2 Weeks 'Til Eve (2 'Til Series Book 3) (28 page)

Tuesday, December 19
^th

“What’s on the schedule for today, ladies?” William
Hemmings asked.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I was thinking
about birthing a baby.”

“Catherine!” her mother exclaimed.

“Just sharing my plans. That’s what’s on the calendar
of events.”

“Hopefully,” Elizabeth Hemmings corrected.

“Oh, it’s happening,” she insisted.
I didn’t circle
this date and hang onto this date and wait for this date like a child waits for
Santa, only to find I’ve been waiting for nothing.
That would be cruel and
unusual punishment. It had to happen. Today. Now.
Well, maybe after
breakfast.

She rubbed her belly, trying to play it cool when she
was quite honestly freaking out a bit. Every second slipping by on the clock
made her feel more like a ticking time bomb. Could her first contraction be
minutes away? Would her labor last for hours? Would it start like a gunshot to
the gut? Sudden and sharp—at least how she imagined a gunshot would feel. Or
would it be slower to develop? A gradual realization that it was happening….

“It
is
probably a good idea to stay close to
home, though,” her mother ceded. “Even though it could be days before we see
the newest member of the family.”

“Days?” Catherine choked out.

“With your brother I waited a full week.”

“A week?”
Not possible. Not freaking possible.
Right?

“He just didn’t seem to want to come out.”

“Oh, this baby wants to come out alright.” As if her
mother had any right to start spouting horror stories at a time like this when
it was far too late to decide that maybe surrogacy or adoption would have been
the better way to go with this whole baby thing.

“Well, I’ll be right out in the shop if and when you
need me,” Fynn said, glowing with a low-grade hum of excitement.

“Do you
have
to work?” Catherine pleaded,
imagining lounging on the couch together, watching Christmas movies next to a roaring
fire while they waited for the moment she sat up out of his arms and said the momentous
words,
it’s happening
(albeit words she’d already said to him before and
been wrong).

“I have to get this job done before New Year’s, so
yes.”

“But I thought you were almost done.”

“And isn’t it better for me to work before the baby
comes than be swamped after?” he reasoned.

“Thinking ahead.” William Hemmings nodded his head
appreciatively at his son-in-law.

“But these are the last hours of preparenthood.”
Catherine wanted to suck the words back up as soon as they reached the air. She
looked to Cara who was doodling on some paper with her crayons next to her
empty breakfast dishes, seemingly unaware of the conversation. “I didn’t mean—”

“We know what you meant,” her mother rescued her. “A
new baby brings a new level of chaos to the house. And you are first-timers at
the infant stage, so it is going to turn everything upside down.”

“Exactly.” Suddenly Catherine felt like she’d rushed
things, so anxious for her due date when she’d be able to see her feet again
and wear pants without elastic waistbands and feel
normal,
that she had
ignored all the other things that came with a change of massive proportions. It
wasn’t
normal
that she was about to be getting but a
new normal
she
would have to acclimate to all over again. She was never going to feel or be
just like she was before the pregnancy. Everything was changing. And her
after
self was not going to be like her
before
self. Not in size or mind. She
was never going to recapture the old Catherine again. She’d said see-you-later,
when she should have said a proper goodbye. She’d lied to her—

“It’s castle time!” Cara announced, turning all eyes
on her. “I’ve finished the plans. We’ll meet in the yard in ten minutes.” She
handed the papers she’d been doodling on to Pop-Pop on her way out of the room.

“What was that?” A bemused look of wonder on Fynn’s
face.

“
That
is called a go-getter,” William Hemmings said,
sifting through the papers. “And a brilliant little girl you have there. She
made blueprints for the snow castle. There’s even a scale. It isn’t right, but
to even think about such a thing….”

“She gets that from Fynn,” Catherine said proudly.
“She’s always looking through his plans for cabinets and furniture. And you’re
right, she is brilliant.”

“Well, I guess a castle it is,” her father said.

Catherine marveled at the energy her parents had. In
their sixties and still willing to be playmates to a six-year-old.

It was sad that their trip was coming to a quick
close. They were leaving Thursday, planning to be gone before she brought baby Eve
home from the hospital.
Out of your hair,
her mother had assured her.
They wanted to meet their newest granddaughter, be around the house for Cara
while the new parents were at the hospital, and once the family was ready to be
reunited at home, be gone.

“Time is money, People,” Cara said, marching through
the kitchen with a swishing noise from her snow pants.

