The Forever Experiment

14. Maya

Valentine's Day - One Year Later

“E, baby? I’m home!” I call, setting my keys on the entry table and closing the front door to the apartment behind me.

I’m immediately hit with the aroma of chicken and Italian spices. The sun is just beginning to set in front of the expansive windows lining our unit at the far side of our living area, the view overlooking the Pacific.

“In here.” My husband’s soft, deep voice responds, and my heels click against our tile floor as I turn the corner into our kitchen, finding Easton behind the stove.

He left the office about an hour and a half before I did. I do my best to take off with him at a reasonable time each day, but I had an author who wasn’t available to meet with me until after hours from her own day job, and if my clients are up into the late night working toward their dreams, I want to do the same.

In the past, after working late, I’d typically come home to white wine and Goldfish for dinner. Now, Easton always makes sure I’m well fed, well fucked, and well cared for before my head hits the pillow at night. He never gets angry at me for opting to work late or on weekends, and if I have to travel, he accompanies me.

We continue making excellent use of every hotel room we stay in, especially the ones on my business trips to New York, San Francisco, and London. Not only is my husband great in bed, against window, and on table, but he’s also phenomenal in the back seat of my car, the kitchen counter, the balcony railing, and the desk in my office—both at home and the firm. And I can’t even begin to think about that stage in Amsterdam without needing to change my panties.

I sigh, tongue in cheek as I reminisce on the enticing experience, being pulled from the reverie when Easton kisses the top of my head. “How was your meeting?”

“Good.” I duck into our bedroom, kicking off my shoes and tossing my dress before sliding into a pair of joggers and a hoodie. “Is that your mom’s creamy chicken pasta I smell?”

“Yep! Figured I’d do something special tonight.”

I return to the kitchen, pulling out a barstool across from where he’s standing. He lifts a fork to my mouth, and I take a bite of the chicken smothered in cheese and herbs, moaning as I chew and swallow. “What’s so special about tonight?”

He tosses me a glare, though he knows I’ve not forgotten. In fact, I gave him my anniversary present already when he woke up this morning with my lips around his cock.

February fourteenth is special for a whole slew of reasons, but I know tonight is going to cement that fact much more deeply.

“I haven’t given you my gift yet either. Figured I’d do it over dinner,” he says.

“The two orgasms this morning weren’t my gift?”

He pauses, wooden spoon in hand, tossing me a dead-pan expression. “Baby, that’s just part of my daily routine.”

My lips ache at the force with which I’m holding back my smile, knowing I’m losing the battle with the flush creeping up my cheeks right now. Easton smirks triumphantly to himself as he plates our food and walks over to the dining room table that looks out to our balcony and the horizon beyond it.

There’s a bouquet of pink and red flowers, plus a box of candy hearts that he surprised me with this morning, still sitting at the center of the table, along with my favorite wine and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries Easton must’ve picked up on his way home from work. He sets our plates next to each other, and I slide into my seat.

He offers to pour my wine, but I decline, opting for water instead.

As we both dig into our food, Easton straightens his leg and reaches into his pocket. “Okay, are you ready for your gift?”

“Actually…” I say, standing from the table. “I have one for you too. Let me grab it.”

I dart into the ensuite off our bedroom, sifting through the drawers on my side of the sink until I find what I’m looking for and slip it into the pocket of my hoodie.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it. Sorry.” I sit back down, returning to my food. “So you should close your eyes when I hand it to you.”

He cocks his head, bemused. “Okay, fine. But you have to close your eyes too then.”

“I can agree to those terms.” I wink.

He chuckles, closing his fist around something. “Alright, you ready? Hold out your hand and close your eyes.”

I nod. “You do the same.”

I watch his lids fall shut just as mine do the same, and with darkness blanketing my vision, I reach into my hoodie pocket before gliding my closed fist across the table in search of his hand. While I’m doing so, I feel my left hand get flipped over, palm down, and I immediately know what my gift is as I feel it slide onto my finger.

I drop what I’m holding into Easton’s outstretched palm when he says, “Okay, can we open them?”

“Yep.” My stomach knots itself together, and I can feel the chicken swirling inside it, suddenly begging to come back up. I know I have no reason to be nervous. I know Easton is going to love it, but I can’t ignore the small part of me that’s absolutely terrified to see his reaction—mostly because I’m terrified myself, and if he acts the same, I might lose it.

I open my eyes, and they immediately fall to my left hand. Sure enough, a diamond-studded band, the perfect accent to my ring, sits just above it on my finger. Technically, Easton never bought me a wedding band, just the ring when we were in Vegas, and while we’ve been legally married the past year, it has felt more like dating. We live together, we work together, but we’ve also spent a lot of time getting to know one another and each other’s families, integrating our lives in a way that works for both of us.

