Chapter 23
Tessa
Six Months Pregnant
It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Fitz, and it feels like three months. Work has kept me in LA for the past two weekends, and Fitz has been working crazy hours getting ready for the spring harvest, so he hasn’t been able to come down.
So I’m feeling a nervous flutter in my belly at the thought of seeing him. I know it’s silly. Nothing has changed between us. But it almost feels like a first date as I sit outside the back entrance to the baby shop near my house in LA.
The screech of tires makes me look up. Fitz steers his truck into the parking lot and pulls to a halt in a parking space.
He gets out and slams the door. I can tell something’s off.
His head hangs down, and he digs the toes of his boots into the ground, taking out whatever’s bothering him on the asphalt parking lot.
I'm so used to seeing him at the ranch with his sun-kissed skin and his comfortable outdoor attitude setting the tone. He doesn’t see me, evidenced by the angry set of his jaw as he speed walks toward the back door of the shop.
“Hey,” I say.
He looks up, recognizing me. His expression softens a little. It’s not quite a smile, but he looks slightly less annoyed, pulling his sunglasses off.
“Oh, hi. I didn't see you there.”
“I know. Don't worry, you're not late. It's all good.”
“Right, right. Okay, yeah, let's do this.”
Something is off. There’s none of his usual care and attention, checking out how much bigger I’ve gotten, putting a hand on my belly to feel for movement. He crosses his arms. Closed off. Edgy.
“Are you sure? We can go grab a cup of coffee and catch up for a few minutes if you want. Maybe we should do that.”
For a moment, he looks like he might agree, but then he shakes his head. “No. Let's just get this done.”
It's the first time since I told him I was pregnant that our time together feels like a business transaction. My stomach dips, and I fight the sting of disappointment that he’s not in the mood for this.
Maybe it’s the jolt I need. I've been letting myself daydream into thinking we’re turning into something more like a couple. But when this is the vibe he brings to a few hours at a baby store, I need to set myself straight.
“Okay, well, let's get going then, I guess. I have a list.”
“Great,” he says. Again, he doesn’t look at me. He seems preoccupied.
Inside, the store is full of couples and women with their moms. A lot of rounded bellies and baby bumps, a few wide-eyed, terrified parents-to-be, and a lot of happy, thrilled couples.
I want to look like the happy group. I want this day to be a memory I’ll look back on, but instead I’m here with a guy who seems like he wants to get it over with.
“Jesus, it’s pastel everywhere I look. Who knew a baby needed all of this shit?” he asks.
“Relax. We don't need to get all of it. Just a few necessities. And whatever we get, let’s double up so we're not having to cart things back and forth up the coast.” I keep my tone calm, even though the quantity of baby gear in the store is making me hyperventilate too. But he’s in worse shape, and someone needs to calm this guy the heck down.
“Okay, fine. Sure. What's on the list?” He's emotionless and all business. I've never seen this side of him. I remind myself I still don’t know him that well outside of fantasy dates that have little to do with reality. Maybe this is who he is when he’s not on a horse.
Fitz takes the list from my hand and starts scanning it. “Okay, so strollers, let's get those. Um, where are they?” he asks.
“Fitz.” I hold up a hand. “I can't do this with you like this. I don't know what's going on, but you can either talk to me, or we can leave and do this another day.”
“I drove all the way down here,” he says, aggravation lines striping his forehead. “We're doing this now.”
“Okay, but let’s be clear—I’m letting you off the hook if there are other things that need your attention today. I can go through this list myself and send you pictures before I make the final decision. It's not a big deal. It doesn’t need to be so stressful.”
“Did I ever say it was stressful?” His edgy tone is the epitome of stress, and I start to worry that he’s having second thoughts about co-parenting with me. Maybe all this baby gear is making it real, and he wants out.
“Can we just walk outside for a minute?” I ask, keeping my tone as even as possible, even though I'm getting frustrated.
“Fine, whatever you want.”
He follows me to the exit. For the first time since I've known him, Fitz doesn't pull the door open for me.
Yeah, something's definitely wrong.
I push the door open and walk through, holding it until he grabs it, seeming to realize at that moment that he wasn't the gentleman he always is.
“Sorry. I should have gotten that for you. Fuck.” He closes his eyes, defeated. Or even tortured over the omission, and I see a glimmer of the man I know, the one who goes out of his way to be there for me.