“Where does she get this stuff?” Fynn chuckled.

“Someone needs to help me with my jacket,” Cara
announced, holding up her mittened and therefore basically useless hands.

“You heard her. Someone zip up the foreman,” Pop-Pop
commanded.

“I’ll whip up a thermos of hot chocolate,” Gramma
Lizzy offered.

“Are you going to build with us, Fynn?” Cara asked,
tugging on his sleeve.

“I was—” He stopped when he saw Catherine’s look. “Of
course I’ll build with you.”

“I think I’ll hold down
this
fort and let you
know if anything…
ahem
… develops,” Catherine said with a wink that was
more of a nervous eye twitch.

***

Catherine had hardly sat down on the couch, ready to
turn on those Christmas movies she’d been imagining spending the day with, when
her phone perked up. She couldn’t even get a word out before Georgia was
blaring in her ear. No more careful probing at their friendship through texts
or constipated conversations that attempted not to rub through the rawness of
their falling out. Even the call to Georgia after she got home from the
hospital last week, to admit that she’d had indigestion, not a baby, was met
with polite sympathy rather than the joking, jabbing, aren’t-you-a-twit type of
reaction that had been their norm before everything went to shit.

“Why am I the last to know?” A fiery accusation.

“The last to know? I haven’t gone into labor,”
Catherine said defiantly.

“About the girl.
Your
girl. You’re having a
girl! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because I wasn’t talking to you.
It was simple
as that. And what little they’d talked since it had never come up. But instead
she responded with silence, mouth open and no sound coming out. She got up and
wandered through the house, making sure she was alone before saying anything
incriminating. Everyone was outside. Even her mother was rolling snow boulders
in the backyard.

“I don’t care if we were fighting or simmering or
whatever the hell we were doing, Cat, I deserve to know that you know what
you’re having! Which, by the way, I thought Fynn had put a kibosh on
knowing
!
You said you both agreed not to find out so, stupid me, I took that for gospel.
I thought we were all waiting for this day to get the big news and here I find
out I’m the
only
one in the dark.”

You and Uncle Walter,
Catherine thought wryly,
figuring he was the next closest thing she had to family right now. The
godfather, Fynn had taken to calling him.

 “Lacey knew!” Georgia charged. “I remember a time
when you used to hate it when Lacey was in the know about
anything
and
you told
her
instead of
me
!”

“I didn’t tell her.” It certainly would have been a
righteous way to stick it to Georgia, telling Lacey first, but she had done no
such thing. “And the fact that you think I would do that—”

“I honestly don’t care how she found out, what I care
about is how I
didn’t
find out. Do you hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. I was just hurt.”

“So you wanted me to pay for whatever you saw as what
I did to you, right? And I don’t even know what I did to you.”

“That’s the problem, Georgia. That’s always been the
problem,” Catherine asserted.

“I thought that we were friends still. Fight or not.
But this—”

“We
are
friends. No matter how mad I have ever
gotten. No matter what fights we have ever been in. Deep down, I have never
considered you anything but a friend.”

“Deep down where you hid your daughter from me?” she
jabbed.

“She isn’t even here yet,” Catherine eked out.

“But you know she’s coming, and I feel like you locked
me out of your life.”

“I feel like I never had a key to
your
life, Georgia.
Your perfect life is… in another world from mine.”

“It isn’t perfect,” she said bitterly.

“You have everything just-so in your life,” Catherine
refuted, “and I’m on the lunatic fringe.”

“Is that why you’re getting so chummy with Tara?”

Is that jealousy?

But Catherine Marie was the jealous one. The one who felt
like she was half a step or more behind Georgia and a floor or two below her—not
quite on her level and always ready for her friend to find something or someone
better.

“I know you two are living it up out there while I’m
stuck in Jersey,” Georgia humphed.

“You love Jersey.”

“Love is a strong word. Prefer it to New York, yes. I
thrive in suburbia. But love it?” A wryness to her tone now.

“You want to know the truth? … I might have overreacted,”
Catherine admitted, realizing that she’d killed the Wicked Witch of the
Midwest—beaten Sophie Watts at her own game with an Elizabeth Hemmings style
lashing—and from this new place of pride she could see where she might have
been a little too sensitive. “Georgia?” she prodded when she was met with
silence on the other end.

“Excuse me, I just had to pick myself up off the
floor,” Georgia snickered.

