Like being lost in the vast, rolling sea with only a small boat to stay afloat, there is a good bit of loneliness in the infertility journey It helps if you have someone in the boat with you.
1. Dear baby
Who knew a Slayer could have a biological clock? Who knew a Slayer could live long enough to think about starting a family with someone she loves? Who ever thought a Slayer could even consider having a kid when she’s constantly fighting the forces of darkness or averting apocalypses? Certainly, the only Slayer I know who had a child didn’t exactly plan to have him.
I’ll tell you who never thought that the answer to the above questions would ever be Buffy Summers.
Me. Buffy Summers. Your mom. Well, soon to be your mom anyway if you stay in my belly a few more weeks.
Someday you may ask how you came to be, and that is the story I intend to tell. Other people may have a problem with me being so open with you about things, but one thing that I’ve learned in my short time on this planet is that hiding things doesn’t usually end well. So, I plan to be honest (as honest as is appropriate) with you throughout your childhood, and when you’re old enough to understand, you’ll have this.
There is a selfish reason for this. I mean, odds are, even as one Slayer among hundreds, I may still die early, and I want you to remember me, to know that you are loved beyond measure by your father and me, and to never give up in life even when times get hard. Always remember, you were no accident and that no one was wanted more than you.
How did your father and I decide to start a family?
The good news was that around about the time that my biological clock kicked in, there were hundreds of Slayers all over the world, and the infrastructure was in place to divvy up tasks and responsibilities. I finally got the opportunity to take a break from active slayage and well, have something of a life. I could think about maybe having a family of my own.
The only problem was that having a baby with the person I love was impossible. As you know by now, your father is a vampire, so technically, we couldn’t have a biological child of our own.
At first, I didn’t tell him about my desire to start a family for several reasons.
The biggest reason I didn’t tell him (and really the only one worth mentioning) was because I was worried he’d feel like he was depriving me of something that he could never give, and then, he’d feel guilty and maybe even hurt. And given how much I’ve hurt him in the past, seeing that pain in those beautiful blue eyes would break my heart. (I wonder what color your eyes will be.)
So, for a long time, I kept quiet about it. I tried to savor what your father and I have. After our initial confusion about our status as a couple post me finding out he was alive, we really worked on our communication and on strengthening our relationship.
The physical intimacy was easy between us. (Don’t make a face.) But the communication piece was a work-in-progress at first. A lot of that was because of me. Words related to emotional intimacy don’t come easy to me, but I’ve been trying to remind him how much I care through word and deed.
The good news is that five years ago, I finally told him I love him. The disbelief in his eyes still makes my heart ache when I think about it, and honestly, I was surprised that he still loved me in return. I don’t know many guys who would still be sticking around without some sort of verbal declaration. Guess that’s why he alleviates my fear of abandonment. . . the one that’s faded of late since we’ve officially been together in a couple-y way.
I believed we could have a family. Him and me. Well, he is my family, but I mean, I believed we could have a child together. Not in a conventional way, of course, because nothing about your parents is exactly conventional as you’ll know by the time you receive this.
And that leads me to this.
This is the story about how you came to be.
Love,
Mom
* * *
2. The night I told your father that I wanted to have a child, Part 1
“Penny for your thoughts,” Spike asked me, his finger lazily trailing up my thigh as he cuddled me close after our night out patrolling together and the subsequent session of. . . kissing.
Anxiety shot through my chest, and I stiffened before I could stop myself. Damn it. How did he always know when something was on my mind?
He answered this question without me speaking it aloud. I loved him for his perceptiveness though it also drove me crazy. “I know when something’s on your mind, love. You get all quiet like. Stop with the puns and banter with the vamps.”
Shivering in the now cold breeze from the air conditioner, I snuggled closer to Spike, landing my head on his chest, warm from my heat, and pulled the covers over us both. For once, we ended up in our lovely king-sized bed. . . a sea of bed. I sometimes wondered how we missed it so much; it really was quite comfortable. I danced around things as I usually do. I was pretty sure this drove him a little crazy. Good. “Do I?”
He stroked my damp curls, which were probably frizzy. “You know you do. And you were distant with me.”
