Chapter five
Damon's Home, London
August 2021
Emma
I lower the image onto the glass dining table. It’s a simple square photo, predominantly black with a white blob at its center. The date and time stamp tells us it was taken yesterday at exactly 4:23 p.m.
“Do you want to know the sex?” I ask, my tone laced with disappointment. Damon didn’t come to the twenty-week baby scan, even though I told him when and where. He never even replied to the message I sent him in the morning to remind him.
“No,” he mutters in reply. “And don’t start buying fucking baby clothes in pink or blue.”
Without a word, I place the second envelope in my hand on the table beside him. Written across the front are the names Damon and Connie, and beneath them, Your Baby’s Sex—open if you wish. I had asked the nurse to write the sex on a slip of paper and put it in the envelope.
His eyes move to the item and pause. He glances at me, and I scowl back then turn to walk away. My tears threaten to fall, but I will them not to. As I leave the kitchen, I hear him whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
***
“So, how are things at home?” Harrison asks casually.
I’m sitting opposite him in his office taking notes for an upcoming meeting.
We’re going over points he wishes to discuss with his client, who is accused of embezzling thousands of pounds from his family business.
On paper, his guilt is obvious, but the more time I spend in the firm, the more apparent it is that Harrison Waite can make anyone believe anything.
Part of me is convinced we’ll win, even though the evidence is stacked against us.
“Difficult,” I answer bluntly. My fitted navy dress cuts in around my middle as my stomach swells. It feels like the last two weeks have brought with them a much larger baby bump.
“Anything I can help with?”
“Got a time machine?” I snap back, irritated by his questioning. The situation makes me uncomfortable enough without having to talk about it. “Maybe transport yourself back to June and stop someone murdering his wife, that could help.”
“Emma,” he says with a sigh. “I understand it must be a sensitive situation. I’ve seen massive changes in Damon myself these past weeks. But I am also aware you are with child, working, and studying, never mind living with a recently bereaved man who you haven’t known long.”
I blink at him, slightly stunned by his direct summary of my situation.
“My question is because my concern lies with you. Damon is one of my closest friends, but he’s not himself. If supporting you in some way at this difficult time will help him, then I’d like to do that. Anything you need, just ask. I loved Connie like a sister,
and the baby you are carrying was her dream. Damon will come around. The pain is still fresh and sadly you remind him every day of what Connie wanted so badly.”
“He’s so cold,” I mumble, then reprimand myself for being honest.
“He’s grieving. Give him space but keep him informed. In the meantime, if you need anything, come to me.”
That evening, Damon and I sit down to the simple dinner I’ve made. Each day we barely talk beyond what is necessary; life is anything but comfortable. The awkward silence constantly rings in my ears when we are together. The reality of having so much to say, with no words to say it.
But, since Connie’s death, we’ve managed to maintain this small routine she imposed upon us. As soon as Damon came home from work, the three of us would sit down and eat a meal together. Now, two of us do and tonight, it is spaghetti bolognese.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” Damon says. His words come completely out of nowhere as I ladle a spoonful of pasta into my mouth. “My behavior these past weeks has been embarrassing and uncalled for. It’s not your fault this is the situation we find ourselves in.”
“It’s understandable,” I soothe, after finishing the mouthful. My eyes are looking everywhere except to the man talking to me across the table. He has taken me completely by surprise with his admission.
“Understandable perhaps, but not fair on you.”
I glance at him and see his fern-green eyes staring back at me.
Mine drop away, shy, as I feel my cheeks heat.
“I’m sorry I have been unwilling to discuss the upcoming months with you. Since Connie…”
He trails off as emotion catches in his throat, and a glaze sweeps across his eyes as his mind wanders to her.
He breathes deeply before starting to talk once more.
“I see now we’re on a timeline that I can’t control. Whether Connie is here or not, our baby is coming, and it’s up to me to step up and be the father I need to be. You were selfless in being our surrogate. This baby isn’t your responsibility beyond their birth. They are mine.”
“My reasons aren’t selfless,” I remind him. “And I do want to speak to you about after the birth. What are your plans?”
“They are what they always were,” he replies with a shrug. “You’ll move into an alternate apartment. I was thinking we should start searching for one. Maybe we can organize the rent from October on; that gives you two months to prepare before you’re due.
