He smiles when we pull up, but I still feel guilty. I’m going to have to get a better grip on my emotions. I can’t keep putting him through this. He’s seen enough of my moods to last a lifetime.
“There’s my buddy,” he says, opening the car door to let Shep out. “I have your Milk-Bone all ready for you.”
“You have that dog spoiled rotten,” I mutter, joining them as we walk inside. “I can just imagine how you’re going to be when you have a real grandchild to fawn over.”
“Did your mom tell you about the stuffed giraffe we came across the other day?” he asks, rubbing his hands together. “It’s eight feet tall and its neck goes all the way to the ceiling.”
“You didn’t buy it, I hope.” I groan audibly as we enter the kitchen, and I give my mom a kiss.
“Of course we did, sweetie. How could we pass something like that up?” my mom exclaims, grinning at me.
“Don’t you think it might scare the baby? I want my child to feel safe in the nursery, especially after all the hours I spent making the crib,” I argue, even though it’s a lost cause. I already have visions of strapping the stuffed monstrosity to the back of my truck, fuzzy neck and all. There’s no getting out of it now.
“Oh good! So you did finish it.” My mom’s face lights up. “It’s on to step two then?”
“That’s why I’m here. I plan on proposing to Ivy the minute she steps off that plane.” My chest fills with pride. I want nothing more than to make Ivy my wife. Sure, we’re living together, and she just so happens to be carrying my child. But there’s something about walking down the aisle and making it official. I want to share everything I have with her. My name. My heart. My life.
“Did you hear from her yet?” my dad asks softly after having seen me go off the rails earlier today. I was ready to freak out after a little girl toppled over a whole bushel of apples, sending them sprawling across the floor. My nerves at that point were razor thin. My dad knew I didn’t need any more aggravation. He simply patted me on the back as I walked out the door.
I hate having to ask people for help, but I learned that sometimes it’s necessary, especially when I’m feeling overly stressed and at my breaking point. It’s no good flying off the handle when all I need is a few quiet moments to myself. Since my blow-up with Ivy for wearing Cassidy’s shirt, my dad made me realize what my limitations are. I can’t let life push me that far or let certain things trigger my meltdowns. I can’t always be in control, but I have to remember to step back and breathe whenever I start to feel overwhelmed. If I don’t, I only end up hurting the ones I love.
“No, and I tried every way I could think of to get in touch with her,” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. Suddenly I feel as haggard as my dad looks.
“I bet she couldn’t get to a phone store, honey, and she was most likely out of her hotel room all day. Will’s probably running her ragged, the poor thing.” I sense the concern in my mom’s voice, and I have no doubt she’s thinking what I’m thinking. Such a hectic schedule would be a strain on a regular person, never mind someone who’s pregnant. My worries keep multiplying as the minutes tick by.
“If you don’t hear from her by tonight then we call the cops.” My dad shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “No fooling around.”
“Frank—” my mom warns with a groan.
“I’m serious, Nancy. If that boy is gonna take our Ivy away and not even let her call home, we have the right to sic the LAPD on his ass.” He stomps his foot, causing Shep to howl. “See? Even the dog thinks I’m right.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, dear. Now c’mon, Eric. Let’s go upstairs and get that ring and think some happy thoughts for a change.” She shoots my dad that look she always gives him when he’s gone too far, and he instantly falls silent. “There, that’s better. I thought he’d never shut up.” She giggles, and I just shake my head as we start to climb the stairs. My dad means well, but sometimes he overdoes it. I don’t think there’s any need to file a missing person’s report on Ivy—not yet at least.
I thought our destination was going to be the jewelry box on top of her nightstand, so I’m surprised when she ushers me into my childhood bedroom instead. There are no longer any football trophies on the desk or blue ribbons from the fair tacked to the mirror. After Cassidy died and I moved out for good, my mom packed everything away for when I was ready to look at it again. So much of my life was interwoven with Cassidy’s that it hurt to be reminded of all the memories we shared.
Stepping back into my old room, it feels like a different person lived here. A boy buoyed by hopes and dreams he thought for sure would come true. Reentering this space, I realize just how much I’ve changed. I’m a man now, hardened by experience and strengthened by love. I don’t take so much for granted anymore. I cherish each and every blessing in my life because I know how easily they can be taken away. I’m wary, but I’m hopeful. Loving, losing, and loving again has taught me a lot. Life has knocked me down, but it has also picked me back up. A moment spent wallowing in despair is a moment I’ll never get back. Life’s too short to waste pining over the past. I’d rather look ahead to the future. And thanks to Ivy, I’m able to do that now. My spirit was tested, but it didn’t break. If my struggles somehow strengthened me, then it was her love that saved me. Without going through the heartache, I wouldn’t have the joy.
“What are we doing in here, Mom?” I ask, scratching my head.
“Sit down,” she responds, patting the new comforter.
Even though the room’s been redecorated, the bed’s still in the same place. I instantly flashback to all of the conversations I’ve had with my mom in here when I was growing up—how she boosted my confidence the night before the SATs, lifted my spirits after a season-ending loss on the football field, scolded me for scratching during a nasty bout of chicken pox. Looking back, she was always there when I needed her, and I intend to do the same for my child.
“It feels weird being in here,” I admit, looking around at a room I barely recognize.
“Good weird or bad weird?” she asks, pulling a velvet box out of her pocket.
“I don’t know. Just weird,” I confess, distracted by what she has in her hand. “Is that it?”
“Yep, your grandma’s ring,” she says, snapping it open to reveal the simple diamond solitaire. “Even though she never got a chance to meet Ivy, I know she would be proud to have her wear this.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, removing it from the satin cushion holding it in place. It looks so delicate resting on my palm. “But what if it’s not the right size? I mean, Ivy’s fingers are pretty swollen due to the pregnancy. I don’t want to mess this up by asking her to marry me then having to force the ring over her knuckle or something. I want it to be perfect.”
“Well, Eric, I think you’re going to have to wing it.” My mom pats my arm consolingly. “Besides, Ivy will probably want to wait until after she has the baby to have it sized. For now, she can always wear it on a chain around her neck.”
I try to hide my disappointment. My mom is only being realistic. There’s no way a jeweler can size it in time anyway. It’s just that I want to give Ivy a proposal she’ll remember for the rest of her life. No glitches. No screw-ups. And a ring that fits. But I guess it could be kind of sexy if I found a chain long enough for the ring to rest on her baby bump. I have to admit there’s something incredibly romantic about that.
“She knows this isn’t my first time doing this. That’s why I have to make sure it’s extra special,” I confess. This is one of those times where I’m glad I can tell my mom anything and she’ll understand.