I detected the faint hint of fear in his tone, the hint he tried to cover up, but I knew it was always there even after all the years we’ve been together. I could wholeheartedly reassure him. I never tired of that. In moments like this, my chest still ached with all the times I hurt him. “I love you. . . only you with my whole heart.”
His chest hitched a little, and he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight so that I was enveloped in his strength. “I love you, too, pet.” He held me closer and was quiet for a few more seconds before he returned to, “About that penny.” Of course, he went back. He’s not one for letting things go. Persistence was both a virtue and annoying as hell.
I evaded. “What penny?” He waited instead of snarking back. He’d learned that got him nowhere and usually led to a massive fight. Also annoying when I was trying to avoid something. I took a deep breath. “I want you to know how happy I am. You make me happy. Our life makes me happy. I mean, who could ask for more? We have each other, I have semi-retirement except for an occasional apocalypse or two, and we live next to this mini-hellmouth in the Crescent City that satisfies the need for regular-ish slayage.”
“I’m happy, too, love. Where’s the ‘but’?” There was no hint of fear in his voice this time, but I knew him. It lurked under the surface. I sometimes wondered if I’d ever completely eradicate it for him or if it’s even my job to do so.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately.” How to say this without freaking him out? “I never expected to live this long, you know?”
“Most Slayers don’t.” He didn’t mince words.
“I never thought I’d have anything like a. . .” I didn’t want to say “normal” because that way carries too much weight and meaning. I tried again. “I never thought I’d have a long life, and now it looks like I’m going to possibly maybe reach middle age.”
“If I have anything to say about it, you will,” he growled protectively.
In the distant past, I would have protested that I didn’t need him to take care of me, but now, older and wiser Buffy was grateful that he loved me that much. Just like he had his fears, I had that little tiny nagging voice that said someday he might leave me like all the other guys did. . . that I’ll be too much for him somehow, not with my Slayer strength and killing of demon folk, but because Buffy Summers wasn’t enough. I knew it wasn’t not rational, but as he so wisely said, feelings weren’t exactly brains and logic. This Buffy-in-this-time kissed his chest
“That’s still not what you wanted to say.” His accent rumbled deep and low in my ear. I loved his voice.
“I never thought I’d want something beyond what we have.” Oh, crap. This was already coming out wrong. I back pedaled. “I mean, I never thought I’d want something with you that’s different.” Not much better, Buffy.
“What do you mean?” He was already sounding defensive and pushing up against the headboard and out of our nightly-after-patrol-cocoon. I shivered in the coolness he left behind.
His bright blue eyes were confused even in the dim light from the kitchen of our shotgun house. I just had to go for it. “I want to start a family.”
The confusion gave way to a swirl of hurt and then to a blaze of anger, and he was out of the bed and across the room before I could elaborate or explain or fix it. I just wanted to fix it. . . take it back. . . erase his hurt. But I couldn’t.
Tears filled my eyes, blurring everything, a nice equivalent to the unclear thoughts in my brain. “Wait.”
He was pulling on his jeans and not looking at me. The lack of eye contact was killing me. No, that’s not quite right. The lack of his touch was killing me. I felt like my heart was occupying the space in my throat so tightly that I couldn’t get to the air to form words.
“You know, pet, you could have told me that you’d want to start a family before we got in so deep here. I would have respected that. I would have stepped out of your way. Made way for some other bloke who has a pulse.” He slammed open his dresser drawer and pulled out a clean back T-shirt, ringing it over his head. As he tugged on his boots, he added, “If you knew you’d want this, why’d you even bother with me?”
Air rushed forth, but my brain couldn’t catch up and the words came out all wrong. . . not enough, not right. “Because I love you.” God, I sounded like I was begging.
He snorted. “Some way to show how much you love me. Obviously, you don’t think I’m enough. I’ve never been enough.” For anyone. He believed he was never enough for anyone when sometimes I believed he was far too good for me.
He opened our weapons chest and pulled out an ax. He flipped it, studying the blade, making sure it was clean and sharp. Then, he threw shut the lid and stormed through the bathroom to the living room and front door. Shotgun houses didn’t have a hallway. . . or at least our tiny one didn’t. It was just one long row of rooms with doors between. We might as well have been lightyears apart instead of two rooms away.
