Page 65 of Better as It

And I always answer, “You don’t have to be strong today.”

But he is.

He’s strong every damn day, even when it breaks him.

Maritza throws us a “pre-labor brunch.” It’s not a shower. She insists on that.

“We already did the shower,” she says. “This is to feed the two of you, remind you you’re loved, and force you to eat pancakes shaped like motorcycles.”

She makes good on all three.

The clubhouse is packed with the people I never thought I’d call family.

The food is ridiculous and delicious—eggs, bacon, pancakes, fruit, muffins, and a whole table of weird-ass snacks that everyone swears are “pregnancy-approved.”

Toon manages two whole pancakes and a piece of toast.

It feels like a miracle.

When I sneak away to sit outside for a breather, BW follows with a bottle of water.

“You doing okay?” he asks, sitting beside me.

I nod. “Yeah. I think... I think I’m finally ready.”

“For the baby?”

“Foreverything.”

He gives me a look. “Even if he’s not?”

I swallow hard.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that.”

“But you’ll get through it.”

I glance at him.

“Because you’re not alone,” he adds.

And I finally let the tears fall.

Later that night, when we’re back home and everything’s quiet again, I find Justin in the nursery.

He’s standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the edge of the crib.

He doesn’t look tired tonight.

He looks... peaceful.

“Everything’s ready,” I say, stepping behind him.

“I know.”

“You okay?”

He nods. “BW told me you cried.”

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