Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
“You ever coming out?” Lane called through the closed door. “Because I just got a mysterious text from SaraCate.”
I quickly wrapped my wet paintbrush in plastic wrap and silently promised it I’d be back to properly clean it later. “Coming! Get away from the door, and no peeking!”
His muttered grumbles faded as he walked away. I took one last look at the giant pair of peacocks standing protectively over their tiny peahen before turning out the light and sneaking out of the room. All I had left was to put the furniture in place and accessorize before I could show Lane what I’d been working on.
“What’d she say?” I asked as I walked into our bedroom, yanking off my painting shirt. “She need a foot rub? Takeout?” I hesitated. “More pork rinds? Because if that’s the case, we’re going to have to say something. All that salt and fat cannot be good for—”
I looked up and noticed my husband staring at his phone. He’d gone deathly pale. “She’s… she’s at the hospital.”
“Fuck, what happened? Is she hurt? Was she in an accident?”
Lane glanced up at me. “Babe. She’s having the baby! Our baby! She’s at the hospital having our baby.”
I stared at him. “But… it’s not time! We’re not due for two more weeks.”
He huffed out a laugh and started moving. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since moving to the Thicket, it’s that things happen in their own time, whether it’s peacocks mating, or us falling in love, or Memsy Blake finally taking down her holiday lights in July. It’s not SaraCate’s first kid. Maybe her body decided it was done, and it’s evicting our daughter. Maybe it’s a full moon. Who knows? But…” He spun toward me, eyes wide. “Jay, it’s happening. We’re having a baby!”
Poor Lane had been squawking and flapping his arms, running around in a circle between the dresser, the closet, and the nightstand but not actually packing anything. He reminded me of Disco Dave when we threw a handful of blueberries in his habitat.
“We already have a bag packed,” I reminded him, pointing to the backpack in the corner. “Grab that while I put on clean clothes.”
“How are you so calm? You’ve been panicking this entire time, and now that I finally need you to panic with me, you’re… chill? Babe, what the fuck?”
I wasn’t chill. Not one bit. Inside, I was worse than Disco Dave. I was a collection of drunken kittens, stumbling around but still happy as shit. But if my steady husband was panicking, the world didn’t have room for anyone else to panic too.
After yanking a clean shirt on and stepping into my running shoes, I pulled out my phone and texted SaraCate back on the group chat.
Me: On our way. What do you need?
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and reached for Lane’s hand. “C’mon. We gotta go.”
His hand was clammy with nerves. “We should have never done this,” he said breathily. “We… we’re not ready. We… we don’t know what we’re doing. They’re never going to let us take her home. We don’t qualify.”
I tried not to laugh. “Nobody qualifies, honey. And now might be a good time to remind you that you actually have a medical degree, which puts you a fair way ahead of the rest of us.”
“I know how to castrate a pig, Jay! I do not know how to keep a newborn’s head from falling off. And I sure as hell don’t know how to tell a girl what to do when she gets her period. What the fuck are we going to say? I am familiar with hemostatic dressings, not t-tampons.”
I stopped and turned to him before opening the back door. His pale cheeks were cool to the touch as I cupped his face. “Take a breath, sweetheart. In… out. There.” I leaned in and pressed a long kiss to his lips before pulling back. “We have a few minutes before we’ll need to know how to talk her through her first period. And we have a lot of friends who are very familiar with the care and keeping of lady parts.”
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not asking your cousin Kandi.”
“Oh, fuck no,” I agreed happily before towing him out to the truck. “After she brought boxed wine and a crowbar to the baby shower, she’s definitely off the list.”
“It was a nice crowbar,” Lane admitted. “I used it to get the lid off the feed bucket the other day.”
I nodded sagely. “She’s on the list of our go-to about handy tools, but nothing else.”
As we pulled out of the driveway, the fading sound of peacock squawks wished us luck—not just from Dave and his bros but from the four peahens we’d purchased (“because Dave deserves a harem for bringing us together,” Lane had insisted) and the several clutches of chicks they’d hatched since then.