I scrambled out of the bed and followed him to the edge of our tiny bathroom with its claw foot tub. I kept the sheet wrapped around my body, so I felt less naked, less vulnerable. “Where are you going?” I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t even humid inside with the air conditioning going.
He didn’t even glance back. “Out.”
When the front door whammed against the frame, I sank to the hardwood floor, the boards hard and painful beneath my bare knees, a sob escaping my throat because now I felt like my heart was shattering.
* * *
3. The night I told your father that I wanted to have a child, Part 2
After a several minutes of ugly crying, I felt my feelings shift in my chest, and something akin to resolution rose up from my fears and sadness. Trembling, I stood and threw aside the sheet so that it fell forlornly to the bathroom floor in a misshapen heap. As I stood there naked in the cold breeze from the ever-blowing air conditioning, my emotions shifted to anger and determination.
Anger that he didn’t even stop long enough for me to finish my bumbling attempts to open up to him, and determination to hunt him down and give him a piece of my mind. A firm scolding at the very least.
Emotion fueling me, I dragged out my dirty clothes from tonight’s earlier patrol and dressed with efficiency. I pulled my hair into a neat-ish ponytail without brushing the long blonde strands that I grew out just for him – his Goldilocks, and I headed to the tiny bathroom sink. My face was puffy. Stupid face. I splashed cool water over my skin and patted it dry before briefly reassessing. A little better. At least my eyes were clearer.
Then, I snagged a stake and stomped to the front door, flinging it open with too much force. The wood hit the wall and bounced back to land in my hand. Oops. There went our deposit.
My heart skipped a beat, and my stupid emotions swept up again, crumbling the fragile outer wall of false anger to reveal a shiny bastion of hurt.
Spike stood in front of me, his blue eyes full of concern and apology. The other harder emotions were still there, too, but he was remorseful. He set aside the ax, propping it against the outside wood panels.
Neither of us moved. Instead, we hovered there, the threshold between us like years ago.
“May I come in, pet?”
I couldn’t stand the parallel to our past selves for longer than a few seconds, and I launched myself into his arms, burying my face in the spot on his neck that always smelled distinctly Spike – like cigarettes and leather and the peppermints he always sucked before he kissed me after a smoke. My laugh was shaky. “What kind of question is that, you idiot?”
“Well, I’ve been a right ass, so. . .”
“My ass. Mine.” I held him so tightly that he groaned but not in you’re-hurting-me-with-your-Slayer-strength way but in a that’s-sorta-uncomfortable way. I could never get over how easy that made things. I brought my lips to his and kissed him hard and long. Relief flooded through me when he returned the intensity.
Before we could get too carried away again, he took me gently by the shoulders and pushed me back. “So, can we start over?” His cerulean eyes were bright with pleading.
“Of course.” He could have as many do-overs as he wanted as far as I was concerned.
He guided me to our well-worn, grey-ish sofa. Pulling me down next to him, he scooped up my hand in his, kissing the back of my fingers. Ever the gentleman.
I scooted closer to him so that our legs were touching, my thigh aligning with his. I was tempted to lay my head on his shoulder, but I wanted to see his face. The dim lamp light cast shadows on the concave of his cheek; he was clenching his jaw as he often did when he was nervous. Other people mistook it for frustration or anger, and sometimes it meant that he was brassed off – as he liked to say, but sometimes it simply meant that anxiety was coursing through him like a raw nerve that had been touched. This gave me the courage to lace my fingers with his and squeeze.
“I worded it wrong before.” I could own my clumsy attempts at communication. I was half-tempted to apologize, but that could lead down a distracted road that I didn’t want to go down, so I simply continued, “I want to have a family with you. No one else. Not ever.” God, didn’t he know how much I loved him, how I wanted to protect his heart?
He regarded me with question marks in his eyes. “How? We don’t exactly qualify for adoption. And last I checked, my swimmers were dead.”
I nodded. “We don’t qualify for adoption for lots of reasons, and yes, I know your ‘swimmers’ are dead.”
“And why with me?”
I repeated, “For lots of reasons.” How to explain this to him? “For one, I actually used to want to have a family before I became a Slayer and before my parents got divorced. I had a lot of hopes and dreams that were sort of lost with all of that. Mostly because I never thought I’d get to have something of a normal life like the one we have now.” I caught the incredulous expression on his face. “Well, we do have a pretty normal life. We have jobs.” It was true. Giles ensured that we both had paying jobs through the newly established Council that was run by a panel of remaining Watchers and Slayers. Spike and I got paid a small salary to patrol the cemeteries and tourist traps of New Orleans. Both were equally full of undead types and demons with nefarious motives.
