Chapter 10 #2
“You did.” He was right, I’ve always had a thing about commitment.
I knew this, and so did he after our little game of never have I ever.
It would be unfair to blame it on my parents.
When they were married, they were always committed to each other, they just didn’t always love each other.
That’s what was so alarming, I think, the fact that two people could stay together for so long when they were so positively unhappy together.
They’d been happy once. I think they really loved each other when I was little, and to be fair, they quite liked each other now, but not romantically.
They didn’t want to kiss, they just shared three beautiful children and a below-average bowling league. They had a lot in common.
“I don’t trust this,” I said. “You want to be with me because you think it’s the right thing. The baby is clouding your judgment.”
“Hannah—”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’d want to marry me if I wasn’t pregnant.”
“That’s not fair,” Barry said. “Of course I’m considering the baby. I want to give her everything she needs.”
“She needs parents who aren’t married out of obligation,” I said. “I don’t want to marry someone who doesn’t totally love me. What would that show her?”
“I—”
“Barry, if you fucking say you love me, I swear to God.”
“No,” Barry started, then stopped. He took a breath and let it out through his nose.
Out of the window behind him, the tree I used to climb as a kid swayed in the wind, its branches moving back and forth.
“I was going to say I could love you. You wouldn’t be difficult to fall in love with. I’m not opposed to it.”
“Well, I am.”
Barry looked hurt at this admission, but I didn’t know how to qualify it.
It’s not that I didn’t want someone, him even, to love me.
But I’d meant what I said; I couldn’t trust any romantic feelings from him when he was trying to be father of the year.
Of course I wanted him to care about the baby, and I wanted him to be a good dad if he was to be one at all.
But introducing romance got sticky. How could I ever know if it was real and not an act?
Or even, if not an act, then something he had to convince himself of? An obligation?
The church bell rang out down the street, three loud rings we could hear with the wind outside.
I plopped down next to him on the stool again.
Junior tried to get me to pet him, but I nudged him off the counter until he dropped to the ground and sauntered to his water bowl like that had been the plan all along.
Barry still looked like a kicked puppy, so I put my hand tentatively on his forearm.
“I think you’re wonderful,” I said. “I loved spending time with you in New York, and the—”
I almost told him how much I liked having sex with him, how I’d gotten off to the memory of his dick more times than I care to admit over the last six months. Too many times.
I cleared my throat.
“Hanging out with you was the best time I had in the city.”
Maybe the best time I had all year.
Barry looked at me and I didn’t look away.
“I wanted to text you, but I didn’t. And now I’m pregnant, and I’ve been trying really hard to figure out if you just feel bad or if you’re actually invested in being in her life.”
“I am,” Barry said. “I’ve said that. I thought I was showing that.”
I thought about waking up to find him folded up on the couch, and the influx of healthy foods and probiotic drinks in the fridge.
I could barely wrap my head around all the questions we had to discuss if we were going to co-parent a child.
It was probably more than we could talk about in a whole week, all the negotiations and logistics that go into raising a tiny human.
We couldn’t even scratch the surface today, but we could get one thing straight at least, and maybe that would be enough for now.
“I need to know that you aren’t going to try to take her from me,” I said.
Barry looked off into the space next to us, at the sink and the pink tile, the outdated cabinets. Junior had abandoned hope of us paying him attention and was settling onto his carpeted cat tree next to the couch. I heard his collar jingle as he did.
“I would never try to take her from you,” Barry said finally. “You can say I don’t know you, but I have no doubt that you’re going to be a great mother.”
His sincerity felt premature and unearned, but earnest. I hardly knew that I was going to be a decent parent.
My family said I would be the perfect mother to the perfect child, but if Kate’s insistence on micromanaging my health was any indicator, she didn’t think I was fully up to the task of carrying this baby to term without a hitch.
I was grateful for the help. It was a comfort to have someone at my appointments, and I could only do so much research before getting anxious—two brains were better than one—but I also didn’t know how to convince everyone that I wasn’t the mess that they thought I was. The mess I’d always been.
“I’m in this,” Barry said. “You aren’t doing this alone anymore.”
“Don’t tell Kate you thought I was doing this alone,” I whispered. “My whole family thinks our baby is like a shared entity.”
Barry laughed through his nose, and the tension loosened. We hadn’t covered everything, not even close, but it was a start, at least. I’d said something honest and felt somewhat convinced that Barry’s intentions were pure.
“I’ll drop any talk of romancing you.” He held one hand up and the other over his heart, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You have my word.”
“Good,” I said. “Great.”
“But if you start falling for me, it’s not my fault.”
“Right,” I said in a tone I hoped translated to not gonna happen. I sounded much more confident than I felt about this.
I stood again from the stool, ready to call the conversation to a close so he could go back to watching his little hockey clips.
I was already hungry, though, and headed for the fridge first for another yogurt where I found stacks of Tupperware, some with the same salad he’d been eating, others with what looked like spaghetti and meatballs, and asparagus?
“What’s this?” I was under the impression that the team chefs fed him like two times a day.
“Meal prep. I made them while you were out. They’re split up in servings so you can just reheat it when you’re hungry. Quick meal.”
“For me?” I pulled out a spaghetti one, tentatively taking off the lid and peering at the contents inside. Even cold it smelled delicious.
“Course.” Barry looked up from unwinding his headphones. “I know you can feed yourself, but I told you, I’m in this.”
My heart constricted at the sight of all the food in the fridge, single servings packed with care for us.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Sure.” Barry unlocked his iPad and went back to work, though not yet wearing the earphones.
His kindness made me feel both thankful and inadequate.
Like I had done nothing for him other than provide stress and sup-optimal sleeping arrangements.
The baby gave a hearty kick as if in agreement; she was already on his side.
“Barry,” I said, and his attention fell back on me immediately.
When I didn’t go on, he quirked an eyebrow.
I clicked my tongue against my teeth and stepped way closer into his personal space than was advisable.
His eyes went wide, and I was already too far into this to stop now. “Give me your hand.”
Tentatively, he put his hand in mine. I pulled it to my stomach, my face surely flaming red as I pushed his palm against me. He held his breath as I pressed it firmly against the spot she’d just kicked, and within a moment, sure enough, she kicked again.
Barry exhaled a puff of air, and an astounded smile spread over his face. I moved his hand lower, to the bottom of my stomach, where he felt her moving again.
“Our baby,” he said, then laughed. He brought his other hand to the opposite side of my bump, and the sight of both large palms on my pregnant belly was doing weird things to my hormones. Like making me feel gooey, possessive, and horny all at once. “There she is.”
I let out my own light laugh. “Yeah.”
Ours.
“Thank you, Hannah.” He shook his head back and forth, same awed expression telling me it was as unbelievable to him as it felt to me.
“You’re welcome.”
He pulled his hands rather reluctantly away from me, and I stepped back to heat up one of the meals. There: I couldn’t offer him money or a relationship, but I was growing this baby, and that wasn’t nothing, right?
I microwaved one of the containers, sprinkled it with more salt than exactly necessary, and headed for the living room to read a fanfic that Kate sent me.
“Oh, and Barry?” I called.
“Yeah?” he said from the kitchen.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”