Page 63 of Love Delayed

“Well, let’s go honeymooning, baby,” she said, and we returned to our gate.

Once there, we checked the departure board and cheered when we saw the words “On Time” next to our flight number. As we sat waiting for the announcement that it was time to board the plane, we engaged in conversation and kisses. Then, we both got an alert on our phones. When we pulled our cell phones out, we checked the message:Your Flight Has Been Delayed.Looking at each other, we burst into a fit of laughter. Our flight may have been delayed, but our love for each other could not be denied.

After we returned, it was back to business. The bed and breakfast I had envisioned for us was in its early stages of development, and life was perfect. Time moved by quickly. Zaria had given Zamora a niece that she adored, and we had been trying to conceive but decided to stop trying after a year. No more temperature taking, hip elevations, doctor visits, shots, or medical assistance. We simply wanted to enjoy life and the love we shared for one another.

“That’s it, keep stirring,” she said, as I was learning how to make grits. Although we had a decent staff, Zee and I chose to be prepared to work in all departments if someone was absent or couldn’t make it.

“I got this, and this is easy. As good as your grits taste, my love, I really thought more went into to this,” I joked.

“Just keep stirring so grits don’t start jumping out of the pot,” she ordered. I saw the bobbling when my stirs slowed, so I took her advice. I did not want those hot grits to land on my skin.

“So, we are going to set these aside and move over to the steaks. They have been marinated, and sitting out long enough to get an even heat distribution. We are going to sneer them first and pop them into the open to finish cooking, okay,” she said, and I nodded and followed her instructions. She drizzled a little olive oil into the pan, then some butter and a few garlic cloves. She removed the lid from the pan, and she frowned.

“Oh shit,” she said and closed the lid.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I asked, concerned because she backed away.

“The smell,” she said, turning her nose up. She covered her mouth and took a few cleansing breaths. “Okay, okay, I’m good,” she said, then came back to the counter and removed the lid again. She quickly put the two steaks in the cast iron, and the sizzle sounded beautiful.

“That smells so good,” I added.

“All you need is two to three minutes on each side, and then we can pop it in the oven,” she said, then stepped back. She covered her mouth, hurried over to the trash can, and blew chunks. I quickly turned off the fire and rushed over to her.

“Baby, are you okay?” I asked, rubbing her back. She heaved, and her body jerked and coughed, and more fluids came out. I rushed over to the sink, grabbed a dish towel, wet it, and was back at her side. She took it, wiped her mouth, and then put the towel on her head.

“I need to sit down,” she said, and I helped her get to a nearby chair.

“Baby, tell me what is it? Do you need water, juice, or ginger ale?”

“I’m okay, Marc, I’m okay. I just need to get out of this kitchen. This smell is driving me crazy.”

“Impossible, it smells so good,” I disputed.

“To you, but please let me get up and get away from this smell.” I helped her up, and we went to our on-site quarters. I got her a ginger ale, and she took a few sips. She felt better, and we tried to get back to the lesson, but I ended up just following her instructions. I wanted her to taste it, but she didn’t want the smell anywhere near her nose. The next day, it was the same and every smell of food made her nauseous. She didn’t even want her favorite food.

“I think you should see the doctor,” I suggested.

“I agree and I made an appointment this morning.”

“What do you think could be wrong?”

“Not sure, maybe pregnant, but we both know that’s farfetched, right?” she said nervously.

“You think?”

“Maybe I’ve never felt like this.”

“Did you miss your period?”

“My period hasn’t been regular since the miscarriage, so I can’t say yes or no,” she said, hunching her shoulders.

“Let me run to the store and grab a test,” I said and stood.

“You really think we could be,” she smiled.

“Maybe,” I replied, giving her a hopeful smile back. I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and I rushed out. I had a big ass grin on my face during the drive, and I hoped this would be our time. Perhaps our prayers had been answered and I was going to be a dad. I parked, hurried inside, and headed to the female product aisle. I grabbed one of each product on the shelf. I stood in a long ass line impatiently, disappointed that it moved slower than molasses. I checked out and hurried to get back to my wife. She was snoozing when I rushed in, but I shook her awake.

She stretched, asking me to let her sleep a little longer, but I insisted she get up to pee on every stick I purchased. Unfazed by my request, she fell back to sleep, and I went back to the kitchen. I put the steaks in the oven and tried to finish them off, then I made some scrambled eggs. I ate and three hours went by before my wife woke up.

She stretched and got up to head to the bathroom. I grabbed the bag and followed her inside and she asked me to hand her a paper cup from the vanity. We opened all the tests, waited, and watched them all turn positive. Happy was an understatement. We were pregnant. Even though Zee was on eggshells, afraid that she would miscarry again, but fortunately, after a few weeks of morning sickness, her pregnancy was smooth. She gave me a son, and we conceived again right away. We were blessed with another son, and now, we are living our best lives, happily in love.

The End