“Jobs that require late nights.” Spike was countering my points, but he was curious, which was a much easier place to be with him.
“Babies are up at night.”
He lifted an eyebrow at me. “That is not a good counter argument.”
“You’d made a wonderful daddy.”
“How so?” His question was neutral and earnest – not the least bit sarcastic.
I almost said, “Because you’re not like my dad.” But it was more complicated than that. “Because you’re loyal and loving and compassionate. Because I remember how you treated Dawn. She told me how you took care of her when I was gone, you know.” We’ve never really talked in great depth about this. Revisiting that time was something I tended to avoid even now, not because I was hung up on it but because there was no need to dwell on things I’d worked through. . . that Spike and I had worked through.
Spike ducked his head and smiled.
How should I say this next part? “The other reason is that I won’t always be here.” The hurt threatened to raise its head again in his eyes when he peeked at me, but I continued, “I’m going to die at some point.” Part of me knew he was not the leaving kind, but biology automatically made me a member of that particular group. The relief was palpable in the blue depths of his eyes, but sadness replaced it. “Hopefully, not anytime soon. And I want you to have a family when I’m gone.” I didn’t want him to be alone. Even thinking about it made me tear up. I blinked hard to try to swipe away the salty water.
“What makes you think I won’t take a walk in the sun when you’re gone?” I could tell he meant the words by the husky tone in his voice.
I put my free hand on his forearm and stroke his bare skin, trying to reassure myself that he’s far from dust. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“I very well might.” The set in his jaw indicated that his stubbornness was coming out, but his tears matched mine.
“Not if you have our grandchildren to look after, you won’t. And our son or daughter is going to need you because I’m going to be a crappy mom. In case you haven’t noticed, this kind of stuff,” I gestured between the two of us, “is not my strong suit.”
“Why do you want to have a kid again?” His tone was light, but the question was serious.
My immediate response was to shrug. My resources for emotional discussion were hitting bottom. I ended up with, “Even though I sucked at it at first, I didn’t mind parenting Dawn once I got the hang of it.”
“You were young, love. You lost a lot in a short amount of time.” It’s the closest he’ll go to the details from the past. . . Mom’s death, my death, my resurrection and subsequent depression. . . our failed attempt at connecting.
“Right. So I’ll be better now,” I said with a sunniness that I could tell didn’t reach my eyes.
“Now, meaning how? I mean, it still comes down to the impossible even if I were on board with this.” He ran his hand over my thigh. Thank god. He also thought I was crazy and wasn’t sure about this idea of mine. Not as good.
“I’m working on that part.” I suddenly felt very tired now that he’s here with me again. We did, after all, just take on an entire group of vamps one street over from Bourbon, which was not an easy task to do with all the tourists around. Saturday nights were the worst. “Sleep now? Talk later?”
“That, I can handle.” He started to rise and offered me his hand.
As I tucked my palm against his, I wondered what he meant by his last statement. Overanalyzing. So I teased, not able to hide the edge of exhaustion in my voice, “Better bring in the ax. Don’t know what you were thinking, headed out with an ax, wearing all black and your hair all bleached. In case you haven’t noticed, we live in post-Katrina suburbia.”
Not letting go of my hand, he retrieved said weapon and tucked it between the legs of the coat rack by the door. “It’s not exactly Sunnydale, is it?”
The people of New Orleans were far from oblivious to the dangers after dark, and we were both more likely to run into trouble carrying around our tools of the trade.
“Nope.” I felt a brief wave of nostalgia for the small city that was swallowed by the Hellmouth, and then, I decided that I preferred New Orleans because he was here with me and because our relationship was different. . . the best I’ve ever had.
Spike took one look at my drooping eyes and brought me to bed. His body curled around mine, we both slept.
* * *
4. The night I showed your father instead of talking
At my invitation, Spike came with me the next night to CC’s Coffee House on Royal where I worked part-time.
