Addicted After All(102)

With a breath, I say, “I don’t want to be a bad mom.”

He tugs my hand down from my cheek. “It’s okay to be scared.”

I sniff loudly, and I try to drown in his eyes, the confidence that’s flourished inside of them. “I wish I could feel more prepared…ready.”

“Will that make you feel better?” he asks.

I rub my nose with the back of my hand. “Yeah. I think so.”

He sits up and swings his legs off the bed at this. The mattress undulates from his absence as he stands. I frown and watch him saunter across the room, stopping at my side of the bed. He crouches so we’re face-to-face.

“Lily Calloway,” he says my full name like it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, “there is no way to prepare for a limo baby.” He smiles at this, and I almost turn into my pillow with an agonized groan. Reality is too cold.

He places a hand on my shoulder so I stay facing him. “But you can believe in yourself.”

“I did…I used to,” I tell him. Before Rose gave birth, I thought for sure I was ready. Now, it’s harder to convince myself.

“We’re going to change that.” He rises and then extends his hand to me.

I frown and slowly sit up. “Where are we going?” My eyes flit to the clock. 2 a.m.

“We’re taking a trip.”

I wipe my splotchy cheeks. “To Hogwarts?” I ask hopefully.

He smiles more fully, something clear in the darkness of our room. “We’re trying to banish your fears. Hogwarts has Death Eaters and Dementors.”

“Yeah, but that was when Harry was in school,” I whisper since it’s nighttime. “I’d like to think it’s become a pretty happy place since then.”

“Me too.” He wags his fingers, wanting me to take his hand still. “We’ll go to Hogwarts another night.” He doesn’t remind me that we’re not wizards, that we’re not magical. It almost causes more tears to brim.

“Promise?” I reach for his hand, and he helps me to my feet. With my large baby bump, I feel heavier and more round than ever before.

“Promise.” He kisses the top of my nose, and he leads me out into the hall. The crying from the nursery has stopped, but the door is cracked open. We walk down there and then I peek inside.

In navy pajama pants, Connor cradles the small baby in a pale pink onesie, feeding her a bottle. Even though she was a little early, the doctors said she was perfectly healthy at seven pounds, two ounces. They checked out Rose at the hospital too, and she passed all the tests like an honor student would. Her body didn’t fail her. But mine has betrayed me plenty of times before.

And I worry about all the headlines too. Even the normal news stations, not just the tabloids, ran the story about Rose giving birth in a limo and Connor delivering the baby. A week later and the media hasn’t died down.

It’s scary to think a good majority of the world will be watching and waiting for news about the birth of Maximoff. Sometimes I wonder if they’re all hoping I’ll make a giant mistake afterwards, just so it’ll be a nice story, some good entertainment.

For once, I’d like no complications, no speed bumps. Something peaceful. And happy.

Maybe it’s just a dream.

I watch Connor, never seeing him so smitten with another human being, except maybe Rose. But he gives his daughter a different kind of look, one that says I’ll do anything and everything for you. I remember when they asked Rose the name of the baby at the hospital, for the records, and she didn’t even hesitate. It’d taken her so long to pick a name, but in that moment, she went with her heart.

Jane.

Chosen from her favorite Charlotte Bront? novel.

Lo gently pulls me into the princess nursery, being quiet. I’m not sure what he’s planning, but my heart has taken a front row seat and decided to spasm and race.

“Lo,” I whisper-hiss.

Connor already turns around, not surprised by our presence. I wonder if he could hear us breathing or our feet against the floorboards.

Jane’s striking blue eyes focus on my forehead while she sucks from her bottle. I’m not scared to hold her. Rose hasn’t been possessive of Jane, and in part, it’s from being so exhausted. She’s let all of us cradle her daughter at some point this past week.

Lo guides me to the plush cream rocking chair, and he sidles next to Connor, whispering. I try to read their lips, but all I can recognize is my name, not helpful.