Chapter 58: Chapter Fifty-Eight

LOGAN

As Rae somehow predicted, we’re having a girl, a baby girl we’ll meet in the middle of September. Her due date is September sixteenth, but the doctor says that firstborns often arrive late.

“Autumn,” Rae breathes when she climbs into my car after our appointment.

“You think she’ll be that late?” I’m pretty sure the first day of fall is a week after she’s due.

Rae giggles. “No. The name.”

A huge, goofy grin contorts my face. “Autumn,” I echo, trying it out.

“Do you like it?” she asks quietly.

“I love it.” I really fucking do.

“It’s like our conversation from our first date. The Living Room hike. Do you remember?”

It takes me a second, but then I do. “About how nature is resetting itself.”

Rae nods. “Our baby will have a fresh start…” She trails off, staring at the sonogram photo with pure adoration in her eyes. “And her mommy and daddy fell in love in the fall.”

She’s the most perfect woman in the entire world.

And then she bursts into tears. “When did I get so cheesy?” she wails.

“It’s meaningful, not cheesy,” I reassure her, hoping I’m right. I was never a romantic guy until Rae entered my life. Teenage and college me would ~despise~ late twenties me.

“My parents just liked the sound of ‘Logan,’ so they picked it. I think names are more special if there’s a meaning behind them,” I add.

“Okay,” she sniffles. She rolls her shoulders back. “Okay,” she repeats, this time firmly. “We should tell my parents. Can we go now? I have the rest of the day off, and—”

She wraps a necklace around her finger and caresses her baby bump—Miles is at work, and he usually doesn’t go over my parents’ house on weekdays anyway.

“Sure.” I shift the car into drive and try to keep the nervousness off my face. I’m not sure how her parents are going to react to our engagement.

They’re pretty old-fashioned, and I didn’t ask Brad for his blessing. It’s a dumb tradition—and really degrading to Rae—if you ask me, but I really should have given them a heads-up at the very least.

Now I’m about to show up at their house and inform them that I proposed to their daughter. And that we’re moving in together, probably before the wedding.

Oh, and we hope they’re free on August seventeenth because we picked a date without consulting anybody.

“Do you think they’ll be pissed I didn’t ask for their blessing?” I ask.

“Uh.” My eyes are on the road, but I know Rae’s biting her lip. “Maybe.”

“Fuck,” I grumble over the sound of necklaces rattling together.

“Who cares, though? We’re not traditional. That’s what I love about us.” She pauses, and the jangling stops. “I’m ~glad~ you didn’t ask my dad for his permission to marry me.”

I agree that it’s an antiquated norm, but I’d bet my life savings Mr. and Mrs. Olson don’t share that sentiment.

“How will your dad feel about that?” I try to add a laugh into my tone to avoid stressing Rae out, but it just exits my mouth like a cough.

“My parents like you. Don’t worry, Logan.” She pauses, giggling. “And that’s coming from the queen of worrying, so you know it’s real.”

It’s a fair point. “Alright,” I say, determination filling my voice as we pull into her driveway completely unannounced. “Let’s do this.”

I won’t lie; I was kind of hoping Rae’s parents would be out, but they aren’t. Her dad retired at the end of last year, and as far as I know, her mom never worked, so they’re pretty much always home.

Mrs. Olson answers the door, and a wall of warm, banana bread-scented air smacks us in the face.

“Rae!” she exclaims. “What a surprise. And Logan, it’s great to see you.” She wraps us both into a hug and ushers us inside.

I really can’t figure Mrs. Olson out. The last time I visited Rae’s parents’ house, she shot daggers at me with her eyes. Now, she’s grinning ear to ear.

“I took the day off, so I thought we’d stop by,” Rae says softly. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, honey. When have I ever not been excited to see my daughter?” she laughs. “How are you feeling?”

“No more morning sickness.” Rae’s voice is cheery now. I guess her mom said the right thing. Rae’s always terrified of being a burden, even though I’m pretty sure there’s no one in the world who’s less burdensome.

“Thank goodness. The second trimester is the best—” She gasps. “Rae, is that a ring?!”

