Marabella
A month and a half later
“No. I’m telling you it goes there,” Dominic argues with my father Mateo.
“Then what is this piece for? You have it upside down,” he replies, holding the piece of wood. They both look at my other father holding the instructions while I rock in the chair rubbing my huge round belly. I look like a beach ball.
“I say, just screw it together, get some hex screws and duct tape,” Andrei says and they all look at him as he holds the drill.
“And that is exactly why you pass the tools,” mom tells him. She plucks the instructions out of dad’s hands and turns them the right way up, clicking her tongue. “Out of all of you, you have half a brain cell between the lot of ya,” scolds my mother.
“Yeah, leave it to the assembly Queen,” Sage says, pointing to herself and plucking the drill from Uncle Andrei’s hand.
“Fine. We will start on the chest of draws,” Dominic says, turning to the other assembly kit.
“No!” Mom, Sage, and I say in unison. All of them look at us like they are scolded children. I press my lips in a line at their hurt faces.
“We want to help,” my father, Ezra, says, looking hurt.
“You’re a little rusty on the tools, probably safest you,” she glances around the nursery, her eyes falling on the washing basket of washed baby clothes. “You can all help by folding and hanging,” she offers.
They mutter between themselves before agreeing and making their way over to the enormous basket of everything I washed from the baby shower.
Sage lets out a breath, watching Andrei and shaking her head as Andrei holds up a tiny little onesie. Both my fathers rummage through the little coat hangers while Dominic wanders off before returning with an ironing board and iron. He sets it up by the window and grabs a little shirt, setting the clothes out while mom and Sage start putting the crib together.
I watch them, rubbing my growing bump. Not long now, I smile to myself when Jonah wanders in with an iced tea. I sit up and smile as he looks around the room at all our family. He raises an eyebrow when he notices his father being scolded by Dominic about ironing etiquette.
“Why does it need to be ironed? The kid won’t care about creases,” Andrei whines. Dominic clicks his tongue and his eyes go wide as he looks over at my father, folding some clothes and setting them on the shelves inside of the huge wardrobe.
“No, you must color coordinate them. What is wrong with you?” Dominic scolds, pushing inside with them and rearranging the baby shirts on one of the shelves.
“What shit are you dribbling now? They are color coordinated, everything is blue,” My father Ezra retorts, pointing at the shelves.
“This is light blue, that dark blue, and this is more of a teal than blue,” Dominic says, holding them up to show him. My father shakes his head.
“Now we know where Kyan gets it from,” Jonah mumbles, nudging me with his elbow. We stare at our fathers arguing about shades of blue and how it should be arranged in the walk-in wardrobe.
“Ah, perfect,” Andrei says, holding up the tiny shirt he has just ironed and examining his handy work. I watch the iron smoke on the ironing board and Sage sniffs the air, turning her head to look at him as the iron burns a hole through the cover on the ironing board. He gasps while picking it up. Looking around frantically. I shake my head and laugh as Dominic steps out and Andrei quickly throws the shirt he has ironed over the burn mark to hide it from him.
“Ah, see, no creases,” Dominic says, looking at the little ironed shirt before turning back the basket to retrieve another and he hands it to Andrei, who looks relieved he didn’t notice the charred fabric beneath the shirt he just ironed. I sip my tea while trying not to laugh as the four huge men argue over the nursery setup. All of them, bickering.
Mom and Sage put the crib together in record time and the chest of drawers while they are still arguing over the clothes. Mom clicks her tongue and shakes her head. Sage laughs and rolls her eyes as they bicker over the stupidest shit.
“Where is Kyan?” I ask Jonah as he leans down, pecking at my lips and rubbing his hand over my belly. “Baby proofing the damn manor because apparently, the baby is coming out 18, walking and with a job,” he laughs. I giggle and rest my head back on the headrest and rest my eyes. Kora yawns in my head tiredly. I must have drifted off because I wake to hands scooping me off the reclining rocker. Kyan smiles down at me and kisses my nose.
