Chapter 21
Hadley
I thanked him anyway. Quietly. To the empty hallway.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
He crossed to the couch, hesitated, then sat on the opposite end. Not close. Not far. Just… there.
Eli was in his room with headphones on, doing math homework. The tutor had left an hour ago. The apartment felt too quiet.
Cal rubbed his palms on his thighs. “How was the day?”
“Fine. Eli’s tutor said he’s finally getting quadratic equations without melting down.”
“Good. That’s… good.”
Silence stretched.
He glanced at my stomach. “Any kicks today?”
“Lots.” I set the laundry basket aside. “Want to feel?”
He nodded once. Moved closer, slow, like I might bolt. His hand hovered over the curve before settling lightly. Palm warm through my T-shirt.
A kick answered almost immediately. Hard. Right under his fingers.
His breath caught. “Jesus. That’s… aggressive.”
I laughed despite myself. “Yeah. He’s got your temper already.”
Cal’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “Or yours.”
Another kick. Stronger.
He didn’t pull away. Just left his hand there, thumb brushing small, absent circles. Like he was testing if the contact would burn him.
I watched his face. The way his brows furrowed, the way his jaw worked like he was chewing on words he didn’t know how to spit out.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked quietly.
“Doing what?”
“Coming home. Asking. Touching. All of it.”
He looked at me then. Really looked. “Because I’m trying.”
“Trying what?”
“To not fuck this up completely.”
The honesty hit harder than I expected. I swallowed. “Okay.”
He exhaled. “I read that they can hear voices now. Around this week. So I’ve been… talking to it. When you’re asleep.”
My chest tightened. “What do you say?”
“Stupid shit mostly. ‘Don’t be an asshole like your dad.’ ‘Eat your vegetables.’ ‘Don’t date drummers.’”
I snorted. “Solid advice.”
He shrugged. “Figured I should get a head start on the dad jokes.”
We sat like that for a while. His hand still on my stomach. Mine resting over his knuckles. Not holding. Just… there.
Then my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Anna
I picked it up. Cal glanced over but didn’t ask.
The text was simple.
Hi Hadley. I hope this isn’t intrusive. I was going through some storage boxes and found a few things from when Cal was little, onesies, a couple of soft blankets, a bassinet that’s still in good shape.
I washed everything. If you’d like any of it, I can bring it over.
Or send it. No pressure. Also, I spoke with my OB years ago and she recommended a prenatal vitamin brand that didn’t upset my stomach.
I can send the name if it helps. Take care of yourself, sweetheart. – Anna
I stared at the screen until it blurred.
Cal noticed. “What?”
“Your mom.”
He tensed. “What’d she say?”
“She’s offering baby stuff. Old stuff of yours. And vitamins. Said she washed everything.”
He looked away. Jaw tight. “She’s… she’s always been like that. Collecting things. Hoping they’ll matter later.”
I reread the message. The word sweetheart sat heavy in my throat.
“I don’t know how to answer,” I admitted.
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.” The words surprised me. “She’s not… she’s not pushing. She’s just… offering.”
Cal rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s how she is. Quiet help. No strings.”
I typed back slowly.
Thank you, Anna. That would mean a lot. The bassinet especially. And the vitamin name would be helpful. I’ve been struggling with nausea. I appreciate you thinking of me.
Sent.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Of course, darling. I’ll pack it up tomorrow and Cal can grab it whenever he’s free. Or I can drop it off if that’s easier. Sending the vitamin info now. And if you ever want to talk, about anything, I’m here. No judgment.
I set the phone down. Hands shaking a little.
Cal watched me. “You okay?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had… that. Someone checking in. Not because they have to. Just because.”
He nodded once. Didn’t say anything else.
The next afternoon Cal texted he couldn’t make the baby store run. Something about Syd, family drama, her dad again, she was “falling apart.” He said he had to go. Left his black card on the counter with a Post-it: Use it. Whatever you need.
Eli had tutoring until six. Zariah was in Las Vegas, flourishing, and moving on, I told her what happened between Syd and Holland and she practically blocked him. I stared at the card for ten minutes before I called Kei.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Hads.”
