The Blinding Light (30 page)

I laughed like he meant me to. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And babies sleep a lot, don’t they? So that gives his daddies plenty of time to play.”

Oh, dear. I was going to have to educate Patrick about that one. But hey—I had between five and ten weeks to do that.

I grinned broadly at him. “Are we having the most important conversation of our fucking lives in a fucking car?”

“It would appear so. Not the best location, I admit, but if there’s one thing I know about you, Jake Manning, it is you’re extremely adaptable to whatever situation you find yourself in. I reckon that you could handle any situation that’s sprung on you, and instant parenthood is no exception. I think you can do it.” He stopped and corrected himself. “I think
we
can do it. Together.”

“So are we going to be parents, then?”

He squeezed my hand. “No, not just parents. We are going to be the
best
parents a child could ever have. And he will have a grandma and three aunts and a big cousin to spoil him.”

I took a deep breath—and jumped. “Okay, then. Let’s do it. I love you, Patrick.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

We had just agreed to become parents—a lifelong commitment to each other and to an innocent child. If anyone saw us kissing passionately in the car…. Well, perhaps it was best that we had a big dog in the back and no one dared to bother us.

“T
HAT
’
S
IT
,
Mum! Push!” I coached as my mother screwed up her face and heaved for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the way most sons wanted to see their mother, feet in stirrups, sweat on their brow, and bearing down to push an almost full-term baby out of their body, but as you may’ve guessed, I wasn’t a regular son.

Patrick sat white-knuckled in the corner, out of everyone’s way, but determined to “witness” the birth of our son. The last eight weeks had been chaos and laughter—and a total revelation to both of us.

Patrick had stared at me in shock, horror, disbelief, astonishment, and bewilderment as he listened to audio copies of pregnancy, birth, and parenting books. “You went through all of that with your sisters? How the hell did you do it? I wouldn’t be able to do half of the things they say that a baby needs even if I had my sight and three nannies.”

For me, I was horrified and astounded (and a little bit chuffed) when Patrick paid for the manager of the local baby shop to open to us after hours. He threw open his arms and beamed at me. “Pick whatever we need. I’ll pay for it.” I spent hours testing out prams, poring over clothes, and selecting matching nursery furniture.

We attended parenting classes together, and rearranged the house, turning the spare bedroom into a nursery, which resulted in Patrick having to relearn the new floor plan of the house. There were some legal hurdles we had to jump—mostly the fact we hadn’t been together for long enough as a couple—but with Melanie’s help and Patrick’s newly acquired team of lawyers, we were clearing those obstacles one by one. The plan was for me to adopt the child as a single parent, and Patrick to adopt him as well in two years’ time. That was the plan on paperwork, but as far as I was concerned, Patrick was as much our child’s daddy as I was.

The courts had agreed we could bring the baby home direct to our house while the paperwork was filed, so Patrick applied for parental leave at work and I gave notice at The Tav. As part of our new arrangements, I had accepted Patrick’s help to pay off my loans. Then we opened a bank account together. Oh, God!

Now, after eight nervous weeks, our baby was arriving. Ellie and Maria waited outside, but I was determined to support Mum to the end. “Come on, Mum. One more and I’m sure he’ll be here!”

She didn’t reply, but heaved again. Midwives stood waiting, blankets and towels were all set out, and the obstetrician had been checking in regularly.

“I can see the head,” one midwife called. I didn’t bother to look. There was a line I drew, and looking at my mother’s privates was it.

“Did you hear that, Mum? His head’s coming!”

“That’s it, Corrine,” the midwife calmly called. “Here comes Baby. Gently now, just little pushes. Slowly, slowly. The head’s clear.” Mum panted heavily before gathering the last of her strength.

“Great, Mum. That’s it.”

I wasn’t looking but I could hear it. There was a wet, slithery sound from the business end, and I clutched Mum’s hand in trepidation. I looked over at Patrick and saw him swallow. Then came the relieved call.

“It’s a girl. She looks magnificent. She’s a good color, good size. All is good.”

I sighed with relief and then looked down at my mother, shocked. “What? It’s a girl? I thought you said it was going to be a boy? Now I’m going to have to buy little dresses! And pink!”

But she was smiling with joy, tears running down her cheeks. Patrick’s grin was splitting his face. He didn’t mind if it was a boy or a girl either.

And me? Well, I couldn’t care less, and besides, I knew more about raising girls than boys after all. I kissed my mother’s damp brow, happier than I had ever been in my life, just as Maxine Corrine Manning-Stanford gave a furious howl in displeasure. She was cold, she was scared, and she needed her daddy.

Now!

P
REGNANCY
P
ROBLEM
House is a not-for-profit organization that helps people who find themselves with an unplanned pregnancy. They can advise you on abortion, parenting, and adoption. Their work changes the lives of people who often find themselves in a difficult situation. At the time of writing this story, Pregnancy Problem House had three offices—two in regional Western Australia and one north of the river in Perth.

After befriending a volunteer at the organization, I am aware of their plans to try and open a second metropolitan office, this one south of the river near where Corrine and Maria live. I pray that they are successful in their endeavor and have written this story as if this dream had been realized.

For more information on their services, you can check out their website:

www.pregnancyproblemhouse.com.au

A
DOPTION
IS
an emotional issue that is often clouded with shame and anger, but to others it is a blessing or just something that happened to them, a tiny blip on their radar. To all the parents
—
both mothers and fathers
—
who found the courage to give up their children, hoping that their baby would have a better life than they could provide, I salute you.

To the people who allowed my family to adopt their babies, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for my brother and sister.

R
ENAE
K
AYE
is a lover and hoarder of books who thinks libraries are devilish places because they make you give the books back. She consumed her first adult romance book at the tender age of thirteen and hasn’t stopped since. After years—and thousands of stories!—of not having book characters do what she wants, she decided she would write her own novel and found the characters still didn’t do what she wanted. It hasn’t stopped her though. She believes that maybe one day the world will create a perfect couple—and it will be the most boring story ever. So until then she is stuck with quirky, snarky, and imperfect characters who just want their story told.

Renae lives in Perth, Western Australia, and writes in five minute snatches between the demands of two kids, a forbearing husband, too many pets, too much housework, and her beloved veggie garden. She is a survivor of being the youngest in a large family and believes that laughter (and a good book) can cure anything.

You can contact her at [email protected].

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REAMSPINNER
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