Dear Bridget, I Want You

  With my hand over my heart, I let out another breath. “Me, too.”

  Simon kissed me hard then said, “If Brendan’s going to have a sibling someday, we’re gonna be the ones to give it to him.”

  A week later, it must have been a full moon. Brendan had been in a horrible mood all day. It culminated in him swearing at Simon, who’d merely asked him to do a simple chore. It was unlike my son to be so flippant.

  I was doing laundry down in the basement when I heard them talking above me.

  Simon was yelling, “Excuse me. What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Brendan said.

  “You don’t talk to me like that. Do you understand? You need to have respect for your mum and for me. Finish putting the bottles away and then I want you to go to your room until I tell you to come out.”

  Brendan whined, “Simon…”

  “Go!” Simon repeated. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  I rushed upstairs to find Simon leaning against the counter, looking upset.

  “I heard everything. You did the right thing,” I assured him.

  “If I had spoken to my dad like that, there would’ve been hell to pay.”

  My dad. I wasn’t sure if he realized the way he’d said it implied that he considered himself Brendan’s dad.

  I couldn’t help smiling at him.

  Simon picked up on my expression. “What?”

  “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

  “Oh yeah? I’ll take it out on you later. How about that?”

  “I’d like that. And I think you should move in permanently,” I said.

  “Um…yeah…I’ve been living here for quite some time. I’d say it’s permanent.”

  “I meant into my bedroom.”

  He lifted his brow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, alright, then. You’re not gonna hear complaints from me on that.”

  And just like that, on a random night with a full moon, Simon officially became the man of the house.

  They say when life throws you lemons, make lemonade. I wasn’t entirely sure how that applied to infertility, which often seemed like an empty, thankless, process in which there weren’t even any lemons to work with.

  The ironic thing was that everything else in our life had been going perfectly the last few months. The hospital system finally came around, hiring me for a permanent internist position in their new walk-in clinic just outside of the city. The hours were consistent, 7AM to 5PM, allowing me more time to spend with Bridget and Brendan than ever before.

  Even though Bridget and I had vowed not to let the baby thing stress us out, with each month that passed, it seemed to be something we wanted more and more. Bridget’s thirty-fifth birthday would be here before we knew it. And it became clear that leaving it up to “fate” wasn’t working. If we seriously wanted a baby, we were going to need help.

  We opted to see a fertility doctor who checked my sperm count only to determine it was abnormally high. While this was good news in a sense, it only put more pressure on Bridget. And I hated that. We tried medications first, and that led to daily injections. I’m not going to lie—the shots were really tough to watch. But we knew it was likely the only way it was going to happen, and the doctor had said waiting too much longer would only further decrease our chances.

  I’d wanted to propose to Bridget for some time, but all of our mental energy had been expended while trying to conceive. Planning for a grand proposal kept falling by the wayside. Even though we’d discussed the fact that neither one of us felt the piece of paper was necessary to define our commitment, it was still something I wanted.

  Never had that rung more true than on a certain night when Bridget was standing across from me in the bathroom. She was administering a subcutaneous injection into her abdomen for what felt like the umpteenth time. It just hit me how much she was willing to go through for me. I couldn’t say that anyone had ever showed me so much love through actions in my entire life. Suddenly, I realized I couldn’t wait anymore. I wanted to marry her—yesterday. Sure, we didn’t need the piece of paper to define our relationship, but I wanted it.

  She was disposing of the syringe in a glass jar when I came up behind her and planted a kiss on her neck.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I love you,” I simply said. “I’ll go tuck Brendan in. You go relax. Pick out what you want to watch tonight.”

  Our adult time after Brendan went to bed was always my favorite time of the night after a long day. There was nothing like cozying up to my luv as she fell asleep in my arms. Bridget always nodded off before whatever we were watching was over. That was why lately we opted for sex before turning on the telly. Tonight, though, I could tell she was too exhausted for sex, as much I wanted it.

  Brendan was playing on his tablet when I entered his room.

  “Hey, buddy. Time to shut down the game and brush your teeth. After you come back from the bathroom, I want to talk to you about something, okay?”

  When Brendan left for the loo, I took the opportunity to do something I hadn’t done in a while—talk to Ben.

  Walking over to the bureau, I lifted the framed photo.

  “I don’t have a lot of time. So, here it is. You know I’m mad at you for what you did to her and in many ways, I’ll never forgive you for it. But the fact remains that in your death, I received so much. I owe you for this life in a strange way. You may have been a shitty husband, but from what I hear, you were a good father. You can rest in peace knowing that I’ll take good care of your son, not as a friend but as the dad he deserves. And for what it’s worth, I’ll continue taking real good care of your wife. Take that however you may.”

  When I could hear Brendan’s footsteps approaching, I put the photo back in its rightful spot.

  “Come on,” I said. “I’ll tuck you in and we’ll talk.”

  After he climbed into bed, I sat on the edge of his mattress.

  “You know how your mum and I talked to you about she and I sharing a bedroom now and all of that...”

