Late Love Page 10

  By the end of it, my back is sore from sitting in a chair for a few hours and my stomach is filled to the absolute brim.

  After Owen and Hugo clean everything up, refusing to let me help, Evie ushers us into the living room, where my back rejoices at the pillow-soft couch.

  “Tell me you’ve at least seen this movie?” Owen asks as he dives for the seat next to me. Evie tucks herself into Steve on the other couch while Hugo takes the floor, his tall frame stretching out with a pillow Evie tosses him.

  “Love Actually?” I reply to Owen.

  He nods.

  “I actually have. Christmas movies are the only movies I religiously watch.”

  Owen grins. “Well, that’s good because Mum makes us watch this film every bloody Christmas, so at least we know you like it for the future.” He relaxes, his taut body moving about, adjusting his comfort to the couch.

  I, on the other hand, am still caught up in what Owen was implying. That I will be here for future Christmases.

  It should be a scary thought, that he considers me important enough to be here next year, but instead of reading into it too much, I sit back, grabbing the packet of Maltesers from Hugo when he offers.

  And for the next two hours, I don’t worry about myself or the baby or telling everyone. I just sit and relish in the simple joy that is Christmas with Owen and his family.

  “Thank you for bringing me tonight.” My voice is soft as it fills the car, only the sounds of Cat Stevens in the background.

  Owen turns his head quickly, that pretty-boy smile upon his lips. “I’m glad you had a good time. My mum’s practically adopted you, just so you know, so I doubt it will be the last time I have to drag you over.”

  “I can think of worse things than Evie being my second mum,” I tease.

  “She’s not too bad,” he quips back.

  “She really is something special, Owen.” My voice is still soft as I think about everything Evie has accomplished despite having to do most of it on her own.

  “Tell me about it.” He rubs his lips together before shaking his head. “Everyone always calls me a mama’s boy, but when it comes to Evie being my mum, I’ll take that name any day. I know it couldn’t have been easy for her when my dad passed—she was in her early twenties, alone, and trying to become a lawyer and be a mum at the same time. Then she actively chose to do it all again with Hugo.” He pauses briefly.

  “And having seen all of that, I know you’re going to be okay, Lottie. Neither Hugo nor I had a dad, but I like to think we turned out all right.” He lets out a quick laugh at his last comment. It’s not filled with humor, but rather marvel that it all worked out so well for them.

  “Well, I can tell you from knowing you and meeting your brother tonight, you turned out more than okay. There aren’t many men like you, Owen Bower.”

  “We’re not that great,” he cuts in, trying to make a joke.

  “No, Owen, I mean it. You should be proud of yourself. It’s not just Evie who’s come a long way. You had every obstacle placed ahead of you growing up. Seriously, what ten-year-old can take care of an infant?”

  He’s silent at my question, and I suddenly understand that Owen is always so quick to praise everyone else, but reluctant to accept the same for himself.

  “None. That’s the answer, Owen. No ten-year-old can do that. You’re a one-in-a-million type of human, and if I had known Stana going to Saint Street a year ago would set off the chain of events that led me to meeting you, I would have gotten her there a lot sooner.”

  My voice has risen slightly, and although I’m vehemently going on about this, I won’t back down.

  “So instead of brushing it off, I want you to acknowledge, right now in this vintage BMW, that you, Owen Bower, are fucking awesome.”

  He turns to me, a confused smile on his face, as if perhaps he doesn’t actually think I want him to say it.

  “Say it, Owen. Say it or I’m not accepting the Christmas gift you got me, and if I know you, which I do, I bet it’s pretty great.”

  “You actually want me to say this, don’t you?”

  He shakes his head, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Okay then. I, Owen Bower, am fucking awesome.” His chest moves up and down as he tries to suppress his laugh.

  “Happy?” he asks me.

  Although his delivery needs a bit of work, I nod.

  He leans forward, turning up the radio as we drive back to my flat so I can get my final Christmas gift of the night.

  And I have a feeling it will blow all the others out of the water.