“It's okay. Come. On the next block, there's a smoothie place, and they have some pretty good caffeine-free drinks.”
“Yeah. Okay. I probably don't need any more caffeine.”
“Well, you need something,” I snap.
He looks at me, helpless and confused now, instead of irritable. “I do?”
My patience dissolves. “Um, yes. An attitude adjustment. This is supposed to be exciting, or at least a little bit fun, but you’re being a jerk.
I’m not going to raise two babies, and I’m not going to let you ruin something joyful.
So if you’re having a bad day, you have two options.
You can let me in, and I’m here to listen.
But I’m not going to be your emotional punching bag, so if you can’t pull it together, you should go home and we’ll do this another time. ”
He grits his teeth, and a muscle in his jaw jumps like a snapped rubber band. I almost expect him to walk away, until his shoulders finally drop and he shakes his head. “I’m an asshole. I’m so sorry, Tessa. You don’t deserve that.”
The anger seeps from me, replaced by sadness. “Will you please talk to me?”
He nods. “I’m shitty at that.”
“Be better.”
I escort him up the street past a dry cleaner and a gelato place to the smoothie shop, which has a small patio in the back. I order a strawberry banana smoothie, and he orders a green juice.
We say nothing to each other while the drinks are being whipped in large blenders.
Fitz swipes his credit card in the machine without looking at it, and we take our drinks to the outdoor tables, where it’s quiet.
I know there's no way he'll talk to me if there's anyone within earshot, and I need him to talk to me.
We sit for a good two minutes, each sipping our drinks and Fitz not saying a word.
Somehow, this is preferable to him barking terse little responses to my suggestions about baby gear. We sit quietly, and eventually Fitz puts a hand on my knee. I cover his with my own and feel the tension begin to ebb.
I drink a little more of my drink and check my phone.
Two of my sisters have already asked what color stroller I've picked out, still thinking I secretly know the gender. This is their attempt to be sneaky, thinking I'm going to somehow give something away if I let them know what color I chose.
“Still don't know the gender. Not going to know the gender,” I type. “All baby stuff will be green and beige.”
They respond with hearts and emoji.
I put the phone down and study Fitz. He looks wrecked, replacing my earlier frustration with concern because this is not just about traffic or confusion over stroller models.
Fitz turns my hand over and interlaces his fingers with mine. The warmth of his skin comforts me in that way it does each time he touches me, and my brain forgets about everything except how it feels with him right now. It feels good.
I’m sure that once the baby comes and my hormones calm down, my daydreams about a romantic future with Fitz will disappear.
For now, however, we're still in this no-man's-land between being friends with feelings and being future parents who are not a couple.
I don't think either one of us knows how to navigate it properly.
The best thing I can do right now is be here for him as a friend.
“Anything you want to tell me?” I ask.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Not really.”
“That’s not gonna work for me.”
He exhales. “Fine. It's my brother. Seems like things between him and his wife are done, which has sent him into a downward spiral. I guess I didn't think it would really happen, and I kept telling him to hang on and to just be optimistic. I think I made it worse.”
“What kind of downward spiral?” I ask.
“Alcohol. That’s his thing. He…drinks. A lot. Been a problem for years, but now he’s lower than I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, Fitz, I'm so sorry.” My heart hurts for him. It’s not at all what I was expecting him to say. I thought maybe he was troubled by his ranch or the town or questions about my progress on a new legal case. Something that involved me.
It makes me realize that so much of his life is separate. There’s so much I don’t know about him, and I wonder if he’ll share it. Probably not unless he has to.
Fitz lets out a long breath. “You know, honestly, I feel better just telling you. I’ve been carrying this around since early this morning, when he called me and cried for two hours straight. I…just don’t know how to help him.” He exhales hard. “Sorry. I needed to get it off my chest.”
“Don’t be sorry. Fitz, please, you have nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault. Of course, you're going to be optimistic about his marriage and tell him that things will work out for the best. You wanted things to work out. He wanted that too. It’s not wrong to say it.”
“Yeah, but in his case, it gave him an unrealistic expectation and that made him fall from an even higher place. I'm just worried now he's going to hit the bottle hard, which is what he does. And one of these times he may not recover, and then that's on me.”