Page 85 of Waiting for Tuesday

My brows furrowed, trying to understand why that upset him so much.

“My biological father.” He pulled the other chair from beside my desk and sat down right in front of me.

I swallowed because seeing him like this made my heart jump to my throat. He looked raw, and open—and scared.

He took my hands in his and kissed my knuckles. “Things aren’t always black and white, Tuesday. I realized that today. I was abused as a child, and I spent most of my adult life hating the man who did it to me… but today…” He grimaced. “I’m not saying what he did wasn’t horrible… but today I forgave him. I forgave him because he was human. I forgave him because he was a man who lost the love of his life and had to figure out how to raise his son alone.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out two photos, and handed them to me. One was of a happy, young couple holding a newborn baby in a hospital bed. The next was of John, proud in a cap and gown, surrounded by his smiling family. His mom and dad and all his sisters at his high school graduation. He pointed to the first one. “That’s my mom and dad,” he said, his voice thick and quiet. “And that’s my family. They’re all my family. All of them.”

I nodded, taking his face in my hands and kissing his cheek. “Yes.”

He leaned his forehead against mine, shaking it slightly as he took my hands again. “I spent a lot of time thinking today. Then I called my mother. She’s an amazing woman, and I know there is a God because he sent me her. And then I came here to you. Because today I got a piece of my past back, a past I’d been running from for a very long time. And the first person I wanted to share it was with you. Because I want you to be my future. Please tell me you haven’t given up on me.”

“Never.”

Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

Tuesday

Five months later

* * *

Ileaned backon the couch nestled in the middle of the product floor and adjusted my pillow.

“Close your eyes, Tuesday. Don’t peek.” Becky had surprised me with a blessingway this afternoon, and everyone was here. All of John’s sisters, our mothers, little Shelly, and even the placenta encapsulation lady, who was my new friend. They had all just taken turns layering plaster over my eight-month belly, and now the cast was removed, and I was sprawled in the middle of the shop as Becky painted a henna tattoo on my stomach.

I was on display for everyone to see, but I didn’t care. Women who loved me surrounded me, and even though I was only four weeks from my due date, I felt beautiful.

Becky took her intricate brushes and set them on the table. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to keep from giggling. The last few months had been amazing. Filled with love, support, and life. I spent much of my time working on the shop and planning for the baby, but every night was spent with John, where he’d patiently listen as I told him about all of it.

After about twenty minutes of what I was sure was slow torture for pregnant women, there was a lull in the room, and I lifted my head. “Are you done?”

“No,” Becky said, pushing my head back down to my pillow. “And keep your eyes shut or you’ll ruin the surprise.”

I grinned, but I did what she told me and waited until I felt the brush stop. “Are you done now? Can I look?”

There was a long pause, and I felt a tingle up my spine. “Yes,” she whispered.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, seeing Becky seated at my feet, but there at my side was John. He was on one knee, and he held up a ring in a plain wooden box.

I covered my mouth, and looked around the room. “What are you doing?”

He only shook his head and smiled at me, but his face contorted with an emotion that came so rarely from him. One he usually reserved for when we were alone. I looked around the room, finding Jake, Katie, John’s father, Em—everyone. Then I looked down to my belly.

Becky’s design spread from my panty line to the top of my rib cage. A huge sun twisted and turned with flowers and leaves. It was like a flower blooming from my insides, full of life and filled with love. But arched over the top was John’s writing—lettered upside down but unmistakable. “Will you marry me?”

I looked back to John again, my throat so full of tears I couldn’t speak.

He took my hand and looked me in the eyes. “I’ve been through a lot in my life. Some things I want to forget, and others I wouldn’t give up for the world. I have scars. Scars it’s taken me twenty-three years to heal, but for some reason, knowing you for only a few months changed all that. Before you, I didn’t know what I was living for. I was living day by day, not knowing what my purpose was… I spent most of my life pushing through each week just to get to the next.”

He kissed my knuckles and closed his eyes. His voice grew a little huskier. “But I think all that time, all those hours, all those days, I was waiting for you to walk into that bar. I was waiting for Tuesday.”

I looked into his eyes, my shoulders shaking with emotion. “I love you.”

He grinned and pressed his forehead to mine. “Will you marry me, Tuesday?”

Sobs and laughter poured from my mouth, and I nodded my head. “Yes.”

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