It Ends With Us (38 page)

“What about us?” he whispers.

I lean my head back and sigh. I knew this question would come, but it’s really difficult to give him an answer I don’t have. Divorce or reconciliation are really the only two options
we have, but neither is a choice I want to make.

“I don’t want to give you false hope, Ryle,” I say quietly. “If I had to make a choice today . . . I’d probably choose divorce. But in all honesty, I
don’t know if I would be making that choice because I’m overloaded with pregnancy hormones or because it’s what I really want. I don’t think it would be fair to either of us
if I made that decision before the birth of this baby.”

He blows out a shaky breath and then brings a hand up to the back of his neck, squeezing tightly. Then he stands up and faces me. “Thank you,” he says. “For inviting me over.
For the conversation. I’ve been wanting to stop by since I was here a couple of weeks ago, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

“I don’t know how I would have felt about it, either,” I say with complete honesty. I try to push myself out of the rocking chair, but for some reason it’s become a lot
harder in the past week. Ryle walks over and reaches for my hand to help me up.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to last until my due date when I can’t even get out of a chair without grunting.

Once I’m standing, he doesn’t immediately release my hand. We’re just a few inches apart, and I know if I look up at him I’ll feel things. I don’t want to feel
things for him.

He finds my other hand until he’s holding both of them down at my sides. He threads his fingers through mine and I feel it all the way to my heart. I press my forehead against his chest
and close my eyes. His cheek meets the top of my head and we stand completely still, both of us too scared to move. I’m scared to move because I might be too weak to stop him from kissing me.
He’s scared to move because he’s afraid if he does, I’ll pull away.

For what feels like five full minutes, neither of us moves a muscle.

“Ryle,” I finally say. “Can you promise me something?”

I feel him nod.

“Until this baby comes, please don’t try to talk me into forgiving you. And
please
don’t try to kiss me . . .” I pull away from
his chest and look up at him. “I want to tackle one huge thing at a time, and right now my only priority is having this baby. I don’t want to add any more stress or confusion on top of
everything that’s already happening.”

He squeezes both of my hands reassuringly. “One monumental life-changing thing at a time. Got it.”

I smile, relieved that we’ve finally had this conversation. I know I didn’t make a final decision about the two of us, but I still feel like I can breathe easier now that we’re
on the same page.

He releases my hands. “I’m late for my shift,” he says, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “I should get to work.”

I nod and see him out. It isn’t until after I’ve shut the door and am alone in my apartment that I realize I have a smile on my face.

I’m still incredibly angry with him that we’re even in this predicament to begin with, so my smile is simply due to making a little headway. Sometimes parents have to work through
their differences and bring a level of maturity into a situation in order to do what’s best for their child.

That’s exactly what we’re doing. Learning how to navigate our situation before our child is brought into the fold.

I smell toast.

I stretch out on my bed and smile, because Ryle knows toast is my favorite. I lie here for a while before I even attempt to get up. It feels like it takes the effort of three men to roll me out
of bed. I eventually take a deep breath, and then throw my feet over the side, pushing myself up from the mattress.

The first thing I do is pee. It’s really all I do now. I’m due in two days and my doctor says it could be another week. I started maternity leave last week, so this is my life right
now. I pee and watch TV.

When I make it to the kitchen, Ryle is stirring a pan of scrambled eggs. He spins around when he hears me walk in. “Good morning,” he says. “No baby yet?”

I shake my head and put my hand on my stomach. “No, but I peed nine times last night.”

Ryle laughs. “That’s a new record.” He spoons some eggs onto a plate and then tosses bacon and toast on it. He turns around and hands me the plate, pressing a quick kiss to the
side of my head. “I gotta go. I’m already late. I’m leaving my phone on all day.”

I smile when I look down at my breakfast.
Okay, so I eat, too. Pee, eat, and watch TV.

“Thank you,” I say cheerfully. I take my plate to the couch and turn on the TV. Ryle rushes around the living room, gathering his stuff.