“Hey. Are you busy?”
“Nah. Just got out of a writing session. What’s up?”
“I need to go baby shopping. Cal can’t make it. Eli’s with the tutor. I… I don’t want to do it alone.”
Silence for half a second. Then, " I’ll be there in twenty.”
He showed up in a faded hoodie and jeans, hair messy, no pretense.
We drove to the baby store in his truck. He kept the radio low, some old indie playlist. Didn’t fill the silence with bullshit.
Inside the store smelled like new plastic and lavender. I pushed the cart. Kei walked beside me.
“Pick whatever,” he said. “Cal’s card has no limit. Might as well abuse it.”
I laughed. “I’m not trying to bankrupt him.”
“You won’t. Trust me.”
We started with basics. Crib sheets. Diapers. A changing pad. Kei held up a tiny pair of socks with guitars on them.
“Too on the nose?”
“Perfect,” I said.
He dropped them in the cart.
We moved to bottles. Pacifiers. A breast pump I wasn’t sure I’d even use.
Kei grabbed a pack of burp cloths. “These are lifesavers. My sister had a kid last year. She said she went through like fifty a day at first.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah. Younger. Lives in Portland now. Married. Two kids. She’s the functional one.”
I smiled. “What about you?”
“Me? Still trying to figure out how to be an adult without breaking everything.”
We laughed. Quiet. Easy.
In the furniture aisle we found the crib I’d been eyeing online, gray, simple, convertible.
Kei crouched, checked the assembly instructions on the box. “This one’s solid. Good reviews. You want it?”
“Yeah.”
He flagged down an employee. Paid with Cal’s card like it was nothing.
Back at the house he insisted on helping carry everything up. Eli was still with the tutor, so we had the place to ourselves.
We started assembling the crib in the spare room that was slowly becoming a nursery.
Kei read the directions out loud while I held pieces steady.
“Step four: insert dowel A into slot B. Christ, who writes these?”
I laughed so hard I almost dropped the side rail.
He grinned. “You okay over there, preggo?”
“Shut up. You’re the one who can’t tell left from right.”
We worked for almost two hours. Joking. Teasing. At one point he told me about growing up with Syd...how her dad used to disappear for weeks, how she’d cry herself to sleep on his couch because her mom was working doubles.
“We've been cleaning up her messes since we were twelve,” he said quietly, tightening a screw. “Feels like habit now. Obligation. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
I handed him another screw. “You don’t have to keep doing it.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I know. But knowing and doing are different.”
I watched him. Steady hands. Calm voice. No chaos behind his eyes.
“You’re a good friend, Kei.”
He glanced up. “Trying to be.”
We finished the crib. Stepped back. It looked… real. Solid.
“Thanks,” I said. “For today. For everything.”
He smiled, small, genuine. “Anytime, Hads.”
The front door opened.
Cal.
He walked in, stopped in the doorway of the nursery. Saw us standing there, me smiling, Kei wiping sawdust off his hands, the crib half-made, boxes everywhere.
His face didn’t change. Not really.
But something in his eyes flattened.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied.
Kei nodded. “We got the crib up. Almost done.”
Cal looked at it. Then at me. Then at Kei.
“Cool.”
One word. Flat.
Kei glanced between us. “I should head out. Early session tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Cal said. “Thanks for helping.”
Kei squeezed my shoulder once, light, friendly. “Text me if you need anything else.”
He left.
Cal stood there. Hands in pockets.
I waited.
He didn’t speak.
Finally, I said, “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Another lie.
He walked past me into the bedroom. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t yell. Just… closed it.
Soft click.
I stood in the half-finished nursery alone. Hand on my stomach.
Later that night he climbed into bed beside me. Didn’t speak. Just slid his hand over the bump like it was routine now.
His breathing evened out fast.
Mine didn’t.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest against my back.
His hand stayed on the baby.
But the rest of him felt miles away.
I wondered, quiet, aching, if trying was enough when he still couldn’t look me in the eye and say he wanted this.
Wanted us.
Wanted me.
The baby kicked against his palm.
He didn’t stir.
I closed my eyes.
Hope felt heavier than fear ever had.