“When you leave the hospital, you move straight in, and I bring my child back here. Start as we mean to go on.” He talks in a professional manner, all business with no emotion like he is reading from a contract. He is, I suppose, since the contract says as soon as the baby is born—I leave.
As I go to open my mouth to argue, he starts talking again. “Harrison is very happy with how you’re progressing within the firm. He says your internship is going well.” My eyes widen with surprise at the statement.
“You spoke to him about me?”
“That wasn’t the specific reason for his call, but I do suspect it was partly to kick me in the ass about how I’ve been treating you.”
“Oh,” I mutter, embarrassed that my boss has felt it necessary to speak to him. “I hope speaking to him hasn’t annoyed you. He asked me some very direct questions.”
Damon chuckles and shakes his head. It is the first time I’ve seen any glimpse of joy from him since Connie died.
“I can imagine,” he says. “Waite is extremely convincing when he wants to be. If he wanted information from you, I have no doubt he would obtain it. He gave me some very direct truths.”
“He did?” My stomach sinks as all the possible things he could have said run through my mind. Damon nods. “It wasn’t his place to do that. I told him I was okay.”
“He didn’t believe you. And judging by the color of your cheeks and how uncomfortable you look, he was right not to. You need my support, not my wrath. It’s my responsibility as this baby’s father to be there, and from now on I will be.”
“Thank you.” My eyes move to the envelope attached to the front of the refrigerator by a magnet.
A black cat with blue eyes and a tail that curls over the top of its head holds the results in place The words, Your Baby’s Sex- open if you wish, boldly written on the paper.
Damon follows the direction of my gaze. “Do you want to know?” I ask, not looking at him.
Without a word, he stands and walks over then removes the document from its resting place. He pauses then turns the envelope in his hands. “I suppose it would be good to know. Easier to prepare for their arrival at least.”
“What room is the nursery going in?” I ask. Connie had never made a final decision, and I’ve been wondering.
“Yours,” he says without missing a beat.
My heart strains slightly that he has moved me out already before I have even had the child.
“It’s larger and closer to mine. Though I think they’ll be in my room for a while.”
He glances at me, unsure, and I smile in encouragement.
“I’ve no idea how to look after a child. I can barely look after myself.”
“Every new parent feels like you do. No one is born knowing how to be a mother or a father; the skills develop over time.”
“You sound like a matron, not a twenty-three-year-old,” he mutters.
I blink at him, surprised he knows I’ve had my birthday.
It was the week after Connie’s death and the day passed uncelebrated.
There was little to be cheerful about. “Shall we open this and see what gender our baby is? My baby, I mean.”
He corrects his slip-up within moments, but both of us know what he said.
Neither of us mention it, but one look at him tells me guilt has already consumed him.
He moves to stand beside me as I remain sitting. Deft fingers remove the piece of paper from its hiding place, and he puts it on the table in front of us. The single word, girl, is written in swirled black writing across the blank surface.
“Shit,” he says to himself. “I have no idea what to do with one of them.”
I smile at his reaction, but in my heart I always knew it was a little girl. The perplexed man staring at the note has no idea what he’s about to take on, but I say nothing. He’s not ready for stories about teenage girls and their friends.
***
The following morning, I am surprised to find Damon sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a mug of hot, steaming coffee.
He’s dressed for the gym in shorts and a sleeveless top.
However, his feet are bare, so he doesn’t look to be leaving any time soon.
When I enter the room, he turns in my direction.
Suddenly, I feel self-conscious wearing only my cotton nightdress, which finishes just below my butt. Normally when he’s here, I wear a robe at least, but I assumed he would be gone this morning like he always is.
“Do you want a hot drink?” he asks. “Coffee. No, wait a minute, you’re not allowed coffee. Is tea okay?”
I giggle at his unexpected attempt to offer me a morning beverage. “Coffee is fine. One every so often won’t hurt this little one,” I tell him, placing a hand protectively over my belly.
His gaze drops with it, pausing on my bump where his child lies.
The air crackles for a moment with tension.
If he was my partner, I’d have expected him to walk over and kiss me.
I’m ashamed to admit that part of me wishes he would.
I chastise myself for my selfishness. He’s not interested in me beyond having this baby.
My hormones are driving me insane with ridiculous notions.