02 | It'll be fine, part II
Olivia
Carter never shuts up.
He’s loud, boisterous, flashy, and says whatever the hell goes through his mind.
This last week has been so utterly painful.
Why, you ask? What could he have possibly said that’s any worse than any ridiculous thing he’s said before?
The answer is nothing. The man’s been a mute. I get soft, sweeping kisses and cozy snuggles while his fingers trail up my back like a whisper. I get his face stuffed in my neck while he holds me close in bed, his warm lips murmuring my favorite three words on repeat: I love you. I love you. I love you.
I’ve never seen him more terrified, and as difficult as it is seeing him like this, harder still is that he won’t admit it. He’s so afraid that he’s no longer communicating, and that’s a version of him I’ve only seen once before. If I’ve learned anything from him in our time together, we’re stronger together, me and him. A team that works flawlessly when we work as one.
When he gets scared, he shuts down, and when he shuts down, I get scared.
So now I’m laying here on this vinyl-coated examination bed, staring at that door, waiting for it to open, wondering if this whole thing is going to make everything worse, or if it’s going to bring Carter the peace he needs.
My gaze coasts to his spread legs, elbows braced on his bouncing knees, head in his hands, fingers buried in his chestnut waves, and I know: there may not be a peace for this man.
I place my palm against his shaking thigh, watching as it stills. “Are you okay?”
“What?” His eyes flip to mine, racing. “Oh. Yeah. Totally. I’m fine. Are you fine?”
The door opens before I can reply, and Carter rockets to his feet as the doctor steps into the room.
“Hi!” Does he know he’s yelling? He splays his hand over his chest. “I’m Carter!”
The doctor’s curious gaze meets mine before she offers him a reassuring smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Beckett. I’m Dr. Lowry. Are you excited?”
“So excited,” he lies, and not at all convincingly. He’s also still standing. And yelling. “I can’t wait!”
Dr. Lowry gestures to Carter’s chair. “You can have a seat, Mr. Beckett, and we’ll get started.” She takes a seat after Carter, then opens the file in her hands, trailing a finger down the page. “Alrighty. Your blood results from the other day came back showing your hCG levels at over one hundred thousand, so you are most definitely pregnant.” She peeks up at us with a smile. “Congratulations Mom and Dad.”
Carter’s fingernails dig into the back of my hand where he’s clutching at me, and the tips of my fingers prickle as they lose blood flow.
“Your chart shows you at approximately eight weeks, but the ultrasound will confirm—”
“Eight weeks?” Carter shakes his head. “But no, because it wasn’t eight weeks ago that we fucked and I—”
“Carter!” I mean, for fuck’s sake. Does he lack a filter? Yes. Has he been known to be exceptionally blunt? Sure. But for the love of God, must he always be so cavalier?
“What?” Innocence dances in his wide green eyes before understanding hits, and he nods. “Right. Sorry.” Clearing his throat, he tries again. “It wasn’t eight weeks ago that we made sweet, slow, unprotected love and I accidentally came inside her when I promised I wouldn’t.”
I’m really not sure that’s any better, but at least he didn’t say we fucked again.
Dr. Lowry looks like she’s not sure whether she wants to run and hide or grab a bowl of popcorn and settle in for the show. “Right,” she says slowly, shifting her glasses up her nose. “Well, pregnancy is measured in weeks based on the mother’s first day of her last period, so we actually kind of backtrack a bit when talking about dates. Miss Parker’s chart—”
“Mrs. Beckett,” Carter barks out, and rather aggressively at that. He’s not aggressive. He’s a big, goofy, adorkable, cuddly teddy bear. The only exceptions to this are when he’s on ice, or when his back is against the wall, when he feels threatened, or when he feels that someone he loves has been threatened. Clearly, right now, he feels his claim to his position as my future husband is at stake.
“I’m sorry.” Dr. Lowry flips through my file and frowns. “It shows that Miss Parker isn’t married.”
“Yet.” Carter yanks my hand into the air, shoving my sparkly diamond in the doctor’s face. I barely resist the urge to bury my face and hide; this is easily one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. “We’re engaged. We live together. We have a Dublin.” I wish he’d just said dog. “We’re getting married in November.”
