Chapter 17 Brady
brADY
It doesn’t take long for me to get Sage’s stuff out of my car. Two trips, that’s all. But when I re-enter the apartment with the final two bags, it’s quiet. I walk down the hall, and when I see she’s left her bedroom door open slightly I peek through the crack, only to find her fast asleep.
I close the door as softly as I can and head back to the living room where I dumped her bags.
It only takes a few minutes to set her shoes out by the front door and stuff some paper towels inside to help them dry out.
Another minute to take out the coffee cup, travel mug, water bottle, and what I’m guessing are containers she uses to take food to work and put them all away in my kitchen.
It’s funny how adding just a few extra things makes the cupboards seem a lot less bare. Not that they were empty before, but having stuff for more than one person in there is just different, somehow.
Then I survey the bags of her clothes and personal items. It feels wrong to go through them without her consent, but wouldn’t it also be wrong to leave it all soaking wet?
I take the bag of toiletries and set it on the counter in the spare bathroom. Back in the living room, I cross my arms and once again stare at the bags of clothes.
“C’mon Dixon, it’s not the first time you’ve done a girl’s laundry,” I whisper to myself. Sure, that girl was my sister, and I only did her laundry when she was sick, but still. I can do this for Sage.
Then I open the bag closest to me, and of course, right on top is a pair of lacy purple underwear.
“Fuck.”
I could just dump the whole bag into the washing machine without touching a thing, but then I hear Blair’s voice in my head, yelling at me the one time I didn’t separate her “delicates.”
Gritting my teeth, I take the bag and the suitcase that I know has the rest of her clothes over to the closet containing the washer and dryer.
Trying not to think about the intimate pieces of clothing I’m touching, or what they might look like on Sage’s body, I do my best to sort through the soaked clothes and get a load started in the washer.
Once that’s done, I abandon the rest of it in a heap on the floor, and stride over to the refrigerator where I pull out a beer, crack it open, and drain half of it in one go.
I’m so screwed. If something as stupid and mundane as touching her clothes has me all hot and bothered, how the hell am I going to handle living with her? Knowing she’s asleep just down the hall, or naked in the shower, or…
Yeah. I’m screwed.
“I really appreciate you coming with me,” Sage says the next afternoon as I pull up in front of the first apartment building she wants to look at.
“No problem,” I reply.
Except it is a big problem. This is the last thing I want to be doing on one of my rare days off. Driving Sage around town in the pouring rain, looking at apartments so she can move out of mine. I'd rather run suicides for an hour straight.
But when she emerged from the guest room this morning, she announced her intention of looking at some rentals today. And I’ll be damned if I was gonna let her look at them without me. At least this way I can see for myself that she’s somewhere safe.
“Okay, well, this place is the closest to the hospital, so it’ll be easy to walk to work. And it’s in my budget and furnished,” she says brightly as we walk up a crumbling pathway to the front door.
Over my dead body will she be walking through this neighbourhood at night… But I keep that thought to myself for now.
Sage rings the buzzer and we wait for the building manager to let us in.
It’s not easy, but I manage to hide my fully negative observations of the place from her.
The plants outside the building are all overgrown and judging by the green and brown stains all over the supposedly white paint, it's obvious the exterior hasn't been washed in a very long time.
Even the letters on the glass front doors are chipped and peeling.
Eventually, an older woman shuffles up to the door, her hair unkempt and ratty slippers on her feet. In my head, I've already ruled this place out. Not a chance I'm letting the mother of my child stay here.
But again, I keep my mouth shut for now. It would be a lot better if Sage came to that conclusion on her own.
Once inside, Sage greets the manager as if they’re old friends and starts asking some questions.
I follow behind silently. It's impossible to miss the lingering smell of smoke and mildew in the air.
Another big mark against the place. A pregnant woman has no business in a building that smells like this.
We step inside the studio-sized apartment, and things here are no better than the rest of the building. The furniture looks like it should all be marked as a biohazard, and the ceiling is full of cracks and stains. Sage peers around, but I see her shoulders droop.
Maybe I shouldn't be relieved, not when it’s clear she's disappointed. But thank God she's not going to try and move into this place.
“Right, well, thanks for showing us. I'll be in touch,” she says to the manager, who only grunts in reply before shuffling back down the hall to what I assume is her suite.
Once we reach the car, Sage opens her door, gets in, and slams it shut. When I slide into my seat, she’s slumped down, her arms folded across her chest. “Don’t say it, that place was a dump.”
I stay silent.
Somehow, the next place is even worse. And my patience is wearing thin. As soon as we get back into the car, I turn in my seat and stare at her.
“You’re not moving into a place with only one window and mysterious brown stains on the carpet.”
Sage covers her face with her hands and huffs with exasperation. “Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It's not like I'll be there for that long, and don't you want your apartment back? I can't stay there forever.”
Yes, you can.
She just doesn't get it. My apartment was too big, too quiet, and too lonely before she moved in.
I've never lived by myself, and I didn't think I would miss having other people around quite as much as I have since the twins moved out. Having Sage there feels right in so many ways, even if it’s only been a handful of days.
There's one more apartment for us to look at, a furnished suite in someone's house. It’s clean, and in a decent neighbourhood, and the landlords seem okay.
