When September Ends (23 page)

Whew! That had been close!

Okay, so understand this—I did
nothing
wrong and you all know it! So, if you are all going to get all judgy on me, then riddle me this? What possible purpose would it have served to divulge the identity of the woman as being her friend Shayla? Nothing happened.

So you see, I did the
right
thing. I mean, come on? Those two haven’t talked in months. After all, September still talks to Brandon like they’re BFF’s, but Shayla? Nope. As far as I know, she hasn’t talked to her at all since we got back together.

School is out for the summer. Scout is playing ball, and September usually takes her to the games, and then I meet up with them as soon as I get off work.

God love my little woman. She’s so big with her pregnancy, but damned if she still doesn’t look totally delectable to me. She has a month left until “Junior,” as we’ve been calling the baby, gets here.

We’ve not agreed on names…yet. However, September is quick to remind me that since she’s the one going through all of the pain and misery of childbirth, her choice will trump mine. So, I pretty much figure she’ll be naming the baby. I don’t care, though. I’m just so fucking happy to be having another child, especially one with the woman I love.

The nursery is done. All in pale yellow and mint green—September says they’re neutral, non-gender colors. I’m fine with it. I simply love the fact that she’s thrilled with it and spent so much time and effort to make sure everything was coordinated perfectly.

So, everything is going well…
perfect,
as a matter of fact. Everything is in it’s place, and all there is left to do is wait for the arrival of our baby. We’ve gone to birthing classes, and Scout has been the resident coach when I’m not around to make sure September practices the different levels of breathing.

Life is good. I have no worries.

Until today, that is.

I’m heading over to the bleachers, running a little late for Scout’s game, but some unexpected issues with the job we’re working on downtown surfaced and I had to stay to resolve them.

I notice, as I cross the grassy field, that there’s someone sitting next to September in the stands, in short-shorts and a tank top.

Oh for fuck’s sake…it’s Shayla!

My heart thuds. Why the hell would Shayla be at a kid’s summer league baseball game? I paste a smile on my face, hoping it passes my interrogating wife’s radar.

“Hey,” I say, climbing up the few steps on the bleacher to take a seat next to September, “What’d I miss?

“Jesse,” September says, her tone admonishing, “Can’t you even say ‘hi’ to Shayla? You do remember her, right?”

Is this a trick fucking question?

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I apologize, “Hi there, Shayla. It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” she croons, “It certainly has been. How are you doing, Jesse?”

“No complaints,” I reply. Fuck her if she doesn’t think I have her number. I did nothing wrong. Unlike her. “Do you have someone here?” I ask.

“Oh…yeah,” she says, “My nephew, Landon, is playing.”

“Landon?” I say, “Landon—now that would be your
sister’s
child?”

I don’t miss the quicksilver dagger I get from Shayla.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I think September mentioned you had nieces or nephews, didn’t you, hun?”

Now, September is shooting me a look, probably because she’s still trying to keep Shayla’s secret.

“Hell, I don’t know,” I say, “Maybe I have you mixed up with the other girl in your crowd—what was her name?”

“Missy,” September offers. “Well anyway, Shayla and I have been catching up. She loves my ring,” she says, holding her hand out again to admire it. “She wants to host a baby shower for me, Jesse.”

“Nice,” I reply, “That’s really nice of you, Shayla. I’m happy that September has a friend as close to her as you.” I stare a hole through the girl, and she gets it. I have no worries that she will attempt to stir up any shit.

“Yeah,” she replies, “September is a great friend.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I reply, turning my attention to my wife, and giving her a soft kiss on her lips. “Hi baby, how’s Scout doing today at bat?”

Three weeks later, September is finishing up laundry. True to her word, Shayla hosted a last minute baby shower for her. She’s been showing me every tiny tee shirt and these things called onesies that she got at the shower.

“Why did you wash everything?” I ask, “I mean, shit, it’s all new isn’t it?”

“Seriously, Jesse,” she replies, giving me an eye roll. “You don’t put unwashed clothing on a newborn baby. It could have chemicals on it from the factory and, hell, since most of it comes from China who knows how it was packed during shipment.”

“Sorrrry,” I say, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Where’s Scout?”

“Oh, she’s over at Catherine’s. Casey bought one of those big blowup swimming pools and they’re cooling off in it.”

“Damn, that sounds tempting,” I say, and then realize too late it probably wasn’t a wise thing to do.

“Well go right on over. I’m sure Casey will fix you some sweet tea and rub oil on your back,” she snaps, folding the last of the baby clothes and placing it on the stack.

“I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart. It’s just hot. I’m going to turn the air up.” I make a quick exit because, I know in the June heat, September is miserable. Just this morning she practically cried because she can’t see her feet anymore.

Hell, can I blame her? She’s carrying an extra thirty pounds, and the heat is making her swell up. She’s due in two-and-a-half weeks and, right now, I can’t think of anything to do to make her more comfortable. I adjust the thermostat and then go to close the mini blinds in the living room to keep the sun out.