“Yeah.” Rae giggles nervously. “It is.”

Mrs. Olson emits this sort of squeal thing and pulls Rae into her arms, tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, Logan. It’s beautiful,” she gushes.

“Thank you.” I really hope that means she approves. “We’re looking at an August wedding,” I tell her.

“That sounds wonderful. Do you have a date picked out? I’ll need to tell everyone to save—”

“No,” Rae interrupts. “We want a small wedding.”

Mrs. Olson’s eyes flash. Cheek twitching, she opens her mouth to say something, but Brad interrupts by rushing into the room and diving at Rae’s hand.

“I can’t believe our little Rae is growing up!” he exclaims as he inspects the ring.

“Dad, I’m twenty-four,” Rae groans.

“Welcome to the family, son.” Brad claps me on the back.

My eyes get a little misty for a second before I blink away the moisture. Rae buries her face in my chest, crying softly, the way she does when she’s overwhelmed with happiness.

“Rae,” Brad says in a soothing tone, “I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

I’m struck by how strange it is that Rae’s dad can’t tell the difference between her happy and sad sobs. They’re pretty distinct.

Rae’s family is a lot more complicated than mine, I realize. I kind of feel like a dick for saying that we know how not to parent our future kids someday.

I mean, if I wrote out a list of everything my parents did, the vast majority would fall under the bucket of shit we shouldn’t repeat, but it’s not so simple with Rae’s.

Rae’s parents love her to death.

I think the combination of their old-fashioned beliefs and lack of understanding about her mental health makes them act in ways that aren’t always in their daughter’s best interests, but it really does seem like they’re trying.

I’m pretty sure they believe that they understand her and know what she needs.

“I’m—” She sniffles “—I’m happy, Dad. Really happy.”

Brad grins. He gets that same glint in his eyes as Rae when he’s genuinely elated about something. “That’s all I ever wanted, darling.”

“They’re having a small ceremony,” Mrs. Olson says, an edge to her voice.

“Oh.” Brad sounds taken aback. “How small are you thinking?”

Rae and I haven’t talked much about the logistics, but she doesn’t want more than close friends and family at our wedding.

She hates being the center of attention, so a huge event with her entire, very populous extended family is off the table.

I’m entirely fine with it. Like I said, I’d marry her at the nearest courthouse tomorrow if she wanted.

Rae shrugs and shifts her eyes to me, seeking an answer.

Her parents settle onto one of their couches. Rae and I follow their move onto the one across the room as I gear myself up for what feels like an impending conflict.

“For my side, I’m going to invite a couple of buddies, my mom, my aunt, and our, uh, family friend,” I say.

I don’t really want to tell Rae’s parents that our family friend Yvette was our chef for a couple of decades.

Doesn’t seem like something they’d appreciate, given all their worries about my lifestyle.

“So, probably twenty people, maybe a few more,” Rae answers.

“We’ll have to talk about that. We don’t want to hurt any feelings,” Mrs. Olson replies.

Rae’s eyes are back on me.

“I think we’ve made up our minds on that, right, Rae?” I try.

“Right.”

“You still have a couple of months to decide,” Brad says cheerily.

“I don’t want a big wedding,” Rae says, her voice low.

“I know it might make you anxious, but everyone we’d invite ~loves~ you. They’ll be there to ~support~ you,” Mrs. Olson insists. Brad nods along.

I’m stunned into silence. They really don’t get it. Not at all. I’m not going to pretend I grasp the ins and outs of Rae’s anxiety. She says you have to experience it yourself to truly understand, which makes sense.

But it doesn’t take an anxiety diagnosis or a psychology degree to know that someone with social anxiety wouldn’t want fifty-plus relatives at their wedding.

“Maybe we could compromise,” Brad says, eyes rolled up at the ceiling in thought. “We could invite family to the church ceremony and keep the reception small.”

“That’s ~more~ offensive,” Mrs. Olson scoffs.

“What’s offensive?” comes a chipper voice from the doorway.

~Shit~. I sneak a look at my phone. 5:12. I guess Miles doesn’t work as late as Quincy Ventures employees.