  I eye the small silver box in front of me, assuming it’s baby related since Owen insisted on giving it to me in private. I’ve yet to purchase anything on my own; I guess a part of me is waiting to tell everyone before I do.

  “Well, open it.” Owen motions to the box.

  Smiling, I tug off the lid and toss it aside on my couch. When I pull back the soft layers of tissue paper, a folded yellow dress sits below. My heart lurches as I carefully take it out and unfold it. Before me is a small yellow smock dress with puffy sleeves and a white collar, detailed flowers embroidered across the chest.

  Oh my God.

  My eyes fill with tears as I look it over, the tiny thing almost an exact replica of the one I wore as a child. The one I told Owen about all those months ago.

  “How did you get this?” I ask, my voice soft as I stare at the gift in awe.

  “It’s not the exact one you wore, but I took a photo of your picture and sent it to a friend of Mum’s who makes dresses. This should fit the baby when she’s around one.”

  Without thinking, I lunge at Owen, wrap my hands around him and bury my face in his neck. I hear his quick intake of breath before his arms surround me.

  “I take this to mean you like it?” he asks, his breath warm against my skin.

  I nod. “I like it. Fuck, puppy, this is the best gift anyone has ever given me.” I pull back and look at his face, a face that only ignites feelings of familiarity and comfort. One that’s safe. Although Beck and I shared two years together before it all went to shit, he never once gave me something this thoughtful. And I guess that’s where my issue lies. I compare Owen to Beck, and Owen isn’t my boyfriend. Yet another thing to add to my list of fucked-up problems.

  “I know it’s not really for you, but I noticed you hadn’t gotten anything for the baby yet.”

  “I was waiting to tell the girls. If I know them, and I do, they’re going to go crazy buying shit, so I don’t want to go overboard. Plus, have you seen my flat?” I wave my hands around my living room. Although it isn’t dirty, it’s messy as hell. Filled with useless shit I’ve acquired over the years and useless knickknacks I will never use. My bedroom is another story.

  “Nothing some cleaning won’t fix.” Owen shrugs as though it’s all an easy solution.

  “I guess, but I’ve got a small human coming in three months and I’m starting to realize I’m a lot less prepared than I should be. I mean, I haven’t fully read one of the baby books that sit next to my bed gathering dust. And I don’t even have a long-term plan. I mean, what happens when she’s one and needs her own room?”

  “Then you move. And you’re a pharmacist, Lottie. It’s not like you haven’t helped hundreds of mums who’ve come in needing it. There is no formula to having a baby, no rulebook. Trust me when I tell you that you’re going to be fine. Sure, there are a few things to work out, but we can do that this month. You’ve still got plenty of time.”

  I nod, knowing deep down he’s right.

  “I think I’m feeling emotional.” I blink a few times. “Not in a bad way or anything. I’m not used to this level of love I saw with your family tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve been with my parents, and I’ve never had any siblings.”

  Owen stays silent next to me, just listening.

  “I guess it made me realize that no matter what happens, I’m going to be okay, you know? Your family is this incredible mix of humans and I think d
eep down I’ve been scared that Beck fucking off would somehow ruin this baby’s life by leaving her without a dad. But all I need to do is look at you, Owen. Your mum raised one of the best people I know, and she did it on her own. And that alone gives me hope to think I’m going to be okay.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m shit scared, but I think I’ve finally gotten to the point of understanding that this is going to work out.”

  “You’re never going to be alone in this,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly.

  “I mean, it’s easy to say that, but at the end of the day it’s just me and her, Owen. Everyone has to go home eventually.”

  He’s silent, and my only indication that something is bothering him is the blank look coating his face. My insides twist at the sight, my brain pushing me forward to comfort him.

  “Hey.” I nudge his side until our eyes meet. “If I’m not worried, then you shouldn’t be.” He smiles, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know it’s late, but I wouldn’t be opposed to watching Wedding Crashers.” I put on the best puppy-dog eyes I can until he relents.

