Nineteen
Harper
By twenty-four weeks, there is absolutely no pretending I'm just "carrying winter weight." The bump has become the first thing people notice. Complete strangers smile knowingly. Old ladies at Woolworths stop me to ask when I'm due. One particularly bold cashier asked if I was having twins.
(I cried in the car park.)
I'm standing in the kitchen trying to convince myself I only look mildly pregnant and not like I've swallowed a beach ball when a tiny hand appears and pokes my stomach.
"Morning, Baby." I don't even look up from my mug.
"Morning, Leo."
"I wasn't talking to you."
"Obviously."
He grins before lowering his face until his cheek is pressed against my jumper.
"I've got PE today." He pauses after that before continuing.
"I hope you don't like broccoli because Mum keeps making me eat it." I snort into my tea.
"Excuse me?" He shrugs.
"I just thought she should know."
I manage to withhold a second snort. Thankfully, my dignity can’t take much more.
"Oh, and don't kick Mum in the ribs today."
Almost on cue, the baby gives a solid thump making Leo's eyes go wide.
"She heard me!"
"Does he always do that?" Alexander's voice comes from behind me. I turn to find him carrying two mugs of tea and looking suspiciously awake for seven o'clock on a Tuesday.
"Every morning."
He hands me the fresh cup without asking. He stopped asking weeks ago. Just quietly observing my needs and acting on them. English Breakfast when I'm tired. Honey instead of sugar. Tiny things. Tiny, ridiculously thoughtful things.
"He thinks she's missing important information," I explain. Alexander watches Leo climb onto a stool.
"I suppose she's entitled to a daily briefing."
"Apparently." He smiles. God. I really like his smile. Leo suddenly looks up.
"The baby kicked just now." Alexander looks at me.
"Really?" I nod as little miss does it again, making me feel like my diaphragm is caving in on itself.
"She just did it again." Leo frowns.
"I missed it."
"There'll be plenty more."
"I know." He walks over, placing both hands against my stomach with supreme concentration.
"Morning," he whispers to her again.
"I will tell you all about dinosaurs when you come out." I feel the baby move almost immediately. Leo's eyes go wide.
"SHE KNOWS ME."
I laugh so hard I have to grab the bench. Alexander's hand finds the small of my back automatically. It’s such a sweet and caring touch that it makes me want to pull him down for a kiss. No. Not in front of Leo!
"You alright?"
"Mhmm." I catch myself leaning into him without thinking. Without apologising. Without wondering whether I'm being too much. That still surprises me.
For so many years I worried over everything. Whether I was asking too much. Talking too much. Needing too much.
But with Alexander… he notices my tea has gone cold before I do. He notices when I skip breakfast. When my ankles start swelling. When I pretend I'm not tired. He notices… Because he cares.
"Mum?" I blink, realising I must have zoned out.
"What?" Leo points at my laptop.
"It keeps making noises."
I'd completely forgotten about it. Three unread emails from Rachel. One reminder about copy edits. A calendar notification. The manuscript. Oops. Alexander glances at the screen.
"How's the book going?" I sigh dramatically.
"My main character has been standing in her kitchen for three chapters." He seems to seriously consider that.
"Maybe she needs someone to make her breakfast." I snort.
"That obvious?"
"A little." He reaches into the cupboard. "Bagel?" I nod.
"Please."
Five minutes later he's buttering bagels while Leo explains the environment requirements of sauropods with an enthusiasm that seems very strange for so early in the morning. I lean against the counter and simply… Watch.
A fine cloud of whole wheat flour puffs from the bagel as Alexander slices it. The sunlight catches the particles, turning them to gold dust. Leo is talking with his hands, explaining the Cretaceous period’s atmospheric conditions.
Alexander is pretending to understand every second word. It's wonderfully ordinary. The sort of morning I used to write into books because I wasn't sure people actually lived like this. Safe. Easy. Quiet.
My hand settles over the baby. She kicks again. I smile. Not because life is perfect. It isn't. I'm still divorced. Still behind on my deadline. Still trying to work out how to become a mother of two.
But standing here… Watching my son explain dinosaurs to the man making us breakfast… I realise something. I'm not waiting for everything to fall apart anymore.
I still catch myself waiting for the catch.