“Nicole, Miles!” Mrs. Olson sings. She leaps from the couch and embraces her son and daughter-in-law. “Rae and Logan are engaged.”

“Congratulations!” Nicole squeals.

“Congrats, sis. What’s offensive?”

“Inviting family to the ceremony but not the reception,” Mrs. Olson says through thin lips.

Nicole frowns. “Why would you do that?”

“Rae and Logan are hoping to do a small wedding. We’re working on a compromise,” Brad explains.

~Like hell we’re working on a compromise~. They really cannot comprehend that we’re the only ones making decisions about our wedding.

Rae nudges me. I squeeze her hand, hating that her family adds so much to her anxiety, as if she doesn’t have enough already.

Slowly, she moves my hand to her belly, and I know what she’s telling me. She doesn’t need words to let me know that we’re in this together. Us and Autumn. Our little family.

I stroke her baby bump softly, trying to send the same message to our daughter. When I’m a dad, I’m going to dedicate myself to learning everything I can about Autumn.

I want to understand her, because I think that’s what good parenting comes down to. Dad never understood me or Zach.

Mom probably did, but these days she’s too drugged up to wrap her mind around anything.

I won’t assume I know everything about Autumn or understand what she wants and needs, not without asking first. I learned that lesson the hard way with her mother, and I nearly lost her.

“Are you compromising, Rae?” Miles asks, eyebrows raised.

“We’re planning on the ceremony fully being at the reception venue,” I tell him after Rae prompts me with a hand squeeze. We’ve really got nonverbal communication down to a science.

Miles frowns. “That’s a thing? You don’t need a priest to marry you?”

Before I can answer, Rae snorts. “Miles, you know Christians aren’t the only people who get married, right?” she reminds him.

He rolls his eyes. “Or a pastor or whatever other religions have.”

“Marriage is a legal union,” I explain. He’s going to hate how condescending I sound, but I don’t care. Rae’s trembling right now. That stress can’t be good for her or Autumn. “Officiants can marry people anywhere.”

“I’m sure there are some more liberal churches that will perform a ceremony even if the bride is pregnant out of wedlock,” Nicole offers, an earnest smile on her face.

I tense my jaw to prevent it from dropping. I think she’s serious. I think she actually believes that we’re not planning a religious ceremony because priests will take one look at Rae’s bump and turn us away at the door.

“There’s a church near us that even does same-sex marriages,” she adds, her voice dropping at the end of her sentence as if that’s some sort of scandal.

I check my phone. Yeah, this is still 2019. We didn’t suddenly time travel to the twentieth century as Nicole’s comment suggests.

Clearly, I’m locked in some liberal bubble living in the city, because I assumed everyone was on board with same-sex marriage nowadays. Honestly, I thought everyone has been for a while.

“Wow. Sounds like they’re real trailblazers,” Rae mutters.

“I think we can table this discussion for now,” Brad says, trailing off into an uncomfortable, forced chuckle.

“Can we leave?” Rae whispers into my ear.

~Fuck yes, we can~. “I think Rae and I are going to head out. Thanks for having us.”

I hug Mrs. Olson awkwardly and shake hands with Brad. Nicole and Miles glare at me, so I leave them with a “nice to see you.”

Rae doesn’t hug anyone. She stands by the door, one hand under her bump, the other resting atop it, staring at her family with a blatant expression of disbelief. I probably look the same, to be honest.

“Did you want to tell them about Autumn?” I whisper as I help her into her jacket.

She bites her lip. “Should we?”

“Will you feel more or less stressed after?” I ask.

“Less. I want to get it over with,” she sighs. “Fuck it. I’m going to tell them.” She stomps back into the living room.

I follow a few steps behind, hating that I need to be ready to back her up in case someone says something offensive.

Actually offensive, not offensive the way failing to receive an invitation to your distant relative’s wedding apparently is.

“We’re having a girl,” Rae announces loudly. “We picked a name, but we’re going to table that discussion for now.”

With that, she spins on her heel, pushes through the door, and lets me close it maybe a little too forcefully behind her.