  Without any snacks, because we’re still full from today, Owen and I get comfortable on the couch and dive into a movie I’m certain will cheer him up. But as we watch and he eventually begins to loosen up, I can’t seem to stop thinking about the look on his face earlier, and worse, what it might mean.

  A few days later, I’m just putting myself to bed when my phone lights up. I don’t hesitate to pick up, wanting to make sure Em’s having a good break.

  “Someone’s up late,” I say, grinning into the phone.

  “The guys decided to do an impromptu gig at the pub their mate manages,” Em tells me, her voice slightly off. It’s absent of her almost permanent cheer.

  “If they’re at a gig, why aren’t you?” I ask, my concern rising. Em almost never misses out.

  “It just ended. You know how full on those venues can get. I needed some air.”

  “I get that.”

  “What about you? How’s London treating you? You know you’re very missed here.”

  I laugh, thinking of the shit weather we’ve had over Christmas and the slight loneliness I’ve felt without my girlfriends. It’s a bit of a joke how crap the season turned, but I can’t fully complain; not everything has been terrible. In fact, my usually cynical self realizes it’s actually been quite the opposite.

  “The weather is shite and my apartment is bloody freezing, but Owen’s mum made a delicious Christmas dinner, so it’s not all bad. I miss you girls too.”

  “It’s the dead of winter here. Thank God for heating.”

  She laughs, and it’s abrupt and lacking warmth. I decide to pry, my gut telling me that something isn’t okay. And I’m guessing that something has to do with Reeve. Unfortunately for Em, the guy who manages a large portion of her happiness also has the same power over her sadness.

  “Is everything all right, Em?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to scare her off.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” she responds, voice low and breathy. She’s silent for a few moments before continuing. “I just miss you, that’s all. The holidays are always hard for me.”

  Fuck, here I am thinking about her being upset at Reeve when it’s Christmas and her parents are gone. Instantly I feel horrible for missing the trip to Edinburgh, but I know deep down I’m still not ready.

  “I can only imagine how hard this time of year is for you, Em. I’m really sorry I wasn’t there for Christmas.”

  “Oh my God, don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t want to come back to Edinburgh either if I were you. You have nothing to feel bad about. I just was in a shit mood and wanted to call and hear your voice.” She tries to put on the cheer, but it feels forced.

  “It’s okay to be in a shit mood, Em. As long as it doesn’t take over every aspect of your life. Shit happens, moods happen. Accept it and it will go away eventually.”

  “You’re right, Lo. But enough about me—tell me about Christmas with Owen. Did Evie make Christmas pudding?”

  I can’t help but grin at the mention of Owen and his family. Meeting Evie felt as though I were officially in a secret club that only the most special attend.

  “Evie’s great,” I gush. “She welcomed me with open arms despite not knowing me from Adam. I’m really thankful Owen took me with him.”

  “That makes me so happy, Lottie. If anyone deserves a good holiday, it’s you. And tell me, did Evie put on Love Actually for everyone?”

  “Yes!” I reply. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Owen shocked that I knew a film.” I laugh, thinking about the look on his face.

  We speak for a few more minutes, filling one another in on everything we ate. It makes my stomach rumble, but I push down thoughts of more food. Ever since this baby came into the picture, I’ve been a nonstop eating machine.

  A week later, everyone is finally back in London. My feet practically trip over one another as I race to Saint Street, wanting to punch the entire rush of customers that made me have to stay late at work. Okay, maybe punching them is a little extreme, but I have plans!

  I tug at my oversized hot-pink sweater, thankful it’s winter and I don’t have to worry too much about hiding my bump. I’m going to tell the girls next week—I just hope they don’t murder me for waiting so long. I’ve got my bag full of shit from work, my entire demeanor a bit frazzled.

  Finally here, I hastily lug open the big red door and barrel down the stairs, my black-and-gold combat boots thudding with each step.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got stuck at work,” I call out, noticing everyone when I’m halfway down the stairs. I spot Owen, my chest doing its usual dance at his presence. I must be overly flustered from everything, because the next foot that hits the carpeted steps misses, my leg collapsing under me as my purse jolts me forward.

