“Yes, I know. A baby, Drew. You’re going to be a daddy.”
“I didn’t even ask when you’re due.”
“I figure mid-June.” I sniff again. “Isn’t that perfect? You won’t be playing, you won’t be at training camp. I’ll have you all to myself, the both of us anxiously awaiting his birth.”
“His birth, huh?”
“Yeah, I think it’s a boy.” I love the idea of a mini Drew.
“What if it’s a girl?”
“I don’t care, as long as the baby is healthy,” I say truthfully.
“Amen to that,” he agrees, his voice soft and full of sincerity. “I love you, Fable. So damn much.”
His words mean so much to me, as does his easy acceptance. Why had I been so scared? Did I really believe he’d think I tried to trick him? He has more faith in me than that. I’m the one who lacks faith—in myself. “I love you, too. Call me tomorrow after practice, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
Drew
I spend the next few days walking around in a daze. At practice, I go through the motions; I talk to people, including the publicity team, who draw me into a twenty-minute meeting as to how we’re going to handle this entire “Fable Callahan is pregnant” thing. That’s what they actually call it. The Fable Callahan Is Pregnant event, or some such shit. They want to capitalize on it. Make me out to be a wholesome family guy who’s madly in love with his wife and taking care of her brother.
Every bit of it’s true, but they make it sound like a damn gimmick when it’s my actual life.
Sometimes, I really hate publicity types. All they care about is getting the story out and making everything look good. They questioned me repeatedly about Fable telling a friend she’s pregnant at a restaurant. Why was she talking about such a private matter in public? Why did she do something so ridiculous? Why did she not pay attention to who was around her?
I came up with some bullshit, making excuses for her because I’m not going to let them bash on my wife. Hell, I made up that I already knew she was pregnant and I was just playing them off to protect Fable’s privacy.
They looked at me like I was crazy. Whatever. They can believe what they want to believe.
Game day came and I tried my best to focus, but again, I played through a haze. Unbelievably enough, I actually played pretty damn well while my brain was in a complete fog, and we actually won by a large margin.
Crazy.
Now I’m headed home, ready to surprise my wife, who has no idea when I’m arriving. I’d been purposely vague, wanting to come home to her bearing gifts fit for the future mother of my child. I stopped at a local florist and picked up a bouquet of flowers, rendering the lady speechless when she realized who I was. I still forget I’m considered a celebrity, and it’s weird to have people react to me like that. I tried to blow it off, but I gave her my autograph and took a photo with her because she asked me to.
When I enter the house, it’s eerily quiet. I get why Fable came back here—she wanted comfort, to surround herself with the familiar, but damn, I wish she’d been at our house near Santa Clara. The weather is for shit; a steady rain had been falling since I woke up earlier this morning in San Francisco and it followed me all the way over here. Owen’s at school, or at least he should be. Fable should definitely be home.
So where is she?
I walk through the house, clutching the bouquet in one hand and a gift bag in another. She’s not in the kitchen or living room, so I head to our bedroom, where I find her, buried underneath the blankets and sleeping. Her number-one complaint since she told me she was pregnant is how tired she is all the time. I advised her to nap as much as possible while she can because once the baby’s born, she can kiss all those self-indulgent naps goodbye.
My making that comment resulted in her falling completely apart and crying for five minutes on the phone. I felt like an insensitive idiot. Her hormonal mood swings are damn scary. I never know what I’m going to get.
Had I thought she’d gotten pregnant on purpose? When I was first told of the pregnancy rumors, I blew it off. The media will say anything to get attention. But then it kept happening. The story about the reporter overhearing Fable tell a friend she was pregnant threw me. It made me start believing it. Made me wonder if she’d already been pregnant when we were in Boston and didn’t know how to tell me when I flipped out on her.
When I finally got the truth out of her, I’ll confess I was stunned. When she told me everything, I realized quickly I’d been wrong in my early assumptions.
Do you ever feel like you’re being tested? There are things and situations and people thrown at you throughout your entire life and you have to deal with it. Are you strong enough? Are you capable? Or do you run away and hide?
I used to be angry. I used to ask why me. What had I done to deserve this? To deserve dealing with my stepmom, my oblivious dad, my dead mom, my dead sister … I had reason to be angry.
Those tests turned me into a stronger man, and hopefully a better man. I have to be strong for my wife. And for our unborn baby. I can only hope I’ll be a good enough father to him—or her. I didn’t have the best example for parents, and neither did Fable.
Shit. We could turn into complete and utter failures.
Worry clawing at me, I set the gift bag and flowers on the dresser and then kick off my shoes and tear off my sweatshirt and the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath it. Leaving on my sweats, I join Fable in bed, moving in behind her, slipping my arm around her waist and pulling her in even closer. She comes awake slowly, her body relaxing into mine, a soft little murmur of hello escaping from her, and I kiss the back of her fragrant neck, thankful to have her in my arms.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I whisper.
“How long have you been here?”
“I just got home. I left early.” I’d been damned eager to get home and hardly slept last night, too excited to see my wife. To be home. I’m never home if I’m not with her. She is my home. “Have you been sleeping all morning?”
“I got up before Owen went to school and made sure he left okay. He’s been sleeping through his alarm lately and skipping class.” She sounds irritated and I can’t blame her. I think Owen’s been slipping up since he started college. So easy to do during freshman year. “I tried to stay up.” She turns in my arms, staring up at me as she reaches for me and winds her arms around my neck. “But I was so tired.”