  “Yeah. You said her bed was more comfortable than the one in the other room.”

  “Right. That’s part of it. But it’s more about being more comfortable with her near me at night, sort of like how you like to sleep with your stuffed rabbit, Miffy.”

  He seemed to understand. “Yeah.”

  “Anyway…I want to ask you something. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to answer me if you’re not sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “Normally, a guy asks this question to a woman’s father, but since your granddad is not around, and since I value your opinion more than anyone’s, I’d like to ask you if it would be okay with you if I asked your mum to marry me.”

  He straightened up against the headboard to better look at me. “That would make us a real family?”

  “Well, I feel like we already are. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah. But sometimes I feel like it’s bad to think that.”

  “Because of your father?”

  “I don’t want him to be sad that I love you.”

  His words caused me to close my eyes. Not only had he never said he loved me before, but the other part was hard to hear.

  “I love you, too, buddy. I love you exactly how a father loves a son. And I don’t think your father in Heaven is sad. I think he’s happy that I’m here to look out for you. I know I would feel the same if I were him.”

  “I want you to marry my mom.”

  “Yeah? I have your permission?”

  The slightly timid-looking grin on his face was adorable. “Yeah.”

  “Thank you for your blessing. I didn’t want to ask her without it.”

  “When are you gonna ask her? Can we have a party?”

  “Of course. But I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll let you know before I do. Deal?”

  “Deal.” He high-fived me and asked, “What would that make you to me if you married my mom?”
/>
  “I’d be your stepdad, technically. But to me, that’s no different than a father.”

  “What would I call you?”

  “You could call me whatever you want…as long as it’s not a curse word.” I chuckled. “You could still call me Simon, or you could call me Dad if you want. Or maybe you reserve that term for your father, Ben, and call me something like…Pop. It’s what I call my dad from time to time. Because really, Brendan, I hope you look at me like an additional dad not a replacement. I could never replace your father.”

  He took a few moments to ponder my suggestion then said, “Pop. I like that. Pop for my father here and Dad for my daddy in Heaven.”

  Rustling his hair, I smiled. “I think that’s brilliant, son.”

  It took me more than a month, but I finally figured out how I was going to do it.

  When we first met, Bridget had mentioned that she’d never been to WaterFire in Providence. My plan was to take her on a gondola and propose to her on the ride. Then, the next day, we’d head to Newport for some family time with Brendan to celebrate the engagement—have the party he wanted.

  It was the Friday evening of the proposal. Both Bridget and I had the entire weekend off. She was getting dressed while I paced in the living room, practicing what I was going to say to her later. It surprised me how nervous I was. I wanted it to be perfect.

  My cell phone rang, disrupting my thoughts.

  “Hello?”

  “Simon, it’s your mother.”

  “Mum? It’s late there. Is everything alright?”

  “Yes, son. Everything is lovely. Your father and I just landed in Boston.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t sound so thrilled.”

  “You’re here in the States?”

  “Your dad is renting a car. So, we’ll be driving up in your direction. Are you still living with that woman? I just punched the address from your Christmas card into the navigation.”

  Shit. This could not be happening.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  I let out a long breath. Ever since my last trip home, my relationship with my parents had been strained, particularly with my mother. The few conversations I’d had with her were all about how I was going to regret my decision to be away from my family forever. My dad kept quiet overall, but I knew he agreed with her. I was an only child, and they wanted me to carry on the family legacy in Leeds, take over their properties. My mother was convinced that Bridget wasn’t right for me for the sheer fact that she’d been married before and had a child. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was also partly because she was American. The only thing I ever kept from Bridget were my conversations with my parents. I couldn’t burden her with their nonsense. It would’ve broken her heart. The problem with that, though, was that now she wouldn’t be the least bit prepared for any kind of confrontation.

  “Your father and I thought it was about time we came to check things out.”

  “Why wouldn’t you tell me you were coming first so that I could’ve prepared?”

  “We knew you’d discourage it. Dad had some miles that were going to expire next week, so we decided to call British Airways on a whim. And here we are. We’ll see you in about an hour.”

  Bloody hell. This was going to be a nightmare.

  Simon stood at the doorway as I put my earrings on. When I turned to him, I could see from the look on his face, that something was wrong.

  “Simon?”

  “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans tonight, luv.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this…but my parents are on their way over.”

  “What? They’re here? In the US?”

  “Yes. They landed in Boston and are driving here as we speak.”

  My blood was pumping.

  “Oh my God.”

  “I’m so sorry that we have to cancel our date. You have no idea how much.”

  “Are you kidding? We can always go to WaterFire. It’s not every day your parents are here. I’ve always wanted to meet them. I just expected a little more warning.”

  “Bridget, there’s something you should—”

  “I have to run to Shaw’s.” There was no time to talk. I needed to food shop. “We have nothing to offer them. I can’t have your parents here with an empty fridge.”

  He followed me around in my frenzy. “Why don’t we just take them out?”

