"Backup though. I'm not a backup singer." I complained as I explained to Timmy my frustrations of that night. "It'd probably be better for once the baby's here though." Timmy argued. I groaned and rolled my eyes before dropping my head back on the pillow. "Hey, I know you think these guys are just a bunch of misogynistic assholes who think being a mother is a career death sentence-"
"Which they are!" "No argument. But I'm just saying, maybe this is a blessing in disguise." I turned to look at the shirtless Timothée who was leaning against the headboard. "How?" I said, hopelessly. "Well, and this is an important one, it's enough money to quit that god awful waitress job."
"It's not that bad-" "Are you fucking kidding me? It's ridiculous hours and they don't seem to give a fuck you're pregnant." "Why would they?" He huffed. "Maybe this would be more enjoyable and lead to better singing related jobs once you've got a bit more time." "Ya think?"
"Yes!" "I think I'll ring him tomorrow then." "Good." He smiled planting a kiss on my forehead. Then, he relaxed deeper into the bed. " I love how much you care about my job, baby." I said. "Of course, I care about you. I'm stuck to ya." "You're stuck to me?" I said looking up into his eyes smiling widely. "Well yeah. You're having my baby." "Our baby." I corrected him. "Our baby." He said without hesitation.
...
The next few months were easy going. Well- apart from getting bigger and bigger. By august I couldn't touch my toes so laces were out of the picture. Me and Timmy still made sure we had our date nights and played our favourite records to the baby; Timmy's still convinced it can hear us. But something tells me we shouldn't play biggie smalls then.
Timmy's persistence I take it slow was finally applying. Little Daisy's room was painted pale blue with a white cot awaiting her arrival. We even got her one of those dangly things above it with rockets and stuff on it. Crazy to think we're gonna be parents.
One day I was sitting in her room imagining what it'd be like once she was here, then an idea came into my mind. I wanted to write her a letter; to read when she was 16 or 18 or some significant age. Perhaps just as a thing for me to look back on- this summer '97.
Dear Daisy,
This summer has been the hottest I've ever experienced. New York was not at all what I expected- I was so scared to move here, more scared than I ever let your dad on to know. I didn't have a job or anything to fall back on apart from Timothée. We were married young and though that is something we may advise you against in the future, I don't regret it. I've never loved anyone this much and I just know the love I'll have for you will be even greater. It's so hard to imagine you, dark hair? Light hair? Most likely dark. I hope you have your dad's kindness, my passionate feminism (though maybe a little less aggressive), you will undoubtedly have a great taste in music- you've already been in Jazz clubs and heard Oasis millions of times. I hope we get along, I know we will. You're stuck to me.
Love, your mama y/n
A/N: I think this is the last one I might do epilogues (depends if the mood strikes me), thanks everyone for commenting, voting and enjoying the story.
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