Dr. Lowry stares at Carter for a long, silent moment before her gaze slowly slides to mine. “Would you prefer I call you Mrs. Beckett?”
I swallow. “Just Olivia is fine.” Whoops. Carter’s face tells me Just Olivia is not fine. “Beckett,” I correct quickly. “Olivia Beckett. Mrs. Beckett. Yes. Yeah.”
Dr. Lowry hides her laugh in a cough. “Mrs. Beckett’s chart shows her last period was about eight weeks ago, so that’s when we start measuring the pregnancy.”
Carter’s face lights at the name. He relaxes into his chair and claps his hands. “Great. Let’s do this.”
I bite back my smile, and as the doctor pulls out a long wand and covers it in a condom, my stomach flutters, a mix of nerves, excitement, and so much love. This isn’t a position I would have ever imagined myself being in a year ago but now that we’re here, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Dr. Lowry scoots backward in her chair, positioning herself and the wand between my legs, and lifts the white sheet draped over my lower half.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.” Carter stops her with a hand in the air. “Where do you think you’re putting that thing?”
“Carter, for the love of God.” Dragging both hands down my face, I groan. “Will you please let her do her job?”
He gestures at my spread legs. “You’re too small for that!”
“I’ve had bigger things in there!” I aim a pointed glance at his crotch.
“Oh.” His smirk wobbles. “Right.”
“An internal ultrasound is useful this early because it helps us get accurate measurements,” Dr. Lowry tells us. “We’ll start with this and move to abdominal.”
While it’s true that Carter’s packing a weapon of much larger proportions, the wand still doesn’t feel all that comfortable sliding inside, and his eyes are glued to my face, which means he doesn’t miss the wince I try to hide.
He shoots up from his seat, arms flying over my body. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He twists to the doctor. “Stop! You’re hurting my baby!”
“Mr. Beckett, I can assure you your little babe is tucked safely away. It’s just the size of a blueberry. We aren’t hurting it.”
Carter blinks. “A blueberry?”
Dr. Lowry nods. “A blueberry.”
“But that’s so…” He holds up his thumb and forefinger, squinting into the tiny space between them. “Teeny tiny.”
“Growing quickly though.” She studies the computer screen, clicking away at the mouse while moving the wand inside of me, and Carter’s eyes stay glued to my stomach, beads of sweat decorating his forehead. “Measurements actually have your little blueberry measuring a bit ahead of schedule at about nine weeks.”
Carter swipes at his forehead. “So the baby’s big? It’s big? Like me? That must mean it’s a boy. He’s a boy, Ollie.” His grin is shaky but so relieved. He turns back to the doctor, and if looks could kill, she’d be on her final breath. “Tell me it’s a boy.”
“There are many reasons a baby might be measuring ahead, but it really doesn’t mean the baby’s big, especially at this stage. Every fetus develops at a slightly different rate. And as for sex, it’s too early to tell if Baby Beckett is a boy or girl.”
Carter opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Dr. Lowry cuts him off. “Would you like to see your baby?”
“Yes,” he replies immediately, then squeezes his eyes shut. “Wait. No. No, definitely not. Yes. Fuck.” He makes a sound, something like a whimper and a groan mixed as one as he yanks on his hair. “No.”
I tug on his elbow, pulling his fingers free from his hair. Placing his hand in his lap, I feel the clamminess that coats his palm when I tuck my hand around his and squeeze. “Yes, we would love to see our baby.”
“Right.” Carter’s anxious gaze holds mine. He swallows. “Yeah. Of course.”
His jaw unhinges the second his eyes land on that monitor. They glaze over, shining with wonder like a deep, dark seas, and I can’t bring myself to look away from him. He inches closer and closer until he’s leaning halfway over my body, gripping my hand so tight it hurts.
“Tha-tha-that—” He points at the screen, licks his lips, and swallows thickly, throat bobbing. “That’s our baby?”
“That’s your baby, Mr. Beckett.”
Finally, I look to the screen. There it is, our tiny little bean, one I always knew I wanted to grow with Carter but was never expecting to be doing so this soon. My eyes flood with tears I have no control over; I feel like I’m glowing from the inside out.
“What are those little nubby things?” Carter asks.
“Those little nubs are baby’s arms and legs.”
