Page 123 of Call You Mine
I don’t slow down to think about it often, but when I do, it is alarmingly seamless—the way our lives have blended together so quickly.
We lived in the same home for almost two months before the adoption was finalized, and I told him I was pregnant.Now, May is already half over, and it’s hard to picture what life looked like before this.
Before us.
“So what are you guys doing tonight?” Georgie asks from the front seat of my car. The windows are down, the sunshine and warm air pouring in as we head home.
I picked her up a little later from school today. She wanted to stay after for a student council meeting, since she’s thinking about joining next year when she’s in eighth grade.
“We’re going to Lenny’s with Emerson, Rumi, and Jack, the bar next door to Hey Honey’s,” I tell her as we pull up to a red light. “We won’t be out too late.”
Georgie shrugs her shoulders, her freckled skin on display in her short-sleeved shirt. “Are you and Anderson taking me to Rumi and Jack’s, or is Sadie coming over with Evee?” she asks, and something in my chest tightens, emotion flooding me.
The way she so simply asks the question is what gets me. I could blame the pregnancy for getting all emotional about something so small, but I know it’s more than that.
Me, Anderson, Rumi and Jack, Sadie, Evee—Emerson too—the people who have become so important to Georgie, a family that goes beyond blood, beyond last names.
The support system that has always been here for me, but I didn’t realize it until these last few months. I thought I was the one who held everything together—the only one who could.
But being with Anderson has shown me that there’s no need.
I know I can handle everything on my own, take care of myself, but I don’t have to.
I clear my throat. “We’ll drop you off over there.”
“And you’ll pick me up after?”
Raising a brow at her before turning back to the road, the light turning green. “Of course. Why?” My little sister hasn’tbeen too keen on sleepovers these last few weeks when she’s been invited by the girls on her soccer team, but she seemed to do just fine when we were in Vegas. I know she likes spending time with Sadie and feels comfortable at Rumi and Jack’s.
“No reason,” she answers quickly. Too quickly.
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word, but my gut has me pushing this a little more. “Are you planning on staying the night at Jordan’s tomorrow night?” The girls have back-to-back games tomorrow, and one of the girls invited the team to her birthday sleepover party afterwards. It’s not that I want her to go—I know I’ll sleep better when she’s home, and I’m not a fan of sleepovers in the first place—but I can’t fight the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me.
I see Georgie shake her head in my peripheral vision as we turn into our neighborhood. She doesn’t say anything else as I park in the driveway and shut off the car. She reaches for her backpack between her feet, but then stops.
“I’ve been having nightmares.” Her gaze is on her hands in her lap, her voice small.
My stomach drops. “Oh no, kiddo. I’m sorry.” I reach for her, grabbing her hand in mine. “Hey, George. Look at me.”
She slowly brings her gaze to mine, her lips turned down.
“I’m glad you told me. How have you been sleeping?” I ask, trying to ignore the guilt building. Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been sleeping hard, exhausted down to my bones. And now that I’m in the second trimester, some of that fatigue has settled, but sleeping in the same bed as Anderson—his arms wrapped around me, safe and secure—I sleep even harder. “I know it can be scary to go to sleep when you know a nightmare might come.”
I speak from experience, having had many years in my childhood and teenage years where my stress and anxiety would manifest as recurring nightmares that I wouldn’t evenbe able to remember when I woke up—just the intense residual feelings that would make it hard to fall back asleep.
“It’s been a few nights since I had one,” she explains. “It’s actually been since the night before the adoption.”
That settles some of my worries and has my heart clenching at the same time. “Good. I’m glad,” I say, my voice cracking, but I try to pretend I don’t notice so that Georgie doesn’t either.
My therapist has always said that nightmares come from our nervous system not feeling safe—over the years, I’ve been religious with my night routine just to be able to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep—and that thought hits me hard as Georgie continues.
“Anderson has been staying up with me.”
“Anderson?” I ask.
There’s a knee-jerk reaction to be upset, frustrated that he didn’t tell me about this, but that quickly subsides when Georgie explains, “He found me one night when I was in the living room, trying to stay awake. He sat with me on the couch until I fell asleep, and then he must have carried me to my room because that’s where I woke up.”
I feel tears in my eyes at the thoughtfulness, those feelings of frustration fading completely.
