32. Tommy

Chapter thirty-two

Tommy

T he next morning, we make love again. There's no rush in our lazy movements—nothing but tender touches and deep, lingering kisses. But immediately afterward, I can tell something's wrong.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah, just a little nauseous." Without a second thought, I spring from the bed, driven by a mix of concern and the sudden realization that I've never really taken care of a pregnant woman before. Sure, there was Sam, but Greg was always the one by her side. I'm determined not to screw this up. If Tilly is sick, I'm going to make it better.

"I'll make you some eggs," I suggest, only to see her face lose color at the idea. "Toast?" Her smile at that suggestion has me moving toward the door, only to be stopped by her laughter.

"Babe! Clothes!" I look down, still completely naked. She's right; in my rush, I'd forgotten to dress. Slipping into my sweats, I hurry to the kitchen. From the bedroom, I hear her shout, "And a banana!" I chuckle to myself as I quickly prepare the toast and the requested fruit. At the last second, I grab one of the fresher flowers from a wilting bouquet on the counter. Ma always loves fresh blooms in her house. Probably my ass-kissing brother bought her some. Figures. With the flower in my mouth, I sweep back into the room. I was hoping she'd gush over my goofy/sweet display, but my girl isn't looking at the petals dangling from my lips. Nope. She's drooling over something else. As soon as I hand her the plate, she's inhaling the food. Crumbs of bread litter the bed around her while she does some sort of magic trick on the banana. I swear one second it was there and the next…just gone. Maybe I should be disgusted, but watching her eat it so quickly, I feel a sense of pride. I'm doing okay so far, it seems.

"Tilly, can we tell Ma? She's gonna flip," I ask, excitement bubbling within me. My mother has wanted grandkids since I was fifteen. She doesn't pester, but little hints here and there have been present for a very long time.

"You sure?" she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Again, it should gross me out, but hell if I'm just too fucking giddy.

"Fuck yeah!" I say, maybe a little too loudly. "Come on, before she's had coffee. It'll be more fun that way." I give her a wink and pull her off the bed.

When she's standing, I pick up her pajamas for her and hold them out. She laughs at me again. "I can dress myself."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

She touches my arm. "No, it's cute, Tommy. I really didn't expect you to be so… happy about it." Not happy? The woman I love is having my baby, what else is there but happiness?

"Are you kidding? I'm fucking floored, Til. For a split second, I really thought this baby was that other guy's. I saw you kiss him at the bar," I confess, the memory still stinging a bit.

Her laughter at my misunderstanding eases the tension. "Kevin? Ew, no. He's a nice guy, but yeah, not like that. I would watch his kid while he dated my friend Jemma." She looks lost in thought for a moment, then starts fiddling with the edge of the blanket. "I thought it might help me understand kids better, considering I'm not exactly Mrs. Maternal."

"Did it?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"I have no idea." She chuckles a bit but still looks nervous. "Marcus was a lot older and super easy. We mostly just watched movies and ate cookies."

She still seems uneasy, and I think I know what's going on. "You're scared of being a mom?" I ask.

"Well, yeah, I guess. I barely remember my mom and the rest of my family isn't exactly winning any parenting awards."

I wave it off. "I happen to know someone who wins all the super mom trophies. At least in my head. Ma really is going to be thrilled. And whatever we need, she'll help with."

"I guess…" her words trail off.

"What?"

She looks at me and offers a weak smile. "Won't she be upset? I mean we barely started dating and I really don't want to disappoint her." I almost laugh at the worry in her voice.

"No, Tilly. Trust me. We just made her year. Come on, you'll see. Let's go tell her now."

She agrees, and we leave our little sex haven. Hand in hand, we walk out to find Mom, already awake and buried in a crossword puzzle. "Good morning, my babies. I see you made up."

"Ma!" I can't help the excitement in my voice. Not just because I know she's going to be happy, but because I know Tilly needs to see it. Without waiting for Ma to look up, I announce our news with a puffed out chest. "Tilly's pregnant."

Her confusion is clear. She looks up over her bifocals, curiosity in her narrowed eyes. "What?"

"She's two months pregnant, Ma." I clarify, hoping she'll understand. Maybe I'm doing this wrong. Tilly's hand is shaking in mine, so I give it a squeeze.

Ma sets her book down and removes her glasses. "Okay, wait, back up. What are you saying?" I hear it now, the excitement in her voice, and I break out into a wide smile.

"You're gonna be a grandma," I add, my voice filled with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

It takes another half second before Ma explodes. Her crossword book goes flying as her hands cover her mouth with a squeal of glee. She's embracing us both, laughing and joking. "You naughty kids. I'm gonna be a Gam Gam!"

Miranda's entrance, half asleep and looking as grumpy as ever, heads to the coffee pot. "I see you told him. What's for breakfast?" Her casual acceptance and quick shift to practical matters only manage to make us all laugh more.

As Tilly catches my eye, hers are twinkling with merriment. I'm struck by the surrealness of the moment—our private joy now shared. Tilly and I aren't only in love, we're a family now.

Ma bombards us with a flurry of questions, ranging from how Tilly's feeling to when I figured it out, but all I can do is gaze at Tilly. I'm probably beaming like I've just snagged first place at the world surfing championship, but it doesn't bother me one bit.

Our fingers intertwine, a silent conversation passes between us. When our eyes meet, it's like looking into a mirror of my own emotions—there's pure happiness there, and it's infectious.

Wiping away some of her tears, Ma claps her hands together. "Okay, I'm making pumpkin French toast. Is that okay, Tilly?"

Tilly's nod gives Ma the green light, and with a motherly authority, she ushers us out of the kitchen to start her culinary magic. I reluctantly step back, my mind racing with the logistics of our future—where we'll live, how we'll navigate the troubles with her family, the need to get a job. Yet, in this moment, those concerns seem distant. Right now, the joy of being together, of the promise of our expanding family, envelops me in a contentment that feels like a rare, tranquil pause like passing through the eye of the storm in a hurricane out to sea.