It has been trial and error, and hard in some moments, but we decided when the time was right, we’d renew our vows in a more traditional setting. Sure, it had been born from the insistence of both our mothers and our siblings, but we want that for ourselves too.

I figured I’d worry about getting a wedding band when we were ready to take that step, and I wonder if Easton’s gift is his way of telling me he is.

I think my gift might be my way of doing the same.

“It’s beautiful, E,” I breathe, moving my hand in a way that allows the diamonds to reflect against the fading daylight outside our window. “I love it.”

He doesn’t respond, and I lift my eyes to gauge his reaction when I find him frozen, staring slack-jawed at the pregnancy test in his hand. His chest is expanding frantically with each rapid burst of breath from his parted lips, like his mind is sprinting.

“E, baby… Say something.”

His eyes finally flash to mine, and that’s when the building moisture welled within them spills over. His exhale is audible, a gasp of surprise before his mouth morphs into the brightest smile I’ve ever seen on another human being. “You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Are you mad?”

His brows knit together. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know… It wasn’t like this was entirely planned.” I got off birth control a few months ago, opting to track my cycle instead. I’ll admit, we weren’t the most careful, mostly because for the first time in my life, I trusted someone enough that I didn’t feel I needed to be. Still, we’d planned on having our vow renewal and crossing a few more international trips off our list before we had a baby.

“Fuck, Maya. I don’t care.” He stands abruptly, kicking his chair out behind him. Our dinners sit on the table, entirely forgotten as he slides the plates out of his way, grabbing me by the hips and setting me on our table. “This is the best day of my life. Are you kidding?”

He drops to his knees in front of me, lifting my sweatshirt to reveal my bare skin. He places his large hands across my stomach, the tendons in his fingers working deliciously as he runs his fingers over my flesh.

“How far along?” he asks, lifting his blazing blue eyes to me.

“I don’t know yet. I’m only about a week late, but you know how I feel about punctuality, so I took a test this morning. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow to schedule an appointment.”

He nods, planting his lips over my belly as his arms slide around my hips, pulling me into him. “Thank you,” he murmurs against me. “Thank you for giving me this.”

I run my fingers through his hair. He has told me a few times that he always wanted children, and as I look down at the way he tenderly handles my mid-section in his soft hands, the way he whispers his gratitude into my skin, the way his lips brush over the wet marks his tears left, I know he’ll be the most excellent father.

“I’m a little scared,” I admit quietly, mostly because, for all the confidence I have in him, I’m not sure I can say the same for myself.

He looks up at me, resting his chin against my stomach. “I know. It’ll be scary, but we’ll figure it out together. We’re going to do great.”

“What about our jobs? Neither of our parents live nearby, neither do my siblings, and yours are busy. We’re kind of alone out here, but I don’t want to leave California. I just don’t know how we’re going to do this without help. I don’t know how to baby.”

His brows furrow before he lights up with laughter. “I don’t know how to baby either. But we can take classes, and last I checked, our parents have cellphones, so that’s good. There are books to read, YouTube videos that’ll teach you how to do anything.”

I frown, because YouTube parenting advice doesn’t make me feel confident in the slightest.

“I’m kidding, Maya baby. We’ll be okay. I’m sure our families will fly out for the first little while until we get the hang of things. After that, we can look into getting a nanny, or find a great daycare, or…I could stay home with the baby.”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

He stands, keeping his hand on my stomach. “Fuck yeah. I’ve always wanted to be a dad. I can’t wait to coach soccer teams and carpool. Fuck it, I’ll drive a minivan. I don’t care.”

“We will never own a minivan.”

“Fine,” he scoffs. “I’ll settle for a Yukon then.” He takes my face between his hands, resting his lips against my nose. “I can still work for the firm from home, reviewing contracts and whatnot, but while you handle the bestsellers of the world…” He smiles down at my belly. “I can be here with nugget.”

“We’re not calling them nugget.”

“I was eating chicken when you told me. You set us up for this, Maya.” He rubs his hand over me. “Hi, nugget. Daddy loves you already.”

I sigh; I can’t help the flutters inside me at the way he’s already referring to himself as Daddy , the affectionate tone he’s using when speaking to my stomach. There is no doubt it’ll be challenging, and sometimes, I’ll be afraid, but I know there is no one else I’d want to have a baby with, no one else I’d rather call my husband.

Easton Mason is it for me.

As if I’d said the words aloud, his eyes snap to mine, boring through me. Golden light filters across his face, setting him on fire. He cups my cheek, and I nuzzle into the familiar warmth of his touch.

He inches into me, feathering his lips between mine. “I love you, Maya baby.”

I smile against his mouth. “I love you, pretty boy.”