Page 38 of Hampton Holiday Collective

Oh. Just that?

I almost laugh, but not at his expense. We’ve been dancing around this conversation for months. Every little fear has avalanched as we’ve inched closer to the finish line of pregnancy.

“Dem.”

He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, tugging on the ends so hard they stick out in an almost-comical way.

“Come here,” I urge.

He joins me on the bed again, a little closer this time, but looking just as tense as when he first entered the room.

“Lay with me,” I insist, pulling him toward the pillows and settling on my side so we can face each other.

He takes his time easing down, uncertainty obvious in his hesitant movements and the lines of concern on his face. Probably in fear of how I’ll respond to the feelings he word-vomited all over the bedroom.

“I’m scared, too,” I admit, interlacing our fingers and snuggling closer to his body.

He softens, then swallows audibly before he speaks again.

“Fuck. I hate this. I hate that you’re scared, princess. I’m sorry I haven’t been stronger for you.”

I snort and shove at his chest playfully. “That’s some toxic masculinity bullshit if I’ve ever heard it. Have you been watching those lumberjack TikToks your brother’s obsessed with? You don’t have to be strongfor me. But you do need to be honest and real with me.”

He lifts his head and meets my gaze, nodding earnestly in agreement.

“If I tell you what scares me, will you do the same?”

“Of course,” he insists.

I suck in a steadying breath, steeling myself to speak my truth.

“I’m scared that I won’t know how to be a good mom, and that things won’t come naturally for me,” I admit, soaking in the calming way Dempsey strokes my hair as he takes in my confession. “I’m also scared I won’t be able to tell them apart.”

He clears his throat and whispers his own confession.

“I’m scaredIwon’t be able to tell them apart. Or that something will be wrong with one of them, and we’ll be separated in the hospital.”

I swallow past a lump of emotion, nodding. That’s one of my fears, too.

“I’m scared my body won’t ever be the same. That everything will be stretched out and saggy, and that you won’t look at me the way you used to.”

He cups the back of my head in his palm, kissing my forehead in reverence.

“I’m scared I won’t be as good of a dad as my brother.”

With a hand to his neck, I stroke my thumb along his jawline.

“I’m scared that you’ll be as great as your brother, and that you’ll go baby crazy and beg me to have ten more,” I tease.

He can’t help but smile at that one.

We could probably lie here all night and not run out of worries. This isn’t about assuring each other that our fears are unwarranted. This is about being vulnerable and recognizing our personal insecurities that have festered throughout this pregnancy, regardless of how absurd or irrational they might be.

“It’s okay to be scared. We’re both out of our depths here.” I smooth our joined hands down my stomach, grunting when one of the boys kicks hard. Dempsey’s eyes light up in wonder, like they do every time he gets to experience their movements.

He’s allowed to be scared. But there’s not a doubt in my mind that he’s going to be an amazing father.

“I need you,” I confess. “But I don’t need you to act a certain way or meet specific conditions. I just needyou. We can fake it ’til we make it where the babies are concerned. But we have to be open and honest with each other.”