  As if it’s happening in slow motion, I lean my weight to the side to avoid my stomach. I slip down the last few stairs, and my side takes the brunt of my fall as I connect with the ground. Someone calls my name, but I stay silent, attempting to assess how badly I’ve hurt myself.

  I wince when I touch my side, and fear quickly overtakes any other thoughts or feelings. What if I’ve hurt the baby? Panic floods my system at the possibility.

  “Shit, Lottie, are you okay?” Stana asks from across the room, but I don’t reply. It’s a matter of seconds after my body meets the floor that Owen is by my side, his hand on my head while the other pulls me into an upright position.

  “Call 999,” he shouts to someone, probably anyone. I’m still silent, in shock. Well, probably not actual shock. Most people don’t know this, but shock is a medical condition that your body goes into. People are just frivolous with the use of the term.

  Okay, now I’m rambling. Maybe I am in shock.

  Everyone is silent while they make the call, Owen not taking his hands off me. I use the time to reassess myself, pain only coming from my side where I hit the floor.

  I look to Owen, panic etching every little space in his eyes, his grip on me unrelenting.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers so softly to me, I question if he’s trying to convince himself.

  With an operator on the phone, Owen rushes to Emilia and grabs it out of her hands.

  “She’s fallen down a flight of stairs. I’m not sure if she’s seriously injured,” Owen says, voice firm but I hear the panic. Then he utters the words that will change everything for me, but keeping secrets is not a priority. “But she’s twenty-seven weeks pregnant and twenty-five years old.”

  I hear the girls’ gasps, not daring to look their way for fear of seeing disappointment or anger. I place my shaking hand across my rounded stomach, the jumper not doing much to cover it but the contact giving me immense comfort. My eyes begin to prick with tears, but I hold them back, refusing to let my mind wander to that dangerous place of what could be.

  “No, there is no bleeding.” Owen speaks into the phone as he walks back to me and
links his cold fingers with my own. I close my eyes, unable to take it as I give him my hand, the other with my child.

  “Okay, yeah, it’s Saint Street in Notting Hill, the pub on the corner. You can’t miss it.”

  Owen hangs up quickly, returning his attention to me, yet I just can’t seem to open my eyes as we wait for the paramedics. I keep them shut so firmly I see stars. My hand, still linked with Owen’s, is clutched so tightly around his own I feel his bones. He begins moving his thumb over my hand, back and forth, back and forth, while we wait.

  It’s five minutes, although it feels like a lifetime, later when the paramedics arrive. The room seems to disappear, along with everyone else in it, and I sit with the two men and they ask me basic questions about myself and the baby.

  Owen doesn’t leave my side for a moment, making sure to help me out if I pause or am unsure. Eventually I’m deemed okay, but a trip to the hospital is in order just to be sure. I’m thankful they recommend it, my mind still frantic despite their reassurances. I mean, what if they missed something? What if something is wrong with her?

  “Are you okay to stand, miss?” One of them asks me the question—I’m not sure who because my mind has begun to race yet again.

  I nod, but Owen slips his arm under me nonetheless, then lifts me to my feet and leads me out of Saint Street. I ignore the looks from my friends, not able to face them. I’ve never been a coward; I’ve always looked life and challenges straight in the eye, and some—okay, most—would call me a bull in a china shop, but since the baby has come along, a sense of caution and fear has invaded my system and I can’t seem to escape it.

  Despite everyone’s reassurances that we are okay, the ride to the hospital is a blur. My mind is a fast-paced tornado of horrible thoughts and fears, questioning if I had done one thing differently today, would that have changed the outcome? But isn’t that how it always goes?

  Maybe if I woke up five minutes earlier, or didn’t work late, or wore different shoes, none of this would have happened. But the reality is, it’s very much happening, and no small difference of actions will change that now.