14. Noah
14
The other day when we were at my in-laws, Stevie Nicks chased Beau around on the beach. He was so gentle with her, even though she's not exactly small and pretty close to his size. He let her catch him, then he'd run again. It was a repeating cycle of dog energy that made me tired just watching them.
And then he took her to the water.
At first, Stevie Nicks didn't care about her feet getting wet, and then a fairly large wave came ashore and scared the crap out of her. One of Peyton's requirements with having a dog was that they like the water. So, I did what I thought would be best. I picked her up and waded into the ocean, holding her against my chest like a moron. The scratches from her claws are deep and aching, but she likes the water now and even follows Beau when he chases the waves.
After a run on the beach where Stevie Nicks does most of the running—if we can call it running: She usually sways to one side, speeds away, falls, gets back up, nips at my heels, and then needs a nap—we're using the outside shower to clean our feet. Hopefully this is something she gets used to because I don't like the idea of her tracking sand into the house and with her shaggy hair, she's bound to be a magnet for everything.
"Peyton, we're back," I say when we get inside. I stay behind our pup while she navigates the stairs. Whoever had her before us must not have had stairs of any kind because she's very unsure of them. Our first day home, I showed her how to use them and placed training treats on each step as her reward.
"Come on, you can do it." I tap her hind end to give her a little nudge. She looks over her shoulder at me and huffs. I'm tempted to carry her, but in a few months she's going to be huge and I don't know if I want to carry a full-sized wolfhound around.
Who am I kidding?
"Do you want Daddy to carry you?"
My question stops me in my tracks. Up until now, I haven't referred to myself as daddy or Peyton as mommy but that's what we are: to Stevie Nicks and to our little one growing inside of Peyton now.
"Holy crap," I say to the dog. "I'm going to be a dad."
Stevie Nicks looks at me like, "Duh."
How is it just setting in?
I give in, scooping her up, carrying her to the main floor and setting her down. She's hot on my heels as I rush into mine and Peyton's bedroom. "Peyton." I say her name a little louder this time, but she still doesn't answer. I pull my phone from my pocket, tap the screen and then the icon to see where she's at. The whole "find my wife" (that's what I call the app) is great except it doesn't tell me her exact location, just that she's in the house.
"Peyton!" This time I yell her name as I walk through the house. She's bound to hear me. "Fuck this," I say as I press her name and turn my speakerphone on.
"Hi," she says as soon as she picks up.
"Where are you?"
"In the bathroom."
"Which one?"
"Ours. Where are you?"
"Looking for you." I hang up and head back to our bedroom and then into the bathroom. I knock once before opening the door to find my wife on the floor with numerous pregnancy tests scattered around her.
"What's wrong?"
She shakes her head.
I'm on my knees instantly, pulling her chin toward me. "What's wrong?" My tone's demanding, something I rarely have to use and hate using with her.
"Nothing."
"Clearly, it's something." I look around at the tests on the floor. Leaning over, I pick one up. The digital readout says pregnant. Another one shows the right number of lines. "Did you take all of these this morning?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Peyton sighs. "I dreamt last night that yesterday was a dream, that I actually wasn't pregnant and when I woke, I started to wonder."
"So, you spent the morning in the bathroom? Peeing on sticks?"
She nods.
I sit down next to her and wrangle Stevie Nicks in the gap I've created to keep her corralled. "This is normal," I tell her. "I read about it in one of the books or magazines. Women take multiple tests, so you don't have a false positive. Were all of them positive?"
Peyton nods and a smile begins to form. "Yes."
I can't help but smile. "Want to know what I said moments ago to our pup?"
"What?"
"I asked her if she wanted Daddy to carry her upstairs. It hit me square in the chest—we are parents to her even though she's a dog—and in nine months, we're going to be parents to a baby boy or girl, and then someday within how many ever months it takes, they're going to call us mama and dada. Babe, we have new names."
"You're a goof," she says as she pushes on my leg with her hand. "But you're my goof and I love you."
"Speaking of names . . ."
"We have time," she says. "Grandpa and I talked when we were all at my parents. He said I shouldn't feel obligated if we have a boy to name him Mason. I pointed out that Mason might be a name you want for your son though."
I go quiet, remembering the last time I saw my uncle. I was ten but other than that, my memory's fuzzy. The night he died, it had been raining all day and I remember asking Mason about my game the next day.
The next day, Mason was gone.
And then I met Liam.
I clear my thoughts and try to disguise my inner musings by clearing my throat.
"You okay?" Peyton asks softly. I nod.
"I'll be honest, I hadn't really thought about him in a while."
"I know. It's been so long, and I don't really remember him."
"You saw him though."
Peyton nods and I say nothing. She believes she saw him while in a coma, and I believe her. It's not my place to discount what happened to her.