“Damn it, that place was great, but it's so far from the hospital, and not on a bus route,” Sage complains as we get back in my car. I hate hearing her sound so defeated, but I can’t deny my relief that none of the three places seem to be something she’s seriously considering.
I finally unclench my jaw, which was starting to ache. It’s been a constant battle trying not to say anything that might push her in the opposite direction, away from me and out of my apartment. But as I start to drive us home, I can't hold it in any longer.
“You don’t have to settle for some place that feels unsafe or uncomfortable.” I clear my throat, my voice feeling rough. “You know you can stay with me as long as needed.”
A soft hand lands on my leg. “Thanks Brady, I appreciate that. But I’m sure something will come up, hopefully soon.”
I don’t respond. I can’t, not without telling her how I really feel.
By the time we get home, Sage seems to be in a better mood. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m sinking deeper into a panicked slump, trying to figure out how to convince her to just stay here.
“How do tacos sound for dinner?” she asks in a chipper voice as we enter my apartment.
“Sounds good, do you need to sit down or take a nap? I can cook,” I reply, already moving to the kitchen.
Sage catches up with me quickly and gently shoves me to the side.
“No, silly. I'm going to cook, you sit down and relax.
It's the least I can do after making you drive me all over town today, and dealing with my wet clothes last night.” She blushes lightly.
“Have to say, it was a first, having a guy do my laundry.”
“It was no trouble. I'm glad I was able to help.”
The bright smile she gives me simultaneously cracks my heart in two and fills me with so much warmth. I duck my head into the fridge and rummage around for a sports drink. Pulling out two bottles, I hold one out to her. “Want a drink?”
She shakes her head. “No thanks, I’ll just have water.”
But as I move to the cabinet to get a glass, she stops me, her hands landing on my chest. “Brady, stop. I can get it myself.”
“Sorry,” I say gruffly, taking a step to the side at the same time she moves in the same direction, and her small yet rounded stomach brushes against me.
“Whoops. I’m still not used to how much this thing sticks out,” she says with a smile. “My whole centre of gravity is off and it’s only going to get worse.” She laughs at herself as she starts pulling things out of the fridge.
I count to five in my head as I move away from her and take a seat on one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen island.
This is killing me. I want to feel her stomach. I want to be free to touch it, to touch her, to hold her and our baby in my arms. I want to keep them here, with me.
I want to take care of her.
But that's the last thing on earth she wants.
We end up eating dinner on the couch, in front of the TV. Sage puts on some comedy movie that she insists is a classic but I've never seen.
Not that I pay any attention to it.
My entire being is focused on the woman sitting next to me. On the little noises she makes as she eats the tacos she made, and the way she gradually relaxes into the couch, shifting until her feet are tucked to the side and her shoulder is leaning into mine.
“Is this okay?” she asks quietly, and all I can do is nod, not trusting myself to speak without confessing just how right it feels.
Eventually, I feel her body grow heavier against me.
By the time the credits are rolling on the movie, she's snoring softly, her head on my shoulder.
I stay perfectly still, savouring the weight of her against me.
She fits here, with me, against me, in my arms. She belongs here.
I just don't know how to get her to see that.
I stare down at her, trying to commit the image of her, peaceful in my arms, to memory. Before I can stop myself, my head ducks down and my lips brush against the soft silk of her hair. She stirs slightly, and I stiffen quickly, lifting my head.
With a tightly controlled exhale, I pick up my phone. My email inbox has a reminder from one of the job search websites I've been looking at. My stomach drops. How can I even envision a future with Sage when I don't have the means to support her and our baby?
I click over to the website and start scrolling the postings. There are a few short-term construction jobs, but those are for the summer months when I'm busy playing baseball.
Then I come across a posting for an overnight position stocking shelves at a grocery store in Cedar Creek.
It's a step below what I used to do in Manitoba, but at least it's something I have experience doing. And it’s something I might be able to juggle along with my commitments to the team and to Sage.
If I get my foot in the door now, I can probably get more hours in the offseason.
I fill out the online application, my thumb hovering over the button to submit it for several seconds before I finally click on it.
I set my phone down and look back at Sage.
She deserves so much more than a guy stocking shelves at a grocery store part time.
She deserves a man who can give her everything.
A partner who can take care of her as much as she'll allow.
I want so badly to be enough for her and our baby. And I'm terrified I never will be.
Her head falls forward and she makes a small noise. Grabbing a throw pillow, I place it on my lap, then carefully ease her down to rest on it. She doesn't stir. Not even when I lightly rake my fingers through her hair. Or when I carefully skim them over her stomach.
When she still doesn't move, I place my palm flat against where our baby is growing.
Keeping my voice barely above a whisper, for the first time, I talk to my unborn child.
“Hi baby, it's your dad. I want you to know, I love you already, and I’ll love you forever.
No matter what happens. You're the best unexpected surprise I've ever had in life. And I swear, I will do everything I can to give you a life full of love and happiness. Your mom… I never saw her coming.” I pause, swallowing down the emotions that are rising.
“But now, I can't imagine my life without her or you in it.”
This moment is everything I want. And if this moment is all I get, I'll take it. And cherish it forever.
But goddamn it, I don’t want this to be it. I want more.