He walks out of the room to the room next to the nursery. Our room and I can hear all our fathers arguing in the hall.
“Ah, what are they arguing over now?” I whine.
“Over their titles, your fathers want to be called pop,” he tells me.
“Ah, and so does yours,” I groan.
“Just put some names in a damn hat, and pull one out,” Sage snaps, getting up then.
“They bicker more than children,” I hear my mother say.
“God help us when this baby is born,” Kyan says when I hear footsteps running up behind us. Kyan steps aside for Jonah to rush past us. I look over at him as rushes into the room only to see him nearly trip over the baby gate.
“Damn lift and pull,” Kyan growls. Jonah yanks on the baby gate, trying to open it.
“Lift and pull!” Kyan snaps.
“I’m about to piss my damn pants,” Jonah snarls, giving up and stepping over it. Kyan shakes his head and uses his foot to lift the little gate and his knee to push it open. Kyan sets me on the bed while Jonah whines and moans in the bathroom, rattling something.
“What the fuck, this one too! Man, you are taking this too far,” Jonah growls.
“Just wait, a damn second,” Kyan growls. I glance into the bathroom at Jonah, who is squirming while undoing his zip; hopping from foot to foot. Kyan shakes his head and Jonah growls, turning to the shower and sighing.
“Jonah, what the fuck!” Kyan growls as Jonah sighs, relieving his bladder in the shower.
“Who locks a damn toilet seat,” Jonah sighs, closing his eyes like it is the best feeling in the world.
“The baby could fall in,” Kyan says, stalking off out the door. Jonah turns the shower on, muttering under his breath before zipping his pants up.
He washes his hands just as Kyan walks in with a mop and bucket. He thrusts it at Jonah.
“I rinsed the shower,” Jonah tells him.
“And now you bleach the shower,” Kyan says. Jonah growls, snatching the bucket from him.
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t lock every toilet in the damn place. I nearly pissed my pants,” Jonah scowls.
I rub my belly, and Kora sighs. “Family. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” she grumbles. “Poor kid is going to be smothered with affection,” she says.
“What does Kaif think?”
“Thinks he wants to beat them all upside the head. Jax, he just says let em’ go.”
“And you?” I chuckle. Kora sighs.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kora murmurs, happiness blooming inside her, making my heart swell.
A
nother Three weeks later
Kyan
We are on our way home from Mara’s last appointment, Jonah walks ahead opening the car door. Her feet are so swollen, and she reminds me of a duck with the way she waddles toward it. I grip her elbow as she groans sitting down in the front seat. Jonah tosses me the keys and climbs in the back. I catch them while watching Marabella fight with the seatbelt as she tries to pull it over her round belly. Jonah quickly leans over from the backseat grabbing it and pulling on it gently instead of yanking on it like she was doing. She sighs, closing her eyes and her cheeks turn pink.
“You’re not still seriously embarrassed,” I ask her as I climb in the driver’s seat. Jonah chuckles behind her and she growls at him.
“How was I supposed to know I only shaved half? It was a touch and feel job, you could have told me,” she snaps.
“Hey, we both offered to help you shave,” I remind her, while pulling away from the curb. She huffs, folding her arms over her chest and her belly growls hungrily.
“You, my boy, are making me fat,” she mumbles and I pull into McDonalds. I place our order through the drive through before stopping at the window. Marabella is always craving their horrid apple pies, I order extras knowing if I don’t, Jonah or I will be doing a night run in here to get them, or dad. Not that he ever complains, he dotes on her and I swear she is becoming spoiled. Dad always scolds me when I complain, stomping out of the house to get whatever it is she is craving.
“She is growing a child, you and Jonah got your jollies off, now get her a damn apple pie and stop complaining,” he snapped at me last night when she woke me at 1 in the damn morning wanting one.
We wait for our food when all of our phones start beeping and a messenger group chat comes through.
We all open the group chat labelled “Family Packlink”