“And if you must know, I wasn’t that keen on telling
anyone the news anyway… because Fynn didn’t exactly change his mind… I just
sort of… tripped over the information.”

“Tripped?”

“I’m clumsy as hell, you know that. And then he only found
out because it slipped out.”

“Because you’re clumsy as hell?” she offered.

“Exactly. And then I
had
to tell my mom because
believe it or not we’re really getting along well. But if she told Connor or
Lacey I had no control over what—”

“Before you start blaming Lacey for talking out of
turn,” Georgia cut in, “she only said something because she thought I already
knew, what with you and I being so close.”

Ouch.

“That’s it; it’s over,” she groused as the clock
advanced through midnight, taking her hopes with it. Her due date had come and
gone and here she sat still corked up tight.

“Babies can’t tell time, you know,” her mother said,
yawning, stretching, getting up.

Of course she knew; yet it failed to humor or settle
her. Instead it rankled her, and especially because her mother should want her
to be in labor as much or more than she did.

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to go to bed. I told
your father I would only be a little while, and look, it’s been two hours since
then,” Elizabeth Hemmings noted.

Fynn had gone off to bed a while ago too, but
Catherine couldn’t sleep. She wanted to be up to see and suffer through the
last of her day. To wallow. “Thanks for waiting up with me,” she said lowly. They’d
hardly even spoken, merely sat there together on the couch and watched a sappy Lifetime
holiday movie. Just what she’d needed.

“Don’t worry,” her mother assured her, stopping on her
way by and placing her hand over her daughter’s where it lay on the arm of the
couch. “It will happen when Eve’s ready.”

Catherine looked up, tears in her eyes. “But you might
be gone before she even comes. I guess you could come back after the New Year
if—”

Her mother smiled through her own tears. “We are not
missing the birth of our granddaughter. We have open-ended tickets. We didn’t
want to take any chances. Even if you decide to kick us out, we’ll just stay in
those nice cabins by the lake or—”

“We aren’t going to kick you out, Mom.” Catherine
visibly settled to know that the woman she never wanted here in the first place
would be here as long as she needed her.

“Why don’t you go get some sleep now, and remember
that I’m right downstairs if you need me.”

Of course Fynn would also be right next to her if she
needed anything, but for some reason her mother’s offer seemed pretty good
right now. There was just something about her calm certainty that was soothing
rather than aggravating to her now.

As Catherine headed up the stairs to bed, she almost
jumped out of her skin at the sight of Cara at the top, rubbing her eyes.

“Is the baby here yet? Do I have a sister now?” she
asked, her voice sleep scratchy.

“Oh no, sweetie, not yet. I’m just coming to bed.”

“I was afraid I missed it.”

“Is that why you’re up at this hour?”

Cara nodded.

“Well, you don’t worry one more second about that.
When Eve is born you will be the first person to know. Now let’s get you tucked
back in so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

Cara allowed Catherine to turn her around and march
her back toward her bedroom again. But then she stopped and looked up. “If you
don’t have the baby soon will your stomach explode like the beach ball that
Daddy blew up too far in the summer?” she asked innocently.

I sure hope not,
she shuddered. Instead she
took a page from her mother. “No, honey. A baby is born when it’s ready to be
born, and obviously Eve just isn’t quite ready to meet us yet.”

“Maybe she’s trying to make it a surprise.”

“Maybe,” Catherine agreed. Though she didn’t want to
be surprised. Not in this situation.

“Well, I hope she makes it here in time for Christmas.”

Christmas was still almost a week away. Eve
had
to
be here by then. She couldn’t possibly go another week.

“Because I asked for something from Santa for Eve too
because she can’t, and I don’t know if Santa even brings things to people if
they aren’t born yet.”

“You did?”

Cara nodded proudly.

Oh shit.

She herded Cara into her room and tucked the covers
around her, kissing her on the forehead before leaving her door cracked just
enough for light from the hallway. Then she slipped across the way to the
master bedroom, a mild panic building inside. She’d read Cara’s letter to Santa
and there was nothing in there about Eve. Nothing about asking for a gift for
her little sister. She was sure of it. Not sure enough to place a bet, but
pretty sure.

She went to the closet and rifled through the large
Target bag that had become a trash bag full of scraps from wrapping gifts and any
unneeded receipts and other empty shopping bags. Or maybe she’d left the letter
in her purse after she finished with it. Or in the pants she’d worn shopping,
in which case the letter was hardened pulp by now after a round-trip through
the washer and dryer. If she only worked like Elizabeth Hemmings, checking
every pocket before dropping anything in the machine. If only.