As I pushed open the door to the shop and was embraced by the cool gush of the air conditioning and the heavy roasted aroma of espresso beans, anxiety took up residence in my stomach. What would he think? Would he understand the why a little better? I’d always done better with showing than telling, my actions much clearer and less bumbling than my words.
I afforded him a glance, and as he tailed me inside, he brushed the back of his fingers over my arm to reassure me. He was here with me and open. God, he’d always been open to me. There was a time I hated it, couldn’t stand to view the naked emotion in his eyes, and now, I wanted to snuggle up close with him and never leave.
Wednesday nights were quiet in the Quarter, especially on Royal St. Tourists were getting ready to head to the bars and nightclubs on neighboring Bourbon, and there were usually only a few stragglers and locals that came in and out through the evening hours.
Spike and I both worked because we needed a little extra to supplement the stipend from the Council. Though we could have made ends meet on slaying alone, we enjoyed a few creature comforts. Spike smoked less than he used to, mostly to protect me from second-hand smoke, but he enjoyed a cigarette every now and again, and I still enjoyed splurging on hair care products and the occasional new outfit – girlie stuff.
Spike bartended at the Spotted Cat a few nights a week. The Spotted Cat was close enough to the coffee shop on Royal that Spike and I could meet up for slayage as needed but far enough that we wouldn’t raise tons of attention as the vampire-Slayer duo who took out touring vampires and demons.
Rounding the corner of the coffee bar, I snagged my black apron and tied it on. The shop was empty, but I knew Crystal was shuffling around in the back-supply room. I picked up a damp hand towel and wiped up some spilled milk by the espresso machine while Spike leaned on the counter by the pastry case, peering into the glass on the hunt for his favorite dessert – the one he always had me bring home for him.
Crystal emerged from the back, her dark hair hanging past her shoulders in dreadlocks. Her fair skin glowing from the middle stages of her pregnancy, her belly barely showing. “Hey, Buffy! Perfect timing. Roger just left half an hour ago, and I need to run down to the store for more milk.”
I sighed. “Roger forgot to order again.”
Crystal wiped her hand across her forehead. “Yep. Typical Roger.” She noticed Spike and nodded at him. “Long time, no see.” She barely knew him, had only met him once or twice, but she knew about him. She asked questions, and after I knew her well enough, I answered. She wasn’t clued in on the whole vampire/Slayer thing though.
Spike nodded in return. “Hey.”
“Want me to go?” I offered. She was pregnant after all.
Already removing her CC’s apron, Crystal shook her head. “No. To be honest, the walk would do me good, and I think we just need a couple of gallons. Do you mind watching Leah?”
Leah was why I’d dragged Spike here tonight. Well, technically, there was no dragging. “Not at all.”
Crystal backed up and craned her head back toward the supply room. “Leah! Come up here please!”
There was a tiny sigh and a scuffling noise, and Crystal’s small daughter poked her head out of the storage room. She was frowning, but when she saw me, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Buffy!” She ran to me and threw her tiny arms around my legs. Looking up at me between strands of the white blonde hair she inherited from her father, she blinked her big hazel eyes. “Guess what?”
I knelt and hugged her back. “What?”
Leah held up the object she was holding in her hand. “I got a new horse!” The toy horse was dark brown with a black mane. Far from a My Little Pony doll, which Leah abhorred, the toy was a realistic rendition of a horse to match the one clutched in her other hand.
I petted the horse’s head. “Pretty. Did you name him?”
“His name is Frank,” she told me with earnestness in her voice.
“Well, he’s a handsome horse.” I rose. “And I brought someone special with me tonight. I want you to meet him.”
Leah bounced with all the energy of her four-year-old self. “Who?” Then, she glanced to the right and saw Spike watching her, his face unreadable. “Oh! Hi!” She tucked Frank against her chest and waved at Spike.
The expression on Spike’s face went from neutrally disinterested to gentle and kind – the same expression he always had around Dawn since they had gotten close again. The knot in my stomach loosened, and I reminded myself to breathe. He waved back. “Hi.”
Leah skipped around the edge of the counter and beamed up at him. “Are you Buffy’s boyfriend?”
Spike shoved his hands in his back pockets as if he was unsure what to do. He avoided looking at me, then freed his hands from the denim, and finally decided to squat near Leah. “I am.”
