Т Нован - Exposure Season 3

I roll over onto my back and take a deep breath. My eyes flutter open and I immediately flinch. The light is so bright.

The light.

Is so bright.

Because I can see it.

Thank you, God.

I turn my head, wanting Kels to be my first conscious sight. She’s covered in our wedding blanket, her hair glowing as if lit by a halo. Perhaps it is. She is certainly an angel in my life.

I study the slope of her neck and shoulders, the dip of her waist, less pronounced with the presence of our burgeoning children.

She’s a bit blurry though. I blink several times, but it doesn’t seem to help. I sit up and lean over her. There. Now I can see her face. God, she’s beautiful, even when she’s a bit out of focus.

I reach out and push back some hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. She murmurs something unintelligible and keeps sleeping. So I bend down and kiss her cheek. "Good morning, chér."

"Early. Sleep."

I chuckle at her protest. She’s not a morning girl. "Nah, I’d rather watch you sleep." I press my lips to her cheek once more. "But, you go right ahead."

"‘kay," she agrees, sleepily.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Cue Kelsey.

She flips over far more rapidly than a woman in her condition should. Her eyes are bright and alert and boring into mine. "Watch me sleep?"

I smile, cup her cheek. "Yeah. I always enjoy doing that. You look like you’re a little kid, having sweet dreams."

Tears begin spilling out of her eyes, over her cheeks, mingling with my hand. "You can see me?"

"I always could," I whisper as I lean in for a kiss. "Now my eyes can too."

Long minutes later, Kels holds me an arm’s length away. I grouse. I preferred what we were just doing a hairbreadth’s apart. The expression on Kels’ face warns me to comply with her wishes right now. She holds up her hand. "How many fingers?"

"You had ten, last I took inventory."

She slaps my upper arm. "Behave. How many?"

"Two." She changes her configuration. "Four." Again. "None."

I am rewarded with a kiss for my correct answers. "You really can see." Her fingertips trace the curve of my eyebrows.

"I really can. Things aren’t quite razor sharp, but … I can make out everything I need to. I’m able to see you. I’ll be able to see the babies." I choke on my last words. I am so relieved to know that I will get to look at Brennan on the day she makes her appearance. And that I won’t have to rely on the doctor to tell me whether Shy Baby Roo is a boy or a girl. I will get to watch Kels nurse our children. Their first smiles. First steps. First everything.

"Yes, you will," Kels assures me, her voice as choked up as mine.

I capture Kels’ lips once again. I know we should go share the good news. I know Mama and Papa and all the family will want to know as soon as possible. But, right now, I want to see a few of the sights I’ve been missing most. And, all of them are in this room.

One of the things I love most about Harper is her thorough attention to detail. She is meticulous about that sort of thing. This is to my benefit, I must admit. After making sure all my body parts were accounted for, we shower and dress for breakfast. It’s almost lunchtime. Mama will be having a fit.

We enter the kitchen and I watch the transformation of Harper. She goes from attentive and playful to very cautious and careful. What are you up to, sweetheart?

Mama looks up from her reading at the kitchen table. "I was wondering when you two would join the rest of us."

Harper pauses. "Rest? Is the kitchen conspiracy here?" She makes a show of cocking her head, as if to hear the people she can clearly see aren’t in the room.

I keep myself from laughing. This will come back to bite you, Tabloid. I guarantee it.

"No, just Papa and I. He’s out back, in the garden."

Holding her good hand out in front of her, Harper carefully steps toward the table and takes her seat, feeling her way. I go sit beside her. Though I make sure I am out of range for when Mama swats her.

Mama gets up and goes to the refrigerator, pulling out milk, eggs, bacon, and other food items I shouldn’t be eating. While her back is turned, Harper changes the page on her mama’s book and moves it to the right.

"Have you had breakfast, Mama?" Harper asks, knowing very well her mother ate long ago.

Mama turns and stares at her daughter, her eyebrow arching exactly the same way I’ve seen on Harper. "Mais oui. How long have you lived in my house, chér?"

"Well, on and off, twenty-six years."

Mama cracks an egg and drops it in a bow, quickly adding several more. "Then I do not have to answer that question, do I?"

"No, ma’am."

I snicker. God, I love being home.

As Mama begins preparing the bacon and eggs, Harper busies herself with the salt and pepper shakers on the table, switching their tops.

Tabloid, Tabloid, Tabloid.

She finishes this stealth maneuver seconds before Mama comes over and places glasses of juice in front of us. The smell of sizzling bacon at the stove is one of the most wonderful things in the world and one I have come to associate with home and family. I may have to break down and have a piece. Or two. For the children.

Yeah, right, they need bacon.

Harper quickly drains her juice and walks over to the refrigerator for a refill. Mama, intent on fixing breakfast, doesn’t pay her much mind. Harper refills her glass easily and then reaches over and steals Mama’s glass from the counter. She brings them both over to the table.

Why don’t you just tell her, sweetheart? It’ll be so much easier on you later.

Mama reaches for a drink, but her hands meets empty countertop. She mutters something in French, then looks over at the table. Harper has placed the glass at Mama’s seat. Mama walks over and picks it up, dropping a kiss on Harper’s hair as she does so. "You’re awful quiet today. Tous va bien?"

Ah, yes, everything is very all right. I say, "Yeah, I’m good, Mama."

"You want some gravy with your biscuits?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Mama picks up the salt and pepper and carries them over to the stove. As she begins preparing the gravy, Harper turns in her chair to watch the inevitable explosion.

It comes.

"Mon Dieu!" She exclaims as she watches far too much salt go into the gravy, instead of the anticipated pepper. Continuing on in sour French, Mama turns around and fixes her gaze on Harper. "Vache! Tu n'as pas fait ca depuis que tu etais enfant!"

Yes, Harper is a troublemaker. And I believe she has been that way since birth.

A pause.

A hitched breath.

"Tu peux me voir?"

Yes, Mama, she can see you.

Mama’s eyes spill large tears down her cheeks. She forgets about the bacon, the gravy, the eggs, everything and rushes over to embrace Harper.

I get up and go over to the stove. I don’t think Mama cares much about cooking right now.

"Very good, Harper," Dr. Radson praises as she finishes up the eye exam. After we finished celebrating Harper’s recovery, we called her to schedule an appointment. Fortunately, the doctor had left word with her office to fit us in her schedule immediately should we call with news — one way or the other.

My spouse is barely able to sit still. She is completely high on the good news. So I am. I have to keep looking down to make sure my feet are still on the ground. This phase of our life cannot be over soon enough for me.

"I think you can expect gradual improvement of both eyes over the next few days. Right now you have 20/100 and 20/80 vision. There’s a strong possibility that both eyes will return to normal, or close to it."

"I’m not going to go blind again, right?" Harper asks, warily. "I’m not going to wake up to lights out tomorrow, am I?"