The pulse point in his neck thunders as his eyes grow wider and he leans even closer. “It has arms and legs?” His words are barely a whisper, and he squints at the screen. “I don’t see a penis. Is there a penis?”
I snort and roll my eyes. “Carter, she already told us it’s too early to tell.”
“Right.” His head bobs. “I forgot. Sorry.” He points to a miniscule spot on the screen. “What’s that thing? It’s, like…flickering.”
“That, Mom and Dad, is your baby’s heart. It’s already beating nice and strong.”
Carter’s lips part with a quivering inhale. “It-it-it…it has a heart? But it’s a blueberry.”
Dr. Lowry smiles to herself, working on the screen. “The heart is one of the first things to develop. Looks like baby’s heart is beating at one hundred and fifty-two beats per minute. Would you like to hear it?”
“Hear…hear it?”
“Mhmm.” Dr. Lowry pulls the wand out from between my legs and hands me a soft towel. She shifts the sheet down and squirts goopy blue gel on my stomach before pressing a doppler to it, and my own heart takes flight, thrashing wildly in my chest, looking for a way out, because that’s our baby. We made a baby.
I look to my terrified fiancé. He’s silent and still while he listens, head down, staring at the ground. I squeeze his hand. “Are you going to vomit again?”
Slowly, his head rises. Our gazes lock and my heart cracks a hundred times over at the tears flooding his beautiful emerald eyes, streaming down his face. “You made a vital organ.”
*
Carter doesn’t speak the entire drive home. I think he’s in shock. I offered to drive, but the glare he directed at my stomach told me that not only was that not happening, but that I’d probably not be driving myself anywhere for the next nine months.
He also keeps the ultrasound photos in his lap the whole time, shifting them from his right thigh to his left when I reach for them. And at every red light we hit, he picks them up, examining each one over and over again.
I think he’s happy. I think he might even be in love already. But I also think he’s freaking the hell out. He only confirms that when I go to hop down from the truck and he loses his ever-loving mind.
“No!” he shrieks before dashing around the hood. He hooks his arms under my armpits and gently hoists me before setting me down on my feet. His hands sweep down my sides as if he’s checking me for bruises from…getting out of the truck. “There. All good. You’re safe.”
“Right…” If this is any indication of how the sex is going to be for the remainder of this pregnancy, I might implode.
Carter doesn’t do gentle. Not with his body, at least. When he’s loving me with his body on mine, rough, greedy, and obsessive is all he knows. He gives me gentle with the quiet words he presses against my ear as I fall asleep in his arms. He gives me gentle with his fingers running through my hair, dancing down my back, the whisper-soft touch of his lips on my shoulder as he silently moves by me in the kitchen on sleepy mornings, his arm snaking around my waist, palm splayed over my belly, silently claiming me as his.
Dublin leaps up Carter’s chest as soon as we step into the house, licking at my face from over his shoulder.
“Hi buddy,” Carter whispers, burying his face in Dublin’s fur as he twists the dog away from me. “Be gentle with Mommy.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not the dog, too.
I follow Carter into the kitchen, watching as he avoids my gaze and rummages through the fridge. He pulls things out and shoves them back in like he’s simply looking for anything to busy himself with until I stop looking at him. His eyes keep darting sideways, peeking my way to see if I’m still watching. I am.
I close the fridge door when Carter opens and shuts the fruit crisper for the third time without ever removing a single piece of fruit. Stepping into him, I run my palm up his chest, along his collarbone, curving around his neck. “Carter, let’s go upstairs and have—”
“Sex?” He slaps my hand away. Slaps.
What I was going to say was a bath. It’s one of the most efficient ways to help him relax when he’s wound tight like this. He loves climbing in that giant tub with me, letting me work out the knots in his shoulders before his hands spend the next half hour roaming my body.
“How can you think about sex at a time like this, Olivia? It’s a blueberry. The sword of thunder takes no prisoners, Ollie. None! It’ll slice him open.” He swivels his hips and slices his hand through the air. “Slice!” He holds his hand in front of my face, making a fist, squeezing it tight. “Squash him.”
My first instinct is to remind him that the baby might not be a boy, but Carter’s not done.
He leans in close, eyes wide with fear. “He. Will. Crumble.” With the shake of his head, he scoffs, turning and ambling away. “Sex. It’s a goddamn blueberry. Blueberry juice everywhere, and all she can think about is sex.”