“I like Buffy,” she said shyly. “She reads to me on her breaks and makes me hot chocolate.”
Spike’s eyes flicked to me before he centered back on Leah. “Does she now?”
She blinked at him and then nodded – a slightly exaggerated nod. Little flirt. “Yes! Books about horses! And her hot chocolate is the best.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you like horses, Buffy’s boyfriend?”
Spike smiled at her, his eyes sparkling in a way that I didn’t know if I ever saw before. “I do. I used to own a horse. I like hot chocolate, too.”
“Did you own a horse like Frank?” Leah asked, holding up her new toy for his inspection.
“Sort of. She was a real horse.”
Leah grinned and reached for his hand, which he gave her after only the briefest of hesitations. She pulled him toward one of the tables. “What did she like to eat? Was she brown like Frank?” Then, as if remembering something, she abandoned Spike and came running back to me. She gave me her best I’m-the-cutest-thing-ever look. “Buffy, can I have some hot chocolate?” She had this down because she didn’t even sound whiny, only sweetly persuasive.
Hoping Crystal wouldn’t mind, I agreed, “Of course.”
“Thank you!” She hugged me again and bounced away, taking a little piece of my heart with her. She was that adorable.
I smirked at Spike over the counter. “Want marshmallows with yours, hun?”
He cocked his head at me in that way that always made my. . . heart beat faster. “Of course! Do you have any of –”
My mom told me he favored the little ones. I still remembered that clear as day despite my stress about what he might do to her. I should have known better. “We only carry the little ones.”
He grinned wolfishly at me. “Good.” Then, he turned back to Leah who had climbed up on the chair across from him and was trotting her horses across the chipped wooden table top.
* * *
5. The night your father and I babysat for Crystal
Leah ran up the sidewalk to our front door, her little brown purse clutched to her side. I knew that her beloved horses were tucked inside and that she didn’t want to drop them. She stumbled a bit in the dark on one of the cracks in the broken sidewalk, her shoe making a scraping sound.
“Careful, lil bit!” Spike called as he pulled her small suitcase out of the backseat of our used black Honda Civic. When we picked out the car, I’d insisted on gas mileage and practicality, and he’d insisted on the color and leather seats. Plus, he’d had the windows changed out so that they had the darkest of legal window tinting and were made of glass by the same manufacturer who used to handle Wolfram and Hart’s windows.
Leah turned around as she regained her balance and did a short jig for him. “I’m okay.”
I grinned as I caught up with her. “Always dancing.” Cupping the back of her head, I gave her a hug. “Even at bedtime.”
Leah spun in a circle. “It’s not bedtime.” She leaned toward me and whispered, one hand to the side of her mouth like she was sharing a secret, “It’s a slumber party.”
Spike strode past us. “And that means, staying up late, right?” It was already past ten at night and well past her bedtime.
“Right!” Leah practically shouted, throwing her arms in the air and hurrying to catch up to Spike. As she passed him to reach the steps that led up to the small porch, she let out a little screech and backed into Spike’s leg. Her bag slipping off her shoulder, she turned and clung to him without taking her eyes off whatever scared her.
“What’s this?” he asked, patting her back.
Leah, wide-eyed, pointed an insistent index finger at the concrete, which was lit by the front porch light.
“What?” I peered over to see what they were viewing and why Spike was frozen. That wasn’t like him.
What seemed to be hundreds of cockroaches covered the steps, running around in the dim glow and climbing up and over and on top of one another. I took a glimpse at Spike’s face and saw the tension in his eyes. Then, something clicked in my brain. He’d told me long ago about the trials in Africa. I’d insisted. I wanted to know what he’d been through to earn his soul. Part of me wanted it to hurt, and part of me hated that he had to go through it. In this moment, the horde of bugs was making him trip over the memory of giant scarab beetles infiltrating every orifice in his body. To get him unstuck, I ran my fingertips over his shoulder blade with tender concern. Then, I launched myself at the bugs who enjoyed inhabiting our porch, mostly when we left the porch light on at night. The insects scattered like wildfire as I leaped at them, hardly the scariest creatures I’ve had to manhandle.
All of this occurred in the space of seconds, so Leah didn’t have time to comprehend that something was off. Spike blinked, and Leah snuck her hand into his larger one and stuck her thumb in her mouth, something she only did if she was overtired or scared.