“I’ll come check on you at lunch. I might be working late tonight, but Allysa said she can bring you dinner.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m
fine
, Ryle. The doctor said light bed rest, not complete debilitation.”

He starts to open the door, but pauses like he forgets something. He runs back toward me and leans down, planting his lips on my stomach. “I’ll double your allowance if you decide to
come out today,” he says to the baby.

He talks to the baby a lot. I finally felt comfortable enough to let him feel the baby kick a couple of weeks ago and since then, he stops by sometimes just to talk to my belly and doesn’t
even say much to me. I like it, though. I like how excited he is to be a father.

I grab the blanket Ryle slept on the couch with last night and wrap it over me. He’s been staying here for a week now, waiting for me to go into labor. I wasn’t sure about the
arrangement at first, but it’s actually been really helpful. I still sleep in the guest bedroom. The third bedroom is now a nursery, which means the master bedroom is available for him to
sleep in. But for whatever reason, he chooses to sleep on the couch. I think the memories in that bedroom plague him just as much as they plague me, so neither of us even bothers going in
there.

The last several weeks have been really good. Aside from the fact that there’s absolutely no physical relationship between us at this point, things feel like they’ve kind of gone
back to how they used to be. He still works a lot, but on the evenings he’s off, I’ve started having dinner upstairs with all of them. We never eat alone as a couple, though. Anything
that might feel like a date or a couples thing, I avoid. I’m still trying to focus on one monumental thing at a time, and until this baby is born and my hormones are back to normal, I refuse
to make a decision about my marriage. I’m sure I’m just using the pregnancy as an excuse to stall the inevitable, but being pregnant allows a person to be a little selfish.

My phone begins to ring, and I drop my head into the couch and groan. My phone is all the way in the kitchen. That’s like fifteen feet from here.

Ugh.

I push myself off the couch, but nothing happens.

I try it again.
Still sitting.

I grab hold of the arm of my chair and pull myself up.
Third time’s the charm.

When I stand, my glass of water spills all over me. I groan . . . but then I gasp.

I wasn’t holding a glass of water.

Holy shit.

I look down and water is trickling down my leg. My phone is still ringing on the kitchen counter. I walk—or waddle—to the kitchen and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Lucy! Quick question. Our order of red roses was damaged in shipment, but we’ve got the Levenberg funeral today and they specifically wanted red roses for the casket
spray. Do we have a backup plan?”

“Yeah, call the florist on Broadway. They owe me a favor.”

“Okay, thanks!”

I start to hang up so I can call Ryle and tell him my water broke, but I hear Lucy say, “Wait!”

I pull the phone back to my ear.

“About these invoices. Did you want me to pay them today or wait . . .”

“You can wait, it’s fine.”

Again, I start to hang up but she yells my name and starts firing off another question.

“Lucy,” I say calmly, interrupting her. “I’ll have to call you about all this tomorrow. I think my water just broke.”

There’s a pause. “Oh. OH! GO!”

I hang up right when the first sign of pain shoots through my stomach. I wince and start dialing Ryle’s number. He picks up on the first ring.

“Do I need to turn around?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God. Really? It’s happening?”

“Yes.”

“Lily!” he says, excited. And then the phone goes dead.

I spend the next few minutes gathering everything I’ll need. I already have a hospital bag, but I feel kind of gross, so I jump in the shower to rinse off. The second burst of pain comes
about ten minutes after the first. I bend forward and clench my stomach, letting the water beat down on my back. Right when I near the end of the contraction, I hear the bathroom door swing
open.

“You’re in the
shower
?” Ryle says. “Lily, get out of the shower, let’s go!”

“Hand me a towel.”

Ryle’s hand appears around the shower curtain a few seconds later. I try to fit the towel around me before pulling the shower curtain aside. It’s odd, hiding your body from your own
husband.

The towel doesn’t fit. It covers up my boobs but then opens like an upside-down V over my stomach.

Another contraction hits as I’m stepping out of the shower. Ryle grabs my hand and helps me breathe through it, then walks me into the bedroom. I’m calmly picking out clean clothes
to wear to the hospital when I glance over at him.

