I could see why Pirates of the Caribbean—or “Pirates,” as Abigail liked to call it—was her all-time favorite. It had everything—thrills, catchy songs, dancing pirates, and even a dash of fright.
I wasn’t sure how she was going to top that, but she did. We went from Pirates to the Haunted Mansion, and once again, I found myself laughing hysterically throughout. Even It’s a Small World captivated me . . . until I found myself singing the song four hours later.
It really was a hard song to get out of your head.
After several rides, we decided lunch was in order, and we took a break. As Abigail and I rested our feet at an outdoor table, Jude grabbed burgers and fries for everyone.
“So, tell me about you,” I said. “What have you been up to? Are you still writing? Reading? Or have boys taken up all your time now?”
She giggled, rolling her eyes. “I still write. I don’t think I could stop now. It’s something my grandfather is very proud of. He brags about me to all his author friends, says he passed down his talent or something like that.” She shrugged.
“He must think you’re good at it.”
“I just do it because I like it, not because I want anyone to praise me.”
“Isn’t that the best reason to do anything? Because you enjoy doing it?”
She nodded, her feet swinging back and forth on the bench. “Yeah, it is. So, what about you? Do you still write in your journal?”
I thought back to the days in the hospital when Abigail used to visit me. I’d been vigilant about keeping a journal. In a way, it was my one constant companion. When stuck in a hospital, never knowing if I’d be staying or going, it had been hard to keep friends. That journal had been the one place I could turn to when I needed to purge my emotions. But when I’d left, I guessed I didn’t need it as much.
“No, not much anymore,” I answered.
“Maybe you should start again,” she suggested.
My hand went to my stomach, and my fingers stretched lightly over my tiny baby bump. “Yeah, maybe I should.”
This baby had brought Jude and me home, back to where it had all started. We’d reconnected with old friends and family, and now, maybe it was time for me to reconnect with the old part of me I’d so desperately tried to let go of when I walked out of that hospital two years ago.
Maybe there was still something I could learn from that naive young girl who had given all her thoughts to a journal.
“GOD, LAILAH . . . ANYTHING but that one. Please?” I begged.
She smiled up at me from her spot on the sofa. A soft chenille blanket was draped over her now rounded stomach as she glanced down at the tattered old composition book that held the one-hundred-forty-three dreams and wishes on her Someday List.
“You told me to pick whichever one I wanted,” she reminded me. “And I choose this one.” Her finger tapped the page, signifying the end of our calm existence as I knew it.
I groaned.
“A puppy? Really? You want to adopt a puppy . . . now? Can’t we just do something easy, like rake leaves?”
She gave me a doubtful look and laughed. “First of all, we’re in California . . . in the springtime. Do you see any leaves, genius?”
My lips curved into a grin at her sarcasm.
“Secondly, I don’t see why now isn’t the perfect time to get a puppy. It will give us great practice for the baby.” She shrugged, placing a hand on her belly. She’d successfully transitioned into her second trimester with little fuss and fanfare.
Well into her fourth month, the pregnancy was going well—too well.
It made me antsy, nervous.
“You want to practice your parenting skills on a puppy? How is that the same?” I argued, knowing it was completely pointless.
“Well, they’re both tiny and require constant care and love. And I thought a dog might keep me company when you’re gone next week,” she added.
Stupid annual board meeting.
Roman had said I didn’t need to go, but guilt mixed with doubt that my brother could actually handle everything on his own had me booking a flight and leaving my pregnant wife—something I had sworn I wouldn’t do.
“Okay, grab your shoes. Let’s go get you a dog,” I grumbled.
She jumped up, shrieking and laughing. “You’ll be just as excited as I am. Just wait. Once you see all those cute little puppies, you’ll turn into a puddle of goo.”
I gave her a doubtful sideways glance as she scurried off into the bedroom to find a pair of shoes. Grabbing the journal off the couch, I flipped through the pages, seeing all the numbers we’d managed to cross out over the last two years. It brought back a flood of memories with each scratch of the pen—the day we’d visited the Met or the afternoon we’d spent paddle boating around the lake at Central Park. I smiled as I saw the ones she’d recently drawn a line through as we’d made this book our goal over the last few weeks. My fingers moved from line to line, recalling each moment we had spent together.
It was like a retelling of our love story.