I unlocked the front door and pushed it open, stepping to one side for the sweet girl who would be spending the night with us. “Welcome to our house!”
Leah entered with the innocence of someone who had never had anything to fear other than a bad dream every now and again. . . and cockroaches. The first thing she did was tug herself up onto the sofa and arrange her purse reverently against her hip. As Spike passed me, he deposited a soft kiss on my lips in thanks, and I let the touch linger just a moment.
“Is Mommy having my baby brother now?” Leah asked, running her hands over the soft plush of the sofa’s cushions.
“She is,” Spike said, lounging in the used but newish-looking recliner we bought from a guy on Craig’s List who’d showed up very stoned to the agreed upon delivery location. His lack of coherence turned out to be handy because he didn’t even notice when I singlehandedly loaded the chair in the truck we’d rented. He was too busy staring at the money that Spike was counting out for him. Luckily, Febreze got out the marijuana stench for the most part though Spike, of course, could still smell it and sometimes pretended to be high when he sat in it, which always made me giggle.
“He’s going to be little,” Leah said, donning a wise expression on her youthful features and miming a small form with her hands. “I’m going to help Mommy and Daddy take care of him.” She paused, wrapping her arms around her ribcage. “Do you think he’ll cry a lot?”
“I imagine so,” Spike speculated. “But eventually, he won’t be quite so fussy, and he’ll notice more than just that he’s hungry or sleepy. Then, he’ll want to play.”
As I kicked off my sandals and pulled my knees up on the sofa next to Leah, I watched Spike in wonder. How did he know exactly what to say to a four-year-old? Did he have younger siblings that he helped raise? I knew there would probably always be things I’d learn about him. It wasn’t possible to share over a hundred years worth of memories with someone new. He and I hadn’t talked about the me-wanting-to-have-a-family with him thing since the one night when we were both so emotional. Still, he’d taken to my introduction to Leah like a duck to water, spending any free night he had at the coffee shop when I was working, and he knew she’d be there. They’d formed quite the bond, so much so that Crystal thought it was a no brainer that we babysit when I offered as she plotted her labor plan one evening.
“Think he’ll like to read?” Leah was watching me with intention. “Will you read to both of us?”
“If you both want me to,” I said, sweeping a lock of hair off her fair forehead. “And if you share your books with him, I’m sure he will learn to enjoy them.”
She smiled at this thought and then twisted her lips to the side and glanced at Spike and then me again.
Spike lifted an eyebrow at me, asking me with one gesture what she was thinking. I lifted my shoulder almost imperceptibly to let him know that I had no idea.
Then, Leah asked, “Are you and Spike going to have a baby?”
Suddenly, I couldn’t meet Spike’s gaze because I didn’t want to face that his lack of mention meant that the answer was no, that he didn’t want to have a family with me. I felt my twisted up, confused emotions unravel in the back of my heart where I had stored them, and my cheeks flushed against my will.
Before I could completely will the earth to open under my feet and swallow me up, I heard Spike stand, the chair creaking with the loss of him. Almost faster than humanly possible, he scooped me onto his lap and settled onto the sofa next to Leah who put her head on his upper arm. He nudged his nose on my cheek, and all my muscles relaxed against him.
Leah peeked up at him and blinked. “You didn’t answer.” She poked him with one finger.
“If Buffy. . .” His eyes caught mine and held them; I held my breath and stayed still as a statue. “If you want to, I want to. I don’t know how, but we should figure it out.” Stupid tears filled my eyes; I hope I didn’t confuse Leah, especially since I paired the tears with a broad smile – the evidence of my happiness.
“It’s easy, silly,” Leah said, rubbing one eye with her knuckles. “You just have to love her. Then, a baby will come.” She yawned, big and wide. “I’m tired.”
Spike brushed away the errant tear that had tipped over onto my cheek, and then, I saw that his eyes were moist, too. “I thought we were having a slumber party. Staying up all night. We were all ready.”
Leah gave him a look like he was crazy. “I think I’m like Cinderella.”
“How so, lil one?” Spike sounded genuinely curious.
“Turning into a pumpkin. Duh.”
Spike laughed then, a beautiful, joyous laugh.