That Baby: Part 3 – Chapter 70

I come home to find my mother’s bags packed and her sitting at the kitchen island.

I also notice something else new. “Is that a rug?”

“Yes, Phillip,” she says curtly, “it is.”

“Did Jadyn buy that?” I ask delicately, already knowing she didn’t.

“Your wife is very talented,” my mom says. “Have you seen her sketchbook of all the things she wants to do to your house?”

“Of course I’ve seen it. It’s our dream book. When we see something we like, she draws it to help me visualize it. We can’t buy everything at once, so we’re doing a room at a time.”

“Yes, that’s what I hear. Your wife packed her suitcase and left. And it’s all our fault.”

“What do you mean, she left?”

“I brought your old crib and hung some wallpaper in the nursery to surprise her.”

I run my hands through my hair. “Oh, Mom …”

“So, you know,” she says.

“Know what?”

“That JJ has been unhappy with what I’ve been doing around your house.”

Now, this is awkward. “Um, yes, I know.”

My mom points at me, and she’s pissed. “Sit down, Phillip!”

I sit.

“JJ is your wife. Wife trumps mother if you are going to have a successful marriage,” she lectures.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“She’s your . She’s pregnant with baby. My grandchild. And she left.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been calling all around, but no one has seen her. When she left here, she was crying and really upset.”

“What happened?”

“She blew up. I guess the nursery was the last straw. Phillip, you and your wife have to be a team against anything and anyone that might affect your marriage. I’ve been affecting your marriage, haven’t I?”

I put my head down and nod. “A little.”

“So, why didn’t you say something?”

“I knew you being here was temporary. I figured things would be fine once you and Dad got your own place. And I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“But, in the process, you were hurting JJ’s. You know, one time, when your father and I were first married, we got into a wicked fight. I packed my bag and went to my parents’ house.” She starts crying. “JJ doesn’t have anywhere to go. She’s all alone, except for you. Except for us. You have to be her rock, Phillip. You have to stand up for your marriage. I’m really worried about her.”

“I saw your bags. Are you leaving?”

“Yes, your father will be here shortly. I suggest you find your wife. JJ is pretty outspoken and generally lets people know how she feels. What I want to know is, why didn’t she say anything to me?”

I’m quiet.

“Phillip?” she says again, using that tone. “I asked you a question.”

“Because I told her I would,” I admit.

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Even if you hurt my feelings, I’ll understand. But your wife won’t. Your wife will feel like you’re choosing your family over her, and it will erode her trust and faith in you. You should have been a man—the man of your dream house, the man I know you can be—and told me. You’re going to be a father soon. You have to be a man, Phillip. From now on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

Everything my mom says is right. I screwed up big time. How am I supposed to be a father when I can’t even be the head of my own house? I think about all the planning I’ve been doing. I’ve been pretending we’ll be fine, but I’ve seen the toll it’s taken on Danny and Lori’s marriage. I’m afraid we’ve been moving too fast. From first date to married to pregnant in under six months. And I know I’m the one who was excited about her being pregnant so soon.

I just want everything with her.

Right now.

Always right now.

I’m a planner. A doer. A fixer. Jadyn is creative. A dreamer. All the things I love the most about her are the ways in which we’re different. And they are also the things that are starting to drive me crazy. We don’t even have a crib, for God’s sake, and the baby will be here in less than a month.

The doorbell rings as I’m rubbing my temples, hoping to dispel the headache I feel coming on.

“That’s probably your father,” my mom says, going to answer the door. “Oh, Phillip. It’s a truck with a delivery.”

I get off the barstool and watch as the deliverymen unload a crib. The crib from Jadyn’s sketches.

“Do you know where to put it?” Mom asks.

I grab the sketchbook. “I’ll be in the nursery. Send them up.”

When I get in the nursery, instead of seeing all that isn’t done yet, I see all she’s accomplished. The room is a calming shade of the palest blue-gray. The changing table is filled with colored cloth bins, holding diapers, onesies, and other baby essentials. A large gray-and-white-patterned rug is spread over the hardwood floor. I look at the nursery animals my mother stuck on the walls and my old, ugly crib with its gaudy animal bedding and understand why Jadyn flipped out.

I quickly shove the crib across the hall and into the guest bedroom.

I hear my mom directing the movers my way. They bring in and then unwrap a gorgeous crib. It’s the kind of crib we could pass on to future generations. The wood is intricately carved and the headboard oversized. I instruct them to place it in the center of the room, as per Jadyn’s plans.

Mom says, “I think you should put it on that wall over there. It would look—”

I don’t say a word, just raise an eyebrow at her, which shuts her up.

“We have a chair for you, too,” the deliveryman says, and they quickly bring in the slipcovered rocking chair.

Jadyn ordered numerous fabric swatches before she found the exact shade of dusty-purple-gray velvet she’d envisioned. I remember thinking it really didn’t matter what color the chair was, but now that I see the room coming together, I notice every little detail. The white blackout curtains with gray pom-poms running down the edges. The ceiling she added extra coving to, so she could insert deep navy panels with little lights that look like stars. The pale pink, yellow, green, and blues of the baskets. The mobile hanging above the changing table that she made from pale strips of fabric and ribbons.

“How do we get these stickers off the wall, Mom?”

She’s looking around, too. “They don’t really go, do they?”

“No, they don’t.”

“I used wallpaper paste,” she says. “I’m not sure we can get them off without damaging the paint.”

I grab my phone out of my pocket and Google it. I don’t say anything to her, just run and get JJ’s hairdryer.

I take it to the nursery, turn it on high, and say a prayer.

After pulling, cussing, and burning my hand, the stickers are gone.

“Let me get some water,” my mom says. She comes back with a sponge and wipes off the remaining adhesive.

We both stand back.

“You can’t even tell they were there,” I say with relief.

My mom hugs herself. “This is the most beautiful nursery I’ve ever seen. You need to call JJ.”

But I’m way ahead of her.