"When do you get your first ultrasound?"
"I'll call them on Monday to let them know the test was positive. They'll probably have me come in to have my blood drawn and then it'll be at the six-week mark, but we won't see much." She holds her fingers up about a quarter inch apart. "The baby will only be this big. I'll have another one somewhere between the sixteen and twenty-week mark. We can find out the sex then."
I let out a long sigh. "Twenty weeks?"
She nods.
"Are you worried about multiples?"
Peyton shrugs. "The chances are high. Honestly, I love my twin. Our bond is?—"
"Like nothing I've ever seen. I'd be okay with having twins." This time I'm the one pushing my leg into hers.
Stevie Nicks whines, getting our attention. Or Peyton's. She pulls the pup into her lap and starts petting her. Within seconds, her little doggie eyelids flutter closed.
"Do you want to find out the sex of the baby?"
"What a tricky question."
"Why?"
"Because if I say yes, then you'll say yes and vice versa." Peyton nods toward the sleeping dog in her arms, who's snoring. "She's so cute."
"She is. Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me, Noah. I'm already in love with her."
"She's going to be best friends with the little bean in your belly."
"Bean?"
I shrug. "I want to call him or her something. It seems so callous just to refer to it as ‘it' or ‘the baby' and makes me think we don't already love them. I think someone should invent a pee test that tells you the sex of the baby now and not at twenty weeks."
"Are you saying you want to know?"
I look at her. Her eyes are hopeful. "Yeah, I want to know, and I want to have one of those gender reveal parties."
"You just want to have a party."
Her phone rings, waking the pup. "It's Elle," she says and then answers it. "Hey. Yeah, okay. I'll have to go in anyway. Yep. Bye." Peyton hangs up and looks at me. "Elle's going to start her shots on Monday."
"She doesn't have to wait for whatever cycle?"
Peyton shakes her head. "I guess not. She just asked me to go with her."
"If she gets pregnant soon, the babies will be very close in age."
Her lips turn up in a grin. "It's what we want."
Stevie Nicks leaves Peyton's lap and starts to walk around. "I should probably get her outside before she has an accident." I stand and then help my wife up. "I'll clean up in here if you want to go make breakfast."
"Deal." She rises up and kisses me. "Love you."
"Love you more."
After I take Stevie Nicks out to do her business, after which she was rewarded with a treat and lots of affirmations, I clean the bathroom as promised. For some reason, I check each test. I don't know if it's for my own curiosity or what. Each positive brings a smile to my face. In nine months, Peyton will give birth to our child, and while it was created in a Petrie dish, it's still one we created together. Thank God for science.
When Stevie Nicks barks, I rush out of the room and find her sitting at the end of the hallway, tail not wagging. I approach her slowly, peak around the corner and roll my eyes. My father is on all fours, acting like a dog.
"You're scaring her," I tell him and then look at my mom. "Really?"
"He's a child. Humor him," she says. She walks by, kisses my cheek and before she can ask where Peyton is, I point toward the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?"
My dad finally sits up and then beckons his granddog to him. Thankfully, she goes. "Uh, staying here."
"Oh. Did I know this?"
Dad shrugs. "Ask your wife."
We go into the kitchen where I find Peyton sitting at the island and my mom making breakfast. "Really?" This seems to be my word of the moment.
"She insisted," Peyton says.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I had a feeling my mom would baby Peyton.
"Where's Paige?"
"She and Mack went with Ajay, Jamie, and the kids to Disneyland today," Dad says.
"Damn, that would've been fun to do."
"I'm not going on any rides," Peyton says.
"Nope, but once you start showing, we can go and get you some ears and take a bunch of photos. Speaking of, come here." I take her hand and drag her back to the bedroom. "Take your shirt off."
"Excuse me?"
"Just do it. I want to take your picture. I saw a video this couple did. They took a picture every day so they could capture her bump growing. I want to do it."
Peyton takes her shirt off. Unfortunately for me, she's wearing a bra, and my parents are here. I snap a picture and then make sure it's saved. "Come here."
She does after she puts her shirt back on and wraps her arms around me. I hold the camera up and snap a photo of us. Right at that moment Stevie Nicks comes trotting into our room. Peyton picks her up and cozies up to me again for another picture. I show it to her and instantly save it as my wallpaper.
"Our first family photo," I tell her.
"I'm sure we'll end up taking a ton."
I nod. "I want to do it all. Everything from introducing Stevie Nicks on social media with a pregnancy announcement, the pregnancy photoshoot, and family photos with matching outfits. I want to be the cheesy family that does it all."
Peyton holds Stevie Nicks between us. They both kiss me at the same time. "There isn't anyone in the world I'd ever want to do this life with except for you, Noah Westbury."
I push strands of her hair away from her face. "I've known from day one you were mine."