Great. This is gonna be super fun. Can’t wait.
I watch him settle on the couch, staring straight ahead at the black TV. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go take a shower.” I have blue goop leaking from my belly button. We also have company coming this afternoon for a barbecue, and I’d like to kick the homeless look I’ve been rocking, maybe try to feel fresh rather than as if I’ve been living with my head in the toilet for the last week-and-a-half.
Carter doesn’t answer me, just nods, so I head upstairs with Dublin on my heels. He likes to stand in front of the glass and watch me shower; I have no idea why. It might be fear of missing out, or maybe he thinks obsessive attention is what I like, you know, following Carter’s lead and all.
When I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, Dublin finally decides it’s okay to give me a bit of space. He stretches out in the center of the bed, paws in the air, tongue out, and his big brown eyes close.
I thread my wet hair into a bread and drape it over my shoulder before I pick out a sundress.
Carter has a particular penchant for my sundresses. I dress for me, not for him, but his love language is physical touch, and the less clothes covering me, the more skin-to-skin contact he gets. He loves to be touching me, even in the smallest, simplest of ways. His cheek on my bare shoulder on the couch, the tips of his fingers tracing my knee, his knuckles sweeping back and forth along the side of my thigh while he focuses on something else. It soothes him in a way I can’t explain, though I understand, because I see the ways his shoulders relax, the crease in his forehead smoothing out. So I run my fingers over the flutter, gauzy material and hope it’ll help him today too.
It’s a beautiful, hot August day, the sky a dazzling cyan-blue, not a single cloud in sight. A perfect day for a barbecue, though if we hadn’t already planned this weeks ago, we definitely wouldn’t be having it. It might be what Carter needs, our friends and family here together, the insanity, the normalcy. It might be.
But Carter doesn’t often thrive on big distractions. They don’t work the same way for him that they do for other people. Carter lets his thoughts fester until they overwhelm him, until they pour out of him in a jumble of sweet, nonsense ramblings.
I know I need to find a way to get through to him, to make him open up and talk about how he’s feeling, and I need to do it quickly.
Downstairs, I find him exactly where I left him, sitting on the couch, staring at nothing. The only difference is the opened package of Oreos in front of him.
“Carter, did you eat two entire sleeves of Oreos in the twenty minutes that I’ve been upstairs?”
“No,” he lies, knees bouncing, eyes staring straight ahead. He picks another Oreo out, twisting it apart, licking at the icing.
My brows quirk. “No? You’re not stress-eating right now? Because that package was unopened this morning and now it’s two-thirds of the way gone, and you’ve got cookie crumbs on your shirt.”
He tosses the remainder of the cookie into his mouth, chomping it quickly, swallowing hard. His piercing gaze flips to me as he lays a hand over his chest. “I’m not stressed out. Are you stressed out? Because I’m not.”
Right. He’s already said that.
“I’m fine, Ollie.” He rockets to his feet, wide green eyes set on my belly. “It’s totally fine. We made a baby. People do that all the time. And it’ll be half me and half you? Pfft.” He waves me off, like this whole surprise pregnancy right here is as normal and predictable as the sun rising in the east every morning. “It’ll be perfect. Between me and you? Sogood-looking. World’s hottest baby, probably.”
I’m about to tell him that nobody refers to babies as hot, but he’s not done.
“A baby.” Uh-oh; he’s pacing. He scrubs a hand over his forehead, the other gripping his hip. “A little…super tiny…” He holds his hands out, palms facing each other, just a couple inches between them. “Baby. And I’ll be responsible for keeping it alive.” He keels over, gripping his knees, and I think he might vomit again. “Oh, fuck.”
Carter’s head whips up. I note the sheen of sweat covering his face, wild-eyed gaze holding mine. “You’re gonna help me, right? You’re gonna…we’re gonna…oh, God. I’m gonna be a dad.” He ambles away from me, muttering to himself, hand over his mouth before he sinks back down to the couch, curling up in the fetal position.
Sitting on the rug in front of him, I take one of his hands in mine and run my fingers through his thick waves. “It’s okay to be scared, Carter.”
