a whirlwind of baby prep and making space in our already packed lives. With a small three-bedroom house, we’ve been shifting things around in Sara’s room, rearranging furniture, and squeezing in another crib and a tiny dresser for the new baby. It’s a tight fit, but Callie makes it work, the same way she’s managed to handle everything these past months—with very little patience, alotof cursing, and the determination–or rather, stubbornness–I love so damn much.

We’ve been to what feels like a million doctor’s appointments, and every time, we leave with a new to-do list that just keeps getting longer. Callie’s beyond ready for this baby to make her debut, and I’m right there with her. Watching her try to find a comfortable position is like watching someone play an impossible game of Twister, except there’s no way to win. She’s exhausted, swollen, and done with being pregnant, even though she still looks like a fuckinggoddess to me. I’ve given more foot rubs in the last two months than I ever thought possible. I’ve always hated feet, but Callie’s are different—they don’t gross me out the way everyone else’s do. Never thought I’d be perfectly fine with something like that, but here I am, happy to do whatever she needs.

We’ve been trying everything to help her go into labor—fresh pineapple, room temperature root beer, long walks around the neighborhood pulling Sara and Barrett behind us in the red wagon. We even joked that after taking a picture of the two of them in the wagon, we’d have to recreate it every year.

And let’s not forget the sex—God, we’ve been going at it like rabbits on steroids, and I’m definitely not complaining. I did jokingly call her “Bunny” once and she didn’t much care for that. Guess I’ll stick to “Kitty.” Callie’s sex drive is through the roof; it’s like she’s trying to set some kind of record. She’s all over me, and I’m loving every second of it. Every time, she looks at me like I’m her personal hero, but honestly, she’s the real MVP here, growing a whole human while still managing to rock my world.

She’s got this glow, even when she’s cursing under her breath because her favorite sweatpants don’t fit anymore, or she’s waddling down the hallway like a penguin on a mission. I can’t get enough of her, swollen ankles and all.

But then there’s the reality check. Callie told me a few nights ago, in that quiet, tentative way she has when she’s trying to gauge my reaction, that Adam asked to be in the delivery room when the baby is born, and she’s going to allow it. She explained that he’s actually been somewhat civil since their divorce was finalized—no major fights, no drama. He didn’t even throw a fit when I moved in with Callie, which was a surprise considering how things used to be between them. Apparently, he and his new girlfriend, Katie, had plans to movein together as well, so I guess we’re all just trying to figure this co-parenting thing out in our own ways.

It shouldn’t have surprised me that she’d let him be in there—he’s the baby’s father, after all—but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little. I know it’s not my place to say anything; this isn’t my kid, and Adam’s been doing what he’s supposed to do as a father. Still, there’s this knot in my stomach that tightens every time I think about him being there for the moment Callie brings their baby into the world.

“It’s not that I don’t want you there,” she’d said, her fingers tracing absent circles on my arm as we lay in bed. “I do. I’d love for you to be with me during the labor, but when it comes time for the delivery, Adam should be the one there.” She made it clear, though, that Adam would have to stay up by her shoulder and wouldn’t be allowed to touch her in any way during the delivery. “I told him, no wandering down to the business end,” she added with a smirk, trying to keep the mood light. Then she glanced at me, a teasing glint in her eyes. “And you? Trust me, you don’t want to see that, Owen. There are things that happen during delivery you won’t be able to unsee.”

I’d nodded, doing my best to keep my face neutral, to not let her see the flicker of disappointment I couldn’t quite swallow. “Of course,” I’d said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

I meant it, every word. But the truth is, it’s hard. It’s hard to stand on the sidelines, to be supportive without feeling like I’m overstepping. I’ve always been the kind of guy who jumps in with both feet, who fixes things, takes charge. This is different. This is about stepping back, about understanding that my role here is to be the quiet strength in the background, not the main event. And I’ll do it, for Callie, because she deserves someonewho respects her choices, who doesn’t make things about their own ego or insecurity.

But damn, if it doesn’t twist me up inside.

I’ve been trying to focus on the positives—Callie wants me with her through the labor, and that’s something. I’ll get to be there, to hold her hand, to help her breathe through the pain. And when the time comes for Adam to take over, I’ll step aside. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the fair thing. I keep telling myself that, hoping that if I repeat it enough, it’ll stop feeling like I’m being edged out of something that matters.

Now, as I juggle the new routine of having Barrett on weekends, it feels like another piece falling into place. Barrett started preschool recently, which means I’ve got him most weekends. It’s a juggling act—working four ten-hour days at West Haven, then picking him up at noon on Fridays. It’s hectic, but we’ve found a little rhythm that works.

Sabrina and I have an unspoken agreement about this schedule—it works, for now. She’ll have him if she’s got plans, but otherwise, weekends are my time with him. I look forward to those weekends more than anything because they allow me to have everyone I love most—Barrett, Callie, and Sara—together in one place. I’ve never been the picture of a perfect dad, but when I see Barrett’s eyes light up every time he spots me in the pickup line, it feels like I’m doing something right.

We spend our weekend mornings at the park, and I don’t believe I’ll ever get tired of hearing Barrett’s laughter as he repeatedly climbs the ladder to the slide, always ensuring that Sara is watching when he does.

After work, I find myself back on the porch, the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange. I’ve got a beer in one hand and my phone in the other, texting Callie because she’s babysitting for Taylor.

Me:

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