Page 88 of The Man I Love

Her brows scrunched together, and the doubts she’d kept inside came bubbling to the surface. “I’m going to be a horrible mother.” The tears came out of nowhere, like a water balloon bursting on hot concrete.

“What are you talking about?” He rose to his knees and moved closer.

“It’s true.” She nodded, “I suck at this.”

He placed her foot on the ground and shook his head. “Where is this coming from, Sam?”

She glanced around the room, at all the projects left unfinished. She was always like this. All ideas, and no follow through. “Isn’t it obvious? The baby is almost here, and my house is a wreck. I don’t even own a first-aid kit.”

He smiled a little and pushed the hair back from her cheek. “Who cares? We got it taken care of, didn’t we?”

“I do!” she said urgently. “Nothing is ready, and I’m already fifty percent effaced, which I’m pretty sure means the baby could comeright now.”

“Okay …,” he soothed.

“And then everyone will know.”

“Who will know?”

“The doctors. The nurses. Everybody! They’ll know I can’t do this. They’ll see it the second they place our baby in my arms that I’m going to suck at this.” Even to her own ears, she sounded ridiculous.

He grabbed both of her hands, making them feel small in his large ones. “You’re going to be a great mother,” he said firmly. He was no longer smiling, and he looked completely serious.

Her lips quivered as she looked into his eyes. “Kids follow you everywhere you go,” she said. “You have first-aid kits in your truck, but I”—her voice cracked—“I have a messy apartment and glass all over my kitchen floor.”

“Oh, Samantha.” He hugged her to his chest. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

She pulled away from him. “How do you know?” she asked. “I need you to tell me. I’m serious.”

His eyes met hers, and he braced his hand on either side of the couch cushions. His mouth softened, and his expression became somber. “This apartment may look like a mess to you, but to me, it looks like a home. The sink is full of bottles you’ve sanitized, because our baby’s health is important to you. The couch is full of clothes you've washed—with the detergent I’m pretty sure you spent your entire pregnancy researching.” He turned toward the coffee table and waved his hand over all the books. “You’ve thoroughly read all the parenting books that cover this table.”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing,” she interrupted.

He gripped her face and looked into our eyes. “No one knows what they’re doing.”

“You do.”

“Because I have a first-aid kit?”

“Because you don’t panic. Because you take care of things without falling apart.”

He tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. “You’re going to be a great mother, Samantha.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do.”

She closed her eyes, feeling him wipe away the tear that ran down her cheek.

“There isn’t much in this world I’m sure about,” he continued, “but I’ve never questioned your ability to take care of our child.”

Her lips quivered, because there couldn’t have been a more perfect thing to say in that moment. Tristan always had faith in her when she couldn’t find it herself. He had faith in her three years ago after her first gallery failure, and today—he had faith that she would be a good mom.

He didn’t say the words ‘I love you’, but she felt it in every fiber of her soul. Brick after brick she’d tried to shut him out, building up walls to protect herself, but he was always there, taking each one down even faster, letting her know who he was, and she couldn’t hide from it anymore. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to.

“I’m so scared,” she said, sliding off the couch to kneel in front of him—but she wasn’t talking just about motherhood anymore. It was this, it was them. It was the fact that she couldn’t seem to keep herself away from him any longer.

“I know,” he whispered back. Then he anchored his feet to the ground and rose from the floor, pulling her up along with him.

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