  “I can’t do that. These are your parents. I need to welcome them into our home, need to cook for them.”

  “Bridget, we need—”

  “There’s no time!” Panicking, I grabbed my purse and ran out of the bedroom. “I’ll be back.”

  At the grocery store, I’d run into every problem imaginable. Ingredients I needed weren’t in stock, causing me to have to substitute. The lines were long.

  Once home, I felt frazzled as I entered the kitchen to find Simon standing there with his parents.

  Holy shit. His parents!

  Simon’s mother was a statuesque blonde, exactly how I might have pictured her to look. He’d shown me a family picture once, but it was taken some years ago. His father’s hair was white but looked like it might have been blond as well back in the day. Simon definitely looked like his dad. Both of his parents were really tall.

  Out of breath, I rushed toward them. “Mr. and Mrs. Hogue. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  As soon as the words exited my mouth, the bottom of the brown paper grocery bag I’d been holding gave way, unleashing the entire carton of eggs onto the ground, but worse—onto Simon’s mother’s feet.

  Panicking, I got down on my hands and knees, literally scooping the broken eggshells and yokes up with my hands. “I’m so sorry. Oh my God.”

  Simon came toward me with a towel. “I’ll handle it, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

  Amidst the chaos, I looked up at his mother again from the ground and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” she said, not really looking amused.

  When I stood up, I could see Simon’s dad staring straight at my chest. In the process of my leaning over to clean the eggs up, my boob had popped out of the black dress I’d been wearing because of our canceled romantic night out.

  “Wear something sexy,” he said.

  Well, that was a big mistake.

  Lifting the material over my breast to cover it, I had no choice but to ignore the obvious.

  Trying to salvage this disaster of a first meeting, I smiled in an attempt to make light of the situation. “Clearly, I’m a little discombobulated. At least the eggs were only for breakfast and not dinner.”

  “It’s alright. We’re the ones who surprised you,” his father said.

  I turned to his mother. “I’m really sorry again, Mrs. Hogue.”

  “No need to apologize again. Please, call me Eleanor. My husband is Theo.”

  Simon looked up from the ground as he continued to clean up the eggs. “Bridget insisted on cooking us a nice meal. I’d suggested we just go out, but honestly she’s a wonderful cook.”

  After several minutes of awkward small talk, Simon finally finished up and washed his hands. “Dad, can I get you a scotch?”

  “If you have it.”

  Simon and his father retreated to the liquor cabinet in the living room.

  Shortly after, Brendan came out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Simon’s mother’s legs. “Grandma!”

  She jumped and nearly toppled over.

  Brendan immediately realized his mistake. The poor little guy looked mortified. He’d approached her from the back, thinking she was Ben’s mother, Ann, who’d be here any minute to pick him up. Both women had short, blonde hair, so it was easy to see why Brendan got confused.

  “Sorry. I thought you were my grandma. She’s supposed to come get me and take me to her house.”

  She straightened her skirt. “That’s perfectly alright.”

  Wrapping my arm around
him, I said, “Brendan, this is Simon’s mother. His parents came to surprise us.”

  “Oh.” He lifted his hand in a wave. “Hello.”

  “Hello.” She smiled.

  Simon reentered the kitchen with his father. “Hi, buddy. I see you’ve met my mum. This is my dad.”

  Theo bent down, offering Brendan his hand. “Very nice to meet you, young man.”

  Theo and Eleanor made small talk with Brendan while I started preparing the rosemary chicken I planned to make. Simon looked tense as he threw back his scotch.

  Shortly after, Ben’s mother arrived to take Brendan back to her house. After a brief introduction, my son very adorably bid everyone adieu with “cheerios!” instead of “cheerio.” He had always thought it was cheerios, apparently.

  Eleanor’s eyes had been glued to Simon the entire time he was hugging Brendan goodbye tightly. Simon had also whispered something in his ear, something about a change of plans. I wondered what that was all about.

  Relief coursed through me when Simon and his parents headed to the living room, leaving me alone to finish prepping the meal. It felt like the first time I could breathe since arriving back from the market.

  Once the food was ready, we all sat down in the dining room that I’d mainly used to do paperwork and bills. Simon had thankfully cleared all of my junk off of the table, which I’d totally forgotten to do.

  Dinner was awkwardly quiet. Occasionally his parents would give Simon updates on things back home. But lots of silence ensued in between the clanking of silverware.

  At one point, his mother turned to me. “Bridget, everything is delicious.”

  “Thank you. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

  Simon placed his hand on my knee under the table. When I looked at him, he leaned in and gave me a peck on the lips, which certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Eleanor.

  I got up from the table. “I have to start preparing dessert. It will take a little bit.”

  “Do you need help?” Simon asked, looking almost eager to join me.

  “No. Enjoy your parents. I’ve got it.”

  Unlike most dining rooms, mine was located on the opposite side of the house from the kitchen. I never understood the reasoning for that layout, but on this particular day, I was grateful that Simon’s mother thought I was out of earshot.