For the thing that makes me sit back and think, There it is. That's the flaw.
The truth is... Alexander is infuriatingly close to perfect.
Close.
The man couldn't cook if his life depended on it.
He burns toast with such alarming consistency that I'm starting to think bread just offends him on a personal level.
One memorable attempt at spaghetti somehow resulted in the smoke alarm going off and Leo solemnly informing him that "water isn't supposed to be crunchy. "
Between his complete inability to prepare anything more complicated than cereal or a buttered bagel and my own extremely limited collection of edible recipes, we've become heavily reliant on takeaway...
and Elsie, who has somehow developed a sixth sense for when our fridge contains nothing but milk, questionable leftovers and blind optimism.
At this point she drops off enough casseroles to qualify as a community service. But honestly?
If the worst thing I can say about the man who has stood beside me through every appointment, every neurotic meltdown and every terrifying unknown, is that he can't be trusted with a toaster... I'd say I got pretty lucky.
***
There is always something special about walking into Page & Grounds.
It contains a warmth that seems to completely surround you.
Then Leo bolts past me like a miniature torpedo, already locked onto the twins playing in the corner, Elsie bought a new wooden kitchen and cubby house this week. Seems they are making the most of it.
"I want coffee," I say to no one in particular, because I have not had coffee in months and I miss it so much.
I miss the feeling of something solid between my hands when the rest of the world is falling apart.
Decaf tea is a consolation prize dressed up as a kind gesture, and I am tired of being consoled.
Alexander's hand settles warm against the small of my back. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, which is both a lie and the truth at the same time.
He doesn't argue. He just leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, such a sweet and unconscious gesture that is makes me lean into him for a moment.
Then he turns toward the table by the window where Adrian, Liv, and Noah are sitting, and I watch something happen that I'm not sure I was ready to see.
Adrian looks up from his laptop, registers Alexander is there, and smiles, it’s a real smile, not the polite kind he gives strangers.
Liv raises her mug in a gesture that somehow manages to be both a salute and an obscene suggestion.
Noah, who has met Alexander only twice, gives him a nod that's still somehow welcoming.
And Alexander, Alexander slides into the empty chair beside Adrian like he's been sitting there for years, already reaching for the sugar, already laughing at something Liv has said.
It's seamless. Effortless. The kind of integration that makes you wonder whether the universe has been slowly arranging these people like chess pieces while you weren't paying attention.
I stand there for a second too long, clutching my handbag, wondering if anyone can tell that I'm counting the ways this could go wrong. Then Elsie calls my name from behind the counter and the moment disappears.
"Harper!" She's already half-leaning over the register, arms outstretched, and I let her pull me into a hug that smells like cinnamon and soap and the faint, sweet ghost of kids’ shampoo.
Her hands find my belly without hesitation, the way they always do, cupping the curve of it with a tenderness that still makes my throat tight.
"How's my favourite tenant?" she asks, and I laugh because the baby is, technically speaking, not renting anything, but Elsie has decided that my uterus is her investment property and she is very invested in the occupant.
"Kicking like she's practicing for the World Cup," I say, and Luca appears from behind the pastry case with the kind of flourish that would be annoying on anyone else.
"Let me feel!"
"Luca, I’m not a petting zoo," I say, but I'm already leaning into it because Luca's enthusiasm is the emotional equivalent of a defibrillator, uncomfortable, necessary, and somehow exactly what you need.
He drops into a crouch, eye-level with my stomach, and presses both hands flat against the fabric of my shirt.
"Hello in there," he stage-whispers. "This is your Uncle Luca speaking.
When you come out, just remember that I'm the fun one.
The others are nice but I'm the one who will let you stay up past bedtime. "
Liv seems to have wandered over and bats his hands away. "That's my god baby! You have your own." She gestures vaguely toward Maisie who is distractedly trying to fit a book into a wooden teapot
Luca clutches his chest. "Aw, but Liv, we can share. I can be godfather and you can be godmother. The baby needs options. Variety. A full support system."
"She needs adults who won't teach her swear words before she can walk," I say.
"I would never," Luca says, with the sincerity of a man who has absolutely already planned the swear words.
Elsie returns from behind the counter holding a teapot. A teapot with a lettering on the side in Liv's handwriting: HOT MAMA.