“Everything okay in here?” Fynn stood at the doorway, startling
her there on the floor amid her mess.

“Did I wake you?” Not really caring at this point.

“I thought we had an extra-large mouse in the house.”

“I need to find Cara’s Christmas list to make sure we
have everything.”

“We have everything.”

“Not everything,” she reminded him firmly. “You forget
I’m still working on that friggin’ elephant.” Which she should have been doing
all day today but figured she’d certainly have to put it down at some point and
head to the hospital, so why get caught up in it? The darn thing was six inches
tall and it was kicking her ass.

“Feel anything yet?” He yawned casually and rubbed his
face, unleashing a sandpapery rasp.

“No,” she growled. As if she wouldn’t have already
said if she felt something. She’d had him meet her at the hospital over a case
of indigestion!

“Nothing at all?”

“I’m fine. Just friggin’ fine,” she growled, feeling
like a failure. A rookie mistake to go past your due date.

“Are you coming to bed then?”

“I guess.” Pouty. She was losing control of
everything. And now Cara had thrown another monkey wrench into the mix over the
Santa thing. What if Santa only got it half right this year? Would Cara still
believe in him? Maybe they could say he was going senile. An absentminded Santa
was still Santa Claus nonetheless, right?

“Well, I have something for you…. It’ll make you feel
good,” Fynn assured her.

She laughed in spite of herself, thinking about the
public service announcement that used to run on TV when she was a kid. That
same line used for drugs. And now he was using it to get her to ride his joint.
She laughed harder.

“What’s so funny?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Come on, a little roll in the hay is just what you
need.”

She didn’t want or need anything right now other than
a measly contraction. Just one. They could be forty-five minutes apart for all
she cared. Just something to give her hope that this was going to happen.

“You yourself said it might bring on labor. You’ve
been putting me off for days with that excuse.”

Her eyes widened in recognition. In her misery, she’d
forgotten that trick up her sleeve. She reached out to him. “Help me up.” As
soon as she was on her feet, she was pulling him to the bed. “Strip out of
those boxers.”

“What, no foreplay?” he challenged.

“Not necessary.”

“So just the boom?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Who say?”

“Doctors. About sex. And the baby.” She struggled with
her pajamas.

“Do you need help?”

She shrugged. “All we really need is the pants,” she
decided, pushing them down and stepping out.

“So this is really just business, then?” he asked
wryly, slipping under the covers.

“Pretty much. I mean, it’s really about getting it
done. The finish. The rest is just—”

“Extra pleasure?” he offered. “Because I kind of like
the getting there part. Especially since this might be the last time for weeks.
As in
six.
I just learned that little gem. A big gem, really. A
long
time.
Were you planning to share that?”

Catherine climbed into bed. “I didn’t want to spook
you. Besides, there are other things,” she whispered, moistening her hand and
reaching for his length, pumping lazily along the shaft.

“Shit, that feels so much better than when I do it,”
Fynn moaned. “If you’ll do this for me, I
might not
go insane waiting
for the doctor to clear you.”

“Deal,” she said brusquely, letting go. “So let’s get
this party started.”

“Don’t you want a little—”

“Just get on in there.”

“You’re really taking the romance out of this.”

“Honey, I love you, but I want to have this baby. Now.”

“You know there is no guarantee,” he warned.

“Then we’ll do it every hour on the hour.”

“I guess it’s a good thing that I had my Wheaties
today then,” he joked.

“Stop talking and get screwing.” She rolled onto her
side and pressed her back up against him so he could spoon around her in one of
the positions they had come to count on since she’d gotten to this size.

Fynn slid himself inside, rocking up and in smoothly,
bringing her to climax with ease and pulling away to maneuver into another position.

“Wait,” she whispered, stopping him, waiting for the
contractions of her orgasm to turn into real contractions.

“Don’t tell me it’s over already,” he whispered. “I
didn’t even finish yet.”

“Sssh.” Listening intently to herself.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she sighed. Nothing doing. “What do you
want now?”

“Well, maybe we can finish what we started,” he
reminded her, kissing her, winning her over from the dark side of using sex for
results and into the joy of making love; letting him take his time and softly,
smoothly drive her to the edge, until she was sure she would explode one way or
another….