Page 56 of Size Queen

Epilogue

Noelle

Eight months later.

On January 28, 2017, Jamison Alan Abrams was born. Eight pounds, two ounces, completely healthy, gorgeous (he looks just like his dad), and surprisingly quiet. I was in labor for thirty hours—which felt like sixty—and I’d gotten so big that I was worried I might actually be delivering twins.

Once Jamison was born, Damon and I never wanted to let him out of our sight. We were likely the most demanding and nervous parents in the whole hospital that day. Once we were discharged, we went straight home to show him his first home.

We decided that it would be best to stay in Miami. I was hopeful that my agency was going to call me soon like they’d promised and offer me the chance to return to work. I was going to stay patient for the time being. I didn’t even need distractions, because I knew that finally having the baby was going to require most of my attention and time.

Damon asked me to move in with him once I started my third trimester, reasoning that I was basically living with him already. We remodeled the living room and completely changed his private office, morphing it into the baby’s nursery in preparation for the addition to our family.

Damon and I walk around the house, giving Jamison a tour of the place. I’m aware that a newborn baby would likely not even absorb it all like this, but it’s still fun. We end our tour by showing him his room and putting him in his crib. He only cries for a few seconds before passing out right where I put him.

“What a beautiful son we have,” Damon says as we watch him sleep.

“He definitely is his daddy’s boy,” I say, smoothing Jamison’s hair. “He’s adorable. I don’t want to leave him.”

I could watch Jamison sleep and breathe until he wakes up. Eventually, Damon takes me by the hand and walk us out.

“He’ll be fine,” he whispers. “Let’s let him sleep.”

We go to the living room, crashing on the couch. I lay my head down on his chest, resting after the strenuous week I’ve had.

“You can sleep, too, if you’d like,” he says.

“I’m exhausted,” I tell him. “But I shouldn’t sleep now. I won’t want to wake up.”

“I can look after Jamison while you nap,” he insists. “Why don’t you go and rest? You’ll want to be properly rested before the party, won’t you?”

I sigh, having totally forgotten about the party that Sabrina is throwing for the three of us at the clubhouse. I’m grateful and appreciative of what she’s doing, but I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to stay awake after the countless hours of interrupted sleep over the past couple of weeks. All I want to do is sleep, take care of Jamison, and relax at home with my man.

“He has your eyes,” Damon comments.

I smile. “He looks like you in every other conceivable way.”

“He’s the most beautiful baby in all of Miami. And I’m not just saying that because he’s mine.”

“You do sound a little biased.” I chuckle. “But you’re right. He is the cutest baby in Miami. Maybe even the state of Florida.”

“Fuck it. How about the world?”

I look up into Damon’s eyes, finding myself getting lost in them as I often do. He is more content and happy than I’ve ever seen him.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

“I’m thinking about my son,” he answers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m afraid I might be falling in love with him.”

“Oh, then that’ll actually save us an awkward conversation,” I joke. “Because I was going to tell you at the hospital, but I didn’t want to upset you—I think I might be in love with someone else, too. But he looks exactly like you, so I hope you won’t take it too personally.”

“Except the eyes,” he says again with a wink.

We snuggle quietly for a few minutes, processing it all.

“The house suddenly feels completely different,” I note.

“That’s what happens when you bring children into the home,” says Damon. “It’s not just about us anymore. There’s another being that breathes life living under our roof. And he came from us. It’s kind of crazy to think that just a few days ago, it was completely different.”