“Jesse!”

My heart stops as I hear September scream from the kitchen. I immediately stop what I’m doing and tear into the next room, seeing her standing in the middle of the kitchen looking down at the floor. Too late, I see the pool of water on the linoleum, just before my bare foot slides into it sending me sprawling across the floor until the wall stops me with a loud thud.

“Oh my God, Oh my God,” she screams, half-laughing now, “Are you okay, honey? I am
so
sorry! My water broke.”

“You think?” I ask, shaking my head to clear it. I’m able to pull myself up from the floor, my backside is now soaked. “Are you having contractions?” I ask as my adrenaline is ramping up.

“Not yet,” she says, “Oh God, it’s too early.”

“Doesn’t matter, babe. You know what they told us in class. This is it. Showtime.”

Her eyes are wide and, for a second, I see a flash of panic go through them. I need to keep her calm. I remember when Libby had Scout, it had been fairly easy but, then again, it was her second. This is September’s first, and I don’t know what the hell to expect. “Baby? Are you okay?”

She’s biting her lower lip, lost in thought. “I haven’t packed my bag,” she says, as if all bets are off and that’s that. She looks up at me with a deer-in-headlights look going on.

“Sweetheart,” I say softly, “Come on, let’s go get changed, pack your bag, and get to the hospital. Everything is going to be just fine, I promise.”

“What about Scout?”

“I’ll call Casey and see if she can stay with them.”

I’m rewarded with an eye roll on that one. “Amber’s mom was supposed to keep her, remember?”

“I know, baby, but they’re on vacation until Saturday, remember?”

It’s all I can do to keep my shit together. September is being too damn pokey getting changed and packing her overnight bag.

I call Casey and, under the circumstances, I ignore her fucking innuendo when I tell her September’s time has come a bit early.

“Oh, really?” she says, “Well as big as she is, she looks full term. I wonder if she’s farther along than she’s telling you?”

“Look, Casey, her water broke. Now can Scout stay with you until–well until we know what’s going on? If that’s a problem, send her over and she’ll have to go with us.”

“No, of course it’s no problem. She can stay here with us. After all, what are neighbors for?”

Once that’s taken care of, I go looking for September and find her in the nursery, going through the baby’s dresser drawers. “Hun, are you ready?” I ask, trying my very best not to come across harshly. My nerves are on edge, I have no desire to deliver my own child in the back of my truck, but if September doesn’t get with the program, it’s a real possibility.

“Oh, I can’t decide what outfit to take to bring the baby home in,” she says, rooting through the stack of tiny sleepers. “What do you think? Yellow, green, or white?”

I sigh, and rub the back of my neck, bringing my hand back to my jawline. “Pack them all, babe. We can decide later, how’s that?”

She nods, pulling three of them from the drawer. “Okay, put these in my bag, let me get my robe, and I’m ready.”

Thank fuck.

“Okay, baby. Let’s do this.”

I gaze down into the beautiful cherub face of our newborn baby. He is so precious, so beautiful, and everything I went through in the hours before his arrival is forgotten.

Jesse is still wearing the hospital issued scrubs he was given when I was admitted. He is right beside me, and I watch as his finger gently brushes across the soft, pink skin of our baby boy.

“Isn’t he perfect, Jesse?” I ask, looking up into his eyes. They are so blue right now, so full of emotion. I can read every one of them: love, pride, happiness—all of them are there.

“He is, baby. He’s healthy and perfect. Thank you for my son.” He leans forward and I feel his lips graze my forehead. “You were perfect.”

I give a soft chuckle. “Well, I wouldn’t go
that
far,” I reply, “I had my moments. I think I might’ve shocked the nurses with my language.”

Jesse laughs softly. “Nothing they haven’t heard before, I’m sure.”

My labor pains had started shortly after arriving at the hospital. They were coming hard and fast, but I was slow to dilate. Finally, I was given an epidural at seven centimeters. It had made all the difference in the world. An hour later, our son was born, weighing in at six pounds and four ounces.

“So, what are we going to name our little fellow?” Jesse asks, tracing one of the baby’s eyebrows with his thumb.

“I know you said you don’t want him to be a junior, but I really would like to name him after you, well sort of…”

He cocks a brow at me. “Sort of?”

“What do you think of naming him Jesse Merrick Ryan? We can call him Merrick if you want.”

Jesse repeats the name out loud a couple of times, and then gives me a smile. “I like it. It fits him, too.”

So, Jesse Merrick Ryan stares up at his very proud parents, who have just given him his first gift: a name.

Two days later we’re all home and, aside from the pain I still have in my lady parts, everything else is going very well. Scout is a major help, and aside from the fact that I’m breastfeeding Merrick, she totally wants to do everything else.

“Why is his poop yellow and seedy?” she asks me, as I’m showing her how to clean his bottom with baby wipes.

I giggle, “It’s normal for a breastfed baby to have poop like that,” I explain. “Notice it doesn’t smell though?”