23. Sophie
CHAPTER 23
Sophie
W hen Alex told me he'd bought a house for us—the house I'd fallen in love with the very minute I had first driven past it many years ago—, I was stunned, gobsmacked to the point where my ears were ringing and my heart was flapping like bird wings in my chest.
It was a picture-perfect house that looked like something straight out of Country Living , with exposed beams, shiplap panels, an open floor plan, and exposed lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. A house I was madly in love with.
But then Alex mentioned the seller was in a hurry to close the deal because he was moving to the UK, and we could move a lot earlier than anticipated. That had brought up a wave of anxiety. There was just too much to do. Packing and moving and buying whatever was missing, considering the two of us didn’t exactly own a ton of furniture.
Moving while pregnant seemed like the worst idea. And on top of all that, I was still walking on eggshells with Vicki. Except the eggshells were a tightrope and I was ten stories up, waiting for that moment when I’d lose my balance and fall to my death, for that moment when
Vicki would come to her normal senses and take her anger out on me again.
I didn’t know what was worse, the silent treatment or the screaming.
But now, as the sunlight gushed through the window, bouncing off the freshly painted white walls of the nursery, it all felt worth it—the packing, the moving, the late evening unpacking. Every bit of time Alex and I spent together in our house was like a new conversation, a new adventure. We explored each room, spent hours deciding what shade of cream to paint the living room, even longer to decide if we wanted to convert the office into a library with an expansive built-in bookcase, and then playfully argued over the size of the dining room table.
Alex wanted a ten-seater, and I couldn’t imagine entertaining more than eight guests at a time.
Sitting down on the rocking chair, I gently pushed back and let it sway me back and forth. My eyes wandered to the framed pictures—one of a baby giraffe and the other of a baby elephant—hanging on the wall, the compactum and the wooden play gym supported over the changing mat, the cupboard with empty hangers, and then to Alex in the middle of the room.
He was tackling a crib. He had a deep crease on his forehead—though the expression on his face had changed drastically over the last hour, moving from “I got this” to “What the hell am I doing wrong?” Once I even heard him mutter, “Why are there so many screws?”
This Alex, kneeling on the hardwood floor, frowning deeply to make sense of the screws, was so different from the man I had met seven months ago, the man who had rear-ended my car and reluctantly offered to exchange information in that smug, arrogant way.
The Alex I knew now was anything but smug; he was everything I wanted in a man and more. Every day brought new discoveries, like the fact that Alex always started on his side of the bed, but somewhere in the night, I’d wake up to his limbs flung over my body. He refused to drink coffee before he brushed his teeth and he never, ever walked barefoot in the house—he wore either slippers or slops. He could also sense my mood the minute he walked through the door, and surprised me every Sunday morning with cinnamon buns.
He was a man who loved me, and I loved him.
“Pistachio or olive?” I said, holding up the two paint swatches I couldn’t choose between. Olive green was warm and earthy and gave that grounded feel to the room, whereas pistachio felt more lively, more cheerful. The decision was excruciating. Imagine if I got it wrong and spent the next year hating the nursery. “This is probably the most important decision of our lives, Alex. Choose wisely.”
Alex glanced up in my direction, a screw held between his teeth. For a second there, he just stared blankly, as if he hadn’t heard me at all, but then he spat the screw into his palm and pointed to the swatch I liked the least—pistachio green. Though in all fairness, I had only realized I didn’t love the color right when he pointed it out.
“Olive green it is,” I said, pushing on the armrests to get myself up. “We can start painting tomorrow.”
He pressed his lips flat, and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe I had asked the question when I already knew the answer—the same look he’d given me when I asked him what color throw pillows we wanted, even though I had already ordered a set of clay orange ones.
“How’s the cot coming along?” I asked.
Alex wiped his palm across his forehead. “You’d think an orthopedic surgeon should be able to assemble one of these without needing an engineering degree and a miracle.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I said, walking to him. I brushed my fingertips across the back of his neck, moving them down to that lovely birthmark just below his jaw, the shape of which I still hadn’t figured out yet. Just a cute-looking blob. “It’s supposed to be hard. Prepares us for parenthood.”
“I think all those baby books should be more than enough preparation.”
“And I think there’s a whole world out there that will disagree with you.” I chuckled; not entirely sure I was even a little bit prepared for just how drastically our lives were going to change. At least Alex seemed to be the optimist.
He then waved the screwdriver in the air like it was a scalpel. “Well, I’m just glad my surgical skills don’t depend on assembling this thing , otherwise we’d be in trouble.”
“You’re doing great.”
Alex leaned his cheek into my palm, and then I left him to finish what he was doing while I walked over to the cupboard.
