Page 13 of The Vegas Rerun
There’s so much to do, so much to organize, so much to think about. But not in this moment. In this moment, I just want to sit here and absorb the fact that I’m going to have a baby.
Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’ll miss this life I had built for myself; of that I have no doubt. But this isn’t just an ending. It’s a beginning, too. It’s scary and it’s uncertain and for sure nothing like what I had planned. But it’s real and it’s happening. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. Maybe this was my destiny all along.
CHAPTER 11
MOLLY
The apartment is small,but it’s mine and I’m proud of it. In fairness, after living in a hotel room for so long, the apartment feels pretty big to me, although I appreciate to most people it would be small.
The apartment has an open plan living space that acts as a living room and dining area and also includes the kitchenette. It has a small bathroom and two tiny bedrooms—one for me and one for the baby. The main room has been painted cream with the accent wall having a cream wallpaper with pretty red roses on it. The large window has curtains that match the accent wall, and the hardwood floor has been scrubbed until it looks brand new. My bedroom has been painted light blue, and the bathroom is tiled in white.
My mom and I have spent the last few weeks getting it all ready, painting it, cleaning it, scrubbing it. It’s almost ready now. Only the nursery needs the finishing touches to put it together. I’ve been able to get a cheap couch from a thrift store and a dining table and two chairs from a Facebook post. I splurged on a cheap coffee table from Amazon and my mom haskindly given me the TV she had in her bedroom which is now mounted on the wall. My bedroom has a bed and a wardrobe with built in drawers and that’s pretty much all I need.
The apartment building is in downtown Boston, a few blocks from my mom’s building. It’s not glamorous, not like the glittering Vegas resort where I spent the last few years of my life, but it’s home. A real home, something I haven’t had in a long time.
Sunlight streams through the window as I stand in the nursery, my hands on my hips, surveying the almost finished room. The crib is still in pieces, leaning against the wall, and a few unopened boxes sit in the corner, waiting to be unpacked. But the walls are the softest shade of sage green, and I’ve already picked out and hung the perfect curtains, a pale cream fabric with tiny golden stars embroidered along the edges. It’s coming together. Decorating the nursery is definitely making the idea of me being about to have a baby seem more real.
“I think we should put the dresser over here,” my mom says, tapping her chin as she looks around. She’s standing in the middle of the room, with a screwdriver in one hand. She has a determined look on her face. “Near the changing table. That way you have easy access to diapers, wipes, onesies. You’re going to need a lot of those.”
My mom is fifty-two, but right now, she is glowing, and she looks years younger than her actual age. Her brown hair is cut in a fashionable, asymmetric bob, and there isn’t a hint of grey in it. Even in the paint splattered sweatpants and vest top she’s wearing, there’s no doubt she looks good, and she has a lovely, svelte figure. I hope I look like her when I’m her age.
I smile at my mom, folding my arms over my chest.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I say as she moves towards the crib and picks up the instruction sheet on how to put it together.
She looks up from the sheet and grins at me, showing me her straight white teeth.
“Of course I am. My baby is having a baby. How could I not be enjoying this? And you know how much I love organizing things.”
I laugh, but then my good humor falters. I turn toward the window, staring out at the quiet street below, not able to look at my mom for a moment and be reminded that I should be as happy as she is. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to be having a baby, but I have so many doubts and fears and sometimes, like now, they creep up on me.
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” I say, blinking hard to rid my eyes of the tears that have filled them.
My mom steps beside me, resting a gentle hand on my arm.
“I know, sweetheart,” she says. “I know this wasn’t what you planned.”
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“Some days, I feel excited though. Like, really excited. I picture myself holding my baby, rocking him or her to sleep, and watching them take their first steps. And then, other days, I feel … terrified, like I’m not cut out for this,” I admit.
My mom squeezes my arm again.
“That’s normal honey,” she says. “Everyone has their wobbly moments where they doubt themselves. But you’ll be great.”
I swallow hard.
“I mean, what if I’m not ready for all this responsibility? What if I’m not good at being a mom? I had a plan, Mom. I was building a life for myself in Las Vegas, and now I’m back here, starting over. It feels like I’m going backwards in some ways. What if I’m making a mistake?” I ask.
She turns me gently so that I’m facing her. Her green eyes are warm, filled with the kind of unwavering belief that only a mother can give.
“Molly, listen to me. You are not making a mistake. You are doing something incredibly brave. You’re choosing to put this baby first, to build a life for them. That’s not failure, sweetheart. That’s love,” she says. “And it’s certainly not going backwards. It’s growing up and accepting responsibility for this new life.”
My throat tightens.
“But what if I screw it up?” I say quietly.
She smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like she used to do to me when I was a kid.
