“Well, I just got the final delivery from the baby store, and I’m just…I don't know what to do with half this shit, and it's made me realize that I'm in way over my head.”
My heart starts pounding. This is not what I want to hear from the man who's about to be a dad in under two months. I'm not sure if it's just the baby stuff that's overwhelming him or all of it. I prepare for the worst.
“Okay, sit tight. I'll be there as soon as I can. Maybe take Dolly out or something, get out of the house while I’m on the road?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah, couldn’t hurt to walk away for a bit. Hopefully by the time you get here, I'll calm the fuck down.”
“Yes. Do that. Can I bring anything? Some herbal tea or something?”
“There isn’t room for herbal tea or anything else in here with all this baby stuff. Just come.”
How much baby stuff could there be? I don’t feel overwhelmed at my house, so I can’t imagine what has him so freaked out. Unless it’s…the idea of the baby itself.
“On my way. We'll go through everything, and hopefully we can sort things out,” I say, debating whether I should pick up something sweet for us to snack on. Sugar is always a good idea, and I’ve been craving donuts these past few weeks. But speed seems more important than sugar right now.
The afternoon couldn’t be prettier, deep blue sky and warm sun, but I’m anything but calm. My mind spins out worrying about Fitz. I should put in a meditation podcast or just some nice music. But instead, I drive in silence, white-knuckling the steering wheel and thinking about what it means if Fitz is this freaked out about baby gear. Maybe this is all too much. Maybe he’s hit a breaking point and decided that he's not in this for the long haul.
I have to admit that a part of me has been waiting for this moment, where a cowboy boot dangles in the air, ready to drop.
And yet…the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m not worried about losing a child-rearing partner. I’m worried about losinghim. Because I love him.
Against all my better instincts, I fell for the cowboy.
I hit the gas a little harder, my car’s erratic course matching the panic I feel, knowing I need to protect myself and my heart.Knowing that my growing feelings for Fitz will make retreating to our separate lives after the baby is born that much harder.
If he has cold feet, I want to know. I practically raised my sisters. I can do this by myself, and he can run his ranch and focus on his life. I will get over him. I'm good at making the best of things.
One more hour is too long to sit in my car in silence, so I call up Dylan.
“What's going on? Are you having the baby?” she asks, excitement and panic in her voice.
“Still a little soon for that. Just called to chat. Everything good?”
“Oh my god, you wouldn't believe it, this restaurant design project is a mess. I don't know what I was thinking. Who knew we could spend an entire day talking about which shade of green makes people hungrier.” She continues with the design challenges of her bar-and-grill project and the stress of dealing with many people with differing opinions.
I try to talk her down, reminding her of how capable she is and that all her problems are solvable. “You’re still in charge. You need to guide them, instead of letting their confusion steamroll you.”
“You're right. You're right. You're totally right,” she says.
“Just take a deep breath.”
She inhales and exhales into the phone. “Okay, breathing. I'm so glad you called. You saved my bacon when I was about to lose my mind.”
“Of course. Tell me about all the shades of green, so I know what not to do when we pick colors for Loveland.”
“Oh, if you only knew.” I hear the smile in her voice. Focusing on her helps me put my own worries and issues aside. Fitz’s voice of reason in the back of my head reminds me that my sisters are grown up enough to take care of themselves. I knowI should stop letting everybody else's worries and problems become my own, but old habits die hard. Maybe I like being needed.
After I hang up with Dylan, I play a couple of Taylor Swift songs, hoping her take on relationships will put me in a better frame of mind. When that doesn’t work, I call Callie. She always has the most common sense.
“Hey, Mama,” she says. “How's the big, fat belly?” The clacking of computer keys tells me she’s multitasking.
I laugh. She's the only human who could call me fat without telling me I’m fat.
“The belly is fine. Thanks, Auntie.”
“Yeah, you still holding the line on not admitting if it’s a girl or a boy?”
“I'm not admitting it because I still don't know. There are so few surprises left in the world. This is going to be one of them.”