Page 63 of 5+Us Makes Seven

It took a few days to get an internet signal powerful enough to send the email to the board, but once they received it a satellite call came through. The board was ecstatic over my pregnancy, but they did give me the option of sitting on the board since I was coming back stateside. I told them it was a generous offer and that I would consider it. But I had at least one other person who now had a say in what I did. Carter’s opinion mattered. Not that it hadn’t before, but I was carrying our child. What I did and the path I chose directly related to him now, which meant I needed to have a conversation with him about it first.

I was thankful that the board understood, and they said they would be waiting for my email.

I packed up my things and was on the first flight back into the States. I flew directly into San Francisco and headed straight for Carter’s house. I smelled like dirt and mud and smoke, and part of me considered stopping off and getting a hotel somewhere. Taking a shower and cleaning myself up a bit before I approached their house.

But I was too anxious to waste another second.

I needed to know if he was going to do this with me or if I was in this alone.

If I was in this alone, I could do it in Africa. I would need special provisions that would most certainly come out of my paycheck, but that was what I would want. To work with those kids until my pregnancy forced me back into the States. I would sit on the board and raise my child until they were off to college.

Then, I would go back.

I had a plan, but it was second to the one I was hoping would pan out. I knew Carter was still going to be angry with me. I just hoped he allowed me to talk when I showed up. My hands were shaking in my lap as the cab made its way to Carter’s address, and I made myself so nervous I felt sick. Would he yell at me? Cast me aside? Tell me he didn’t want a child with me and make me do this on my own? Would the kids still hate me? Would they still be upset with me?

My mind was racing with a thousand different scenarios, and all of them ending in disaster.

The cab pulled up to the house and there were no cars in the driveway. All of the lights in the house were off, and I wasn’t sure what to do

. I wasn't in any condition to sit in a restaurant and wait until he got home. But I didn’t have an apartment to go back to in order to kill time.

So I paid the cab driver, pulled my things out, and went to go sit on his porch.

I rocked in the rocking chair and thought about our life together. About everything that had brought us to this point. I had met Carter over a year ago, and in that time so much had changed. We went from strangers to lovers to two people whose lives molded together perfectly. We fell into a rhythm that felt familial and my life was consumed by him and his three beautiful children. They regarded me as one of their own and, in some ways, I thought of them as my own family.

Then Africa happened again and I got selfish.

Maybe selfish wasn’t the right word. But I did misstep. I owed Carter at least a conversation about it with everything we had been through together. The navigating of platonic waters for the children while secretly wanting one another in the shadows. Educating Carter on how each of his individual kids thrived and how he could make sure to incorporate all of that into their schedules. Him providing me with a way of life I didn’t think was possible for myself. Providing me with support and good conversation and an overwhelming desire to start again.

Maybe that was why I took the Africa job. I thought starting again meant going back there.

I had never considered the fact that ‘starting again’ meant building a life with him.

I closed my eyes and saw how my body would change. How it would grow and morph and how scarred up it would become. I saw myself in the hospital room, pushing and grunting and crying and sweating. Begging Carter to make it go away and yelling at him about how he would never touch me again.

I felt him kissing my forehead as our baby cried out into the room, filling the hospital with its beautiful sound.

I saw all of the kids running around in the backyard. I saw Carter cradling his newborn child in the middle of the night. I saw Clara wanting to snuggle and the boys wanting to doggie pile and dinners on the table right at six. There was homework and daily activities and weekend ball games and wine visits from other mothers. There were weekend getaways where Carter’s lips would never leave my body and moments where I could wake up moaning his name as he sank between my thighs.

I felt a tear of happiness streak down my cheek as a sound graced my ears.

Rubber tires on cement was heard off in the distance. I picked up my head and wiped at the tear on my face as Carter’s SUV came into view. I could see his shocked face through the windshield.

But the kids were already throwing their doors open.

“Miss Nattie! Miss Nattie! You’re back!”

The came running up the porch and I sprang up from the rocking chair. I fell to my knees and wrapped them up tightly in my arms. Tears fell from my eyes as I kissed every single one of their heads, feeling them bury into me as I fell over onto the porch.

“Guys. Guys. Be careful with Natasha.”

Oh, that voice.

That beautiful, rumbling, commanding voice.

“Are you staying?” Clara asked.

“Can we fire our nanny now?” Nathaniel asked.

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