His eyes swing to mine. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”
“And you’re gonna be a great dad. You’re already an amazing uncle. You love unconditionally, Carter. Passionately, obsessively. The way you love our baby will be no different.”
“But Olivia.” He grasps my hands tightly in his, bringing them to his chest as his eyes bounce between mine. “What if it’s a girl?”
I’ve truly never worked so hard in my life to swallow a laugh, only because this man of mine—this strong, fearless, domineering man—is so utterly terrified right now.
I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. “Then you’ll be the best girl-dad ever and you’ll scare away all the boys until she’s eighteen.”
His eyes are at serious risk of tumbling right from their sockets. “Eighteen? Try twenty-five!” He swings his body so fast to sitting that I tumble backwards. He reaches forward, gripping my waist and righting me, all without actually looking at me. “No! Thirty!”
“Carter, I’m only twenty-five. You’re twenty-eight.”
“Yeah, and you’re pregnant! That’s not happening to our baby girl!” He’s on his feet now, pacing again, waving his hands hysterically in front of his face. “No. No. No penises. None. I refuse.”
Okay, so this is going about as well as I expected. I know Carter wants to be a dad, and I know he’s going to be an amazing one. He talks about babies all the time. It’s just that…we didn’t mean for it to happen so soon. And now he’s in his head, because he couldn’t control this—I mean, he could’ve, if he’d just pulled out like he promised to—and when Carter struggles the most is when he’s not in control.
“Okay, Carter.” I take his face in my hands and kiss the tip of his nose as he exhales, his shoulders falling away from his ears. “No penises.” We’ll have this talk if and when we need to. “I’m scared, too, you know,” I tell him softly. “This isn’t exactly the way we planned for this to happen.”
Carter sighs, eyes falling shut. When he opens them again, he pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Ollie. I’m supposed to be strong for both of us.”
“I don’t need you to be strong all the time, Carter. I only need you to talk to me, just like you always encourage me to talk.” The corner of my mouth tugs up as I think back on a night that wasn’t all that long ago, one where Carter forced me to get out of my head and take a leap of faith. And I repeat the same words he said to me then. “You’re scared, I’m scared. Let’s be scared together.”
Carter’s large hands cradle my face as his mouth takes mine with a searing kiss that holds all his fear, his love, appreciation and devotion. His arms wind around me, crushing me to him. I slip my hand under his shirt and press my palm to his warm skin, feeling the way the tense muscles in his back slowly unknot, the way his body deflates against mine as he touches his lips to my bare shoulder, over and over again.
“We should talk about the barbecue this afternoon,” I finally say, because as much as I trust Carter, as amazing as he is, there are some things he just…sucks at. “I don’t think we should say anything yet.”
“Why not?”
“It’s early still. I think we should wait until we get closer to the end of the first trimester, just to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Everything…everything’s gonna be okay, though, right? Nothing bad will happen, right?”
“I’m sure everything will be fine.” I scratch my fingers through his hair and trace the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the tip of my finger running through the divot where his dimples rest. “I’m just asking for three more weeks, Carter. Okay?”
He swallows, licks his lips, and nods. “Okay.”
*
Really, I do trust Carter.
Is trusting him sometimes incredibly daft of me? I mean...maybe.
Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, sometimes trusting Carter with certain things is ridiculous and stupid and I should definitely know better.
It’s just that there are occasionally times when he simply…can’t be trusted. That’s why I’ve had my eyes on him for the last two hours in our backyard.
The man would be a terrible actor, I’ll tell you that much. He definitely needs to stick to his day job, checking people into boards, slapping that puck in the net, and landing my red face on the jumbotron.
He’s playing with a volleyball in the grass with Garrett, Emmett, Adam, and my niece Alannah, except I’m pretty sure he’s just staring into space.
Garrett sends the volleyball soaring through the air and it ricochets off the side of Carter’s head. He simply lifts his hand, covering the spot.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Garrett groans, sticking his hand in his back pocket before slapping a bill down in Alannah’s waiting hand for swearing. The boys have learned to always have cash handy whem she’s around. He splays his arms out wide, looking at Carter. “Where the hell’s your head? In the clouds?”
“Sorry,” Carter apologizes distantly, eyes darting my way. “I think I…I think I’m gonna…get the barbecue going.”