He’s staring at my stomach. There’s a look on his face I can’t decipher.

His eyes meet mine and I pause what I’m doing.

There’s a moment that passes between us where I can’t tell if he’s about to frown or smile. His face twists into both somehow, and he blows out a quick breath, dropping his
eyes back to my stomach. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

A pang shoots through my chest that has nothing to do with the contractions. I realize this is the first time he’s seen my bare stomach. It’s the first time he’s witnessed what
I look like with his baby growing inside of me.

I walk over to him and take his hand. I place it on my stomach and hold it there. He smiles at me, brushing his thumb back and forth. It’s a beautiful moment. One of our better
moments.

“Thank you, Lily.”

It’s written all over him, the way he’s touching my stomach, the way his eyes are looking back at mine. He’s not thanking me for this moment, or any moment that came before
this one. He’s thanking me for all the moments I’m allowing him to have with his child.

I groan, leaning forward. “Fucking hell.”

The moment is over.

Ryle grabs my clothes and helps me into them. He picks up all the things I tell him to carry and then we make our way to the elevator. Slowly. I have a contraction when we’re halfway
there.

“You should call Allysa,” I tell him when we pull out of the parking garage.

“I’m driving. I’ll call her when we get to the hospital. And your mom.”

I nod. I’m sure I could call them right now, but I kind of just want to make sure we make it to the hospital first, because it feels like this baby is being really impatient and wants to
make its debut right here in the car.

We make it to the hospital, but my contractions are less than a minute apart when we arrive. By the time the doctor scrubs in and they get me to a bed, I’m dilated to a nine. It’s
only five minutes later when I’m being told to push. Ryle doesn’t even have a chance to call anyone, it all happens so fast.

I squeeze Ryle’s hand with every push. At one point, I think about how important the hand I’m squeezing is to his career, but he says nothing. He just allows me to squeeze it as hard
as I possibly can, and that’s exactly what I do.

“The head is almost out,” the doctor says. “Just a few more pushes.”

I can’t even describe the next few minutes. It’s a blur of pain and heavy breathing and anxiety and pure, unequivocal elation. And pressure. Such an enormous pressure, like I’m
about to implode, and then, “It’s a girl!” Ryle says. “Lily, we have a daughter!”

I open my eyes and the doctor is holding her up. I can only make out the outline of her, because my eyes are full of too many tears. When they lay her on my chest, it’s the absolute
greatest moment of my life. I immediately touch her red lips and cheeks and fingers. Ryle cuts the umbilical cord, and when they take her from me to clean her up, I feel empty.

A few minutes later she’s back on my chest again, swaddled in a blanket.

I can do nothing but stare at her.

Ryle sits on the bed next to me and pulls the blanket down around her chin so we can get a better look at her face. We count her fingers and her toes. She tries to open her eyes and we think
it’s the funniest thing in the world. She yawns and we both smile and fall even more in love with her.

After the last nurse leaves the room and we’re finally alone, Ryle asks if he can hold her. He raises the head of my bed to make it easier for both of us to sit on the bed. After I hand
her to him, I lay my head on his shoulder and we just can’t stop staring at her.

“Lily,” he whispers. “Naked truth?”

I nod.

“She’s so much prettier than Marshall and Allysa’s baby.”

I laugh and elbow him.

“I’m kidding,” he whispers.

I know exactly what he means, though. Rylee is a gorgeous baby, but no one will ever hold a candle to our own daughter.

“What should we name her?” he asks. We didn’t have the typical relationship during this pregnancy, so the baby’s name hasn’t been something we’ve discussed
yet.

“I’d like to name her after your sister,” I say, glancing at him. “Or maybe your brother?”

I’m not sure what he thinks of that. I personally think naming our daughter after his brother could be somewhat healing for him, but he may not see it that way.

He glances over at me, not expecting that answer. “Emerson?” he says. “That’s kind of cute for a girl name. We could call her Emma. Or Emmy.” He smiles proudly and
looks down at her. “It’s perfect, actually.” He leans down and kisses Emerson on her forehead.