Page 110 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
No sooner do I take it than I’m enveloped in a bear hug.
“You’re going to be a great mama.” Holt’s hug would be glorious if only I could breathe.
I’m able to fill my lungs when Flynn pushes Holt aside and takes his turn. Thankfully, his hug is gentler.
“You need anything, you tell me, okay?” Flynn murmurs in my ear. “Even if it’s a shovel and a shallow grave.”
Yes, Flynn is definitely more astute than I give him credit for.
“Thanks, Flynn,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to talk any louder.
He squeezes me tight before letting go. “Anytime.”
Exhausted,I trudge up to my room. As much of a make-over as the house has been through since Jules hog-tied my brother’s heart, my bedroom remains the same. Rodeo trophies, academic plaques, poorly done horse drawings made in crayon.
I pick up a shell-decorated picture frame off my bureau. Inside is one of the only pictures of my parents, brothers, and me together and smiling. It was my second birthday, and we took a day trip to Galveston beach. A trip I don’t even remember but wanted the picture nearby all the same.
Hand on my abdomen, I sit on my twin bed, the pink and white comforter soft and fluffy.
I want my baby to have a lot more than one picture.
Try.
Staring at the picture frame, I think about what Mike said. Nothing worth having is easy.
I toss the picture frame aside and pull my phone out from my jeans pocket.
Try.
Seems like such an easy thing. Just try. Make an attempt. Take a shot. Give it some effort.
Except it’s not easy. Just like Mike said, it’s hard.
Staring at my phone, I think of all the worst-case scenarios. Vance could ignore me. He could not want our baby like my mother made obvious she didn’t want me. He could say yes then change his mind. Show up only to leave again.
He could do a lot of things that would hurt. A lot of things I’ve felt before. But now, they’d be ten times worse because it wouldn’t be done to just me.
Try.
I glance at the picture, face down, but I don’t need to see it to recall every expression, every whisper of hair blowing in the sea breeze, every laugh line around my parents’ eyes.
My hands tighten on my phone.
The easy thing is to not try. To tell myself that if Vance wants to be here for the baby, he will. And if he doesn’t, he doesn’t. It’s up to him. His move.Histry.
I fall back on my bed with a huff.
I’ve never been good at letting others have control.
Arms above my head, I bring the calendar up on my phone. I hover over tomorrow’s appointment and copy and paste the information into a text to Vance. Then, just to make it easy, I send the address.
I stare at my text, unhappy. It’s missing something. The calendar link and map impersonal. And considering I’m inviting him to a doctor appointment where a woman is going to stick her hand up my hoo-ha with him right next to me, maybe I should add something.
I write, delete, and rewrite several things.
Please come.No.
I want you to be there.No.