My brother Jeremy cackles beside me, pulling another beer from the cooler. “This is the first time I’ve seen Carter be bad at anything.”
“Yeah, he sucks today,” Alannah says, flopping down on the blanket her little brother is playing on. “What’s up with that?”
Jennie, Carter’s sister, leans toward Alannah like she has a secret to tell. “You’ll come to know, Alannah, that Carter isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. In fact, he’s kind of a loser.”
“No way, Auntie J! Carter’s the coolest ever!” She runs to him when he steps outside with a platter of meat and wraps her arms around him. “Everyone’s making fun of you, Uncle Carter, but I love you.”
“I love you too,” is all he murmurs back, moving in a daze across the patio.
My nephew Jem grips my knee, pulling himself to his feet as he grins up at me. “Aw-wie,” he gurgles, making grabby hands at me. It’s as close as he can get to Ollie, and I hope he calls me it forever.
Scooping him off the ground, I plant about five hundred smooches all over his face. He buries his shrieking giggles in my neck.
Holly, Carter’s mom, reaches over and tickles his back. “Jem is just the sweetest baby I’ve ever seen.” Her deep green eyes, the ones that match her son’s, sparkle as she meets my gaze. “I can’t wait to be a grandma one day.”
The barbecue tongs Carter’s holding clatter to the ground, and I shoot him a warning look that makes him gulp.
With the meat on the barbecue, he takes a seat in one of the chairs across from me, the sun shining down on his golden skin, tousled chestnut waves, chiseled muscles, illuminating the incredible tension he’s holding in his body. With his chin resting in his hand, his eyes set on nothing in particular, both knees bouncing a mile a minute, this man is a hot fucking mess.
“Okay.” I’m unsurprised that it’s my best friend Cara who opens her mouth, one hand braced in front of her as she examines Carter. She’s observant and doesn’t hold back. “What in the hell is going on with you today? I’ve never seen you like this before. You look like you’re about to shit a brick.” She points haphazardly to the patio door as Alannah leaps to her feet. “Purse is in the kitchen, Alannah.”
Carter’s bulging eyes land on me before darting around the circle of our friends and family. When his gaze lands back on me, I shake my head.
No, I mouth.
His lips part.
No! I clutch Jem to me, glaring at Carter. Don’t you dare!
“Ollie’s pregnant!” he blurts, then slaps both hands across his mouth, like he had absolutely no control over the words.
“Carter!”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He wags his head, chest lifting and falling quickly. “I didn’t mean to, Ollie, I swear it.”
Holly leaps from her seat, breaking the silence surrounding us as she shrieks with glee, punching the air. “I knew it! I knew it! She’s not drinking beer!” She grabs my face and peppers it in kisses. “I’m gonna be a grandma, I’m gonna be a grandma,” she sings, shaking her hips.
Hank starts laughing, low and rumbly. “Atta boy, Carter. Knew you were too impatient to wait. Always a race to the finish line with this one.”
Carter’s eyes locks on mine. I see the genuine apology, the fear that swims in his deep green sea.
But most of all, I see the wonder, all the love this man holds in his heart, always ready to burst.
“We made a baby,” he marvels softly. “I’m gonna be a dad. I’m gonna be a fucking dad.”
He’s out of his chair a second later, long legs eating the space between us. He yanks me out of my chair and sweeps me into his arms with a soul-crushing hug, my feet dangling off the ground.
“I love you so fucking much, Ollie girl. I’m gonna be the best fucking dad in the whole world. I fucking promise you.”
Alannah’s face appears at our sides. “I love you and I’m super duper excited to have a cousin, but is now a bad time to tell you that you owe me four dollars for four swears?”
“It’s fine.” His wide, proud smile is brilliant and breathtaking, pulling his dimples in, and when he laughs for the first time in far too long, his thumb brushing my lower lip, I nearly melt to a puddle at his feet. “It’s totally fine.”
*
I don't know if I'll ever love anyone like I love hot mess express Carter Beckett. He's going to make the best daddy, if slightly obnoxious and overbearing.
if you're one of the lucky folk who got to read the first draft of play with me, Garrett and Jennie's story, please don't leave a spoiler about whether or not baby Beckett is a boy or girl.
thanks for reading!
xox
© Becka Mack, 2021