The only items of clothing I’d bought so far were two seafoam green onesies. Unisex. We weren’t finding out the genders until the baby shower next weekend, and all the old wives' tales—thicker hair, craving salty over sweet food, slower heartbeat—were enough to tell us that we were having boys. Not that it mattered. Alex and I weren’t fussed over the gender, as long as the babies were healthy—
“I’m done,” Alex declared, clapping his hands together. He pushed himself up and turned to me, the smile on his face so bright it could light up the inside of a cinema. “Now I never want to assemble one of these—”
“You still have one cot left,” I interrupted, biting back the laugh I knew was going to erupt from my stomach. Alex had spent at least two hours today putting that cot together.
Another two hours would surely kill him.
He whipped his head my way, his eyes big and bulging and his mouth slightly agape. “What do you mean?” he huffed. “I thought we decided they’d share a crib until they’re a bit bigger . . . Where’s Danny?” Alex glanced back to the hallway like he expected my brother to stand there waiting. “Why isn’t he helping us with this?” he pointed at the newly assembled crib with the built-in storage room. Danny had imported them from Sweden and sworn they were the best money could buy. If it was up to me, I would’ve found a second-hand one online. “ He’s the one who bought the most complicated crib in the world. I bet it is one of his tests on you.”
I laughed to the point where I had to run a finger under each eye, and even more when Alex looked at me as if I was crazy.
“You’re joking, right, Soph?” he said, walking toward me, one hand out. He wrapped his fingers around my upper arm and brushed his thumb along my skin. His touch was as hot as it had been that very first time so many months ago, outside that fancy restaurant, in that garden with the trees surrounding it like shadows. “I don’t really have to build up another one of these today," he said, smiling goofily as if the idea were actually absurd, ridiculous, and entirely necessary.
“You can always do it tomorrow,” I teased, knowing it would get a reaction out of him. Every single one of Alex’s reactions, even the I-am-terribly-annoyed ones, were endearing in their way. He never raised his voice. He never got snotty or resentful, and our arguments would usually lead to one of us apologizing—usually him.
“Call him,” Alex said, his face turning serious again. “Tell him to get his butt over here and help.”
“I can’t,” I replied. “He’s getting ready for his date tonight, and even if he weren’t going out, he’d use his tennis elbow pain as an excuse to get out of helping.”
“A date?” Alex asked, raising a single brow. He released my arm and stepped back, leaning against the cot railing. We both sighed softly in relief when the cot held firm. “With whom?”
I shrugged. When Danny had called last night to cancel helping with the nursery today, I’d asked him why, and naturally pressed him when he hesitated. It wasn’t like my brother to keep quiet about his love life—sometimes he even overshared. But this time, I couldn’t get a single detail out of him. “I’ve got no idea. He refused to tell me, said he didn’t want to jinx the date.”
Alex started to say something, then stopped. I wasn’t a mind reader, but I sure as hell could tell what he was thinking—the same thing I was thinking: that Danny was not joking the other night and decided to track down Vicki. It seemed a bit far-fetched perhaps, but it was entirely possible. Danny was the kind of person who loved doing the exact opposite of what I told him. Besides, I thought it was him to test if Alex was truly over Vicki.
“Nah,” Alex said after a minute and shook his head. “He wouldn’t . . . I mean . . . Do you think he would?”
“Date Vicki?” I asked. As soon as the words were out, they sounded outlandish, impossible. Of course, Danny wouldn’t date my boss. Of course, he had more sense than that. Hadn’t I complained enough about her? Come on, not after the way she mistreated his older
sister.
“Yes,” Alex said, staring deep into my eyes as if he hoped the answers were in my irises.
Unfortunately, they were not.
“No, of course, he wouldn’t.” I shook my head, doubting the words when they came out of my mouth. “He would never.”
Alex didn’t look convinced, and I sure as hell wasn’t. The only reason Danny wouldn’t share the details of his date was if he felt I’d disapprove. My brother dating Vicki wasn’t exactly high on the list of things I wanted to deal with at the moment.
“You’re right,” Alex said after some more pondering. “You’re absolutely right. He probably just met some woman at that organic market he’s always talking about.”
“Exactly. I’m sure he’ll tell us all about his date next weekend at the baby shower.”
The subject of Danny and his mystery date lingered in the air for a few awkward moments. But then Alex pulled me into his arms and held me close. He smelled like wood shavings and paint, and when I pressed my cheek to his chest, savoring the way he pulled me flush against him, I could hear the slow rhythm of his heart.
“Are you still happy to host Sam and Maya for dinner tomorrow night?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
“Of course,” I said, glancing up at him, noticing the faint stubble on his chin. Considering it was Saturday, and we’d gone straight into tackling the nursery after waking up, Alex hadn’t had time to shave just yet. I kind of hoped he wouldn’t. That five o’clock shadow was hot as hell. “I’m actually excited.”
“Are you really?”
“I am, and I know exactly what I’m going to make for dinner. Chicken Parmigiano. You think Sam will like it?”
“He’ll love it.”