Chapter 55

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Jordy

Lola talks fast as she walks up the stairs of our home. “I got everything on the list. We don’t need anything else for the baby. Well, maybe just a few more sleep suits and some booties, but your mom said I still needed a few things for my hospital bag. She’s going to buy me special postpartum underwear for cesarean section recovery or something fancy. I looked them up. They are enormous, as big as a hot air balloon. And something else I can’t remember.” Lola takes her time walking up the stairs, almost completely out of breath. “I should have written that down. My brain is like a sieve these days.”

A stickler for lists and planning, she’s even forgotten to make them and has been more forgetful lately, which is apparently, something to do with the boatload of pregnancy hormones flooding her body.

“Underwear as big as a hot air balloon?” I screw my face up.

“Sexy, I know. I can tell you’re already going to love them.” She chuckles, her cheeks flushed with color from the exertion of walking up barely a few stairs.

She doesn’t see it in herself, but she is sexy. Almost at full term, her stomach is the size of an award-winning watermelon. She’s blooming, curvy, and so fucking gorgeous. I can’t keep my hands off her which works out for both of us as she’s been hornier than a rabbit in the springtime.

Her hormones shot through the roof in her second trimester, and they haven’t let up.

Not that I’m complaining, although my dick could do with a vacation. It feels rawer than a rare steak today. Yesterday was… well… we fucked a lot that’s all I’m saying.

She lets go of the banister when she reaches the top of the stairs and waddles across the hallway to me, her stance wider than normal.

Laying her hands on her lower back, she arches herself backward to relieve the discomfort she’s been feeling for the past couple of days.

“Ooooo,” she moans, rubbing her fingers into her right hip, which has also been more painful since yesterday. Petite in every way, our little girl has put way more stress on Lola’s body than I would like. The sooner our baby girl arrives, the better. Hopefully, then, Lola’s hip will stop giving her grief. She’s much too little to be carrying an eight-and-a-half-pound baby, which is what the OB-GYN has predicted and the reason she opted for a C-section.

Lola isn’t too posh to push, she’s too petite to push.

Despite her hip being sore, it didn’t prevent her from going shopping with my mom today though, which worked out perfectly for me.

With only three days to go until the scheduled C-section, I managed to pull off the surprise I’d been planning for weeks.

“I have something to show you.” I hold out my hand in invitation, which she takes, the other she lays on top of her belly.

Sniffing the air, confusion lines her brow. “Why does it smell like paint in here?”

“I did something today.” I lead her to the nursery door and push it open for her to see what’s inside.

She gasps before moving into the room and then throws her hands over her mouth. “This is beautiful.”

Taking her time, she moves in a circle, admiring the pink cherry blossom tree I spent hours painting; the branches spanning all four walls.

Lola insisted on keeping the walls white, but I couldn’t shake the vision that came to me like a dream—unfolding like scenes from a movie. Now, the tree and its delicate petals seem to dance and drift on an invisible breeze, filling the room with life.

“The little birds are gorgeous.” She points to the bright blue and yellow, blue tits sitting in branches and some flying through the sky among the clouds painted near the ceiling.

“Eagles colors,” I inform her, making her smile.

“And the table and chair are stunning, Jordy.” She moves closer to the black wrought iron table and chair set I painted which sit under the safety of the branches.

“Do you like the teacup on the table?”

“I love it,” she says, sounding blissed out.

“And there’s your stick,” she says, pointing at the hockey stick leaning against the tree trunk. “The cherry blossom petals are perfect. Look at them all. The detail. Oh, Jordan.” She clutches her hand over her chest. “This is beautiful.” Her words are almost inaudible as emotion takes over.

“You are beautiful.”

“I’m fat.” Wiping under her bottom eyelashes, her eyes change from joy to widened surprise. “Oh, shit.” She looks down at the same time she grabs her stomach, water trickling down her legs and onto the polythene I laid on the floor to protect the pale silver carpet from getting any paint splashes on it. “The baby is coming.” Cupping her belly, she looks up at me in shock. “This is not going to plan. And we have a plan, Jordy.”

“It’s okay, baby,” I coo, trying to calm her. “You’ll still have the C-section. Remember Dr. Ferris told us we would stick to our plan, even if she came early?”

“I am freaking out, Jordy.”

As am I.

“It’s all going to be just fine.” I drop my voice a few octaves and draw out my words to keep her calm. “Well, it looks like you’re not going to be pregnant for much longer.” I take a slow stride into the room, take her hand, and pull my phone out of my pocket to call the doctor to let them know we are on our way. My stress levels hit an all-time high but I hide it because the last thing I need is a distressed Lola. “C’mon, it’s time to meet our baby girl.”

“Our Blossom.” Lola takes one final look at the delicately painted pink petals scattered across the walls as she waddles out of the room, my hand on her lower back, desperate to be in the car and at the hospital already.

If she’s freaking out, multiply that by ten because that’s how I feel. My pulse is beating faster than a mariachi band in my eardrums.

Lola stops walking and lays her hand on my arm. “Calm down Jordan. Everything’s going to be okay,” she says, and I love how she can always read me like a book.

“I know.”

I also know our little girl will be a breath of fresh air; her laugh will be as soft and sweet as cherry blossom petals, and she’ll light up every room she’s in.

Just like her mom.

My Lola.

My Teacup.

And my little Blossom.

My girls.