Chapter 14
LAUNDRY DAY
Like any sane person, I loathed laundry day.
More now that I had fewer suitable clothes, even with the new items I got Saturday.
One of my college friends posted online about how she’d been able to maintain running thirty-five miles and three lifting sessions a week and that, even five months into her pregnancy, she could still fit into most of her clothes—good for her, seriously, but that was not me.
In one of the team sweatshirts Barry brought home for me and a too-small pair of shorts that stretched below my stomach, I stuffed my feet into a pair of boots and pulled on a coat before lugging both of my laundry baskets stacked atop each other to the garage.
It was cold as hell, which I found especially rude because it was sunny out, but it snowed most of Sunday and the air and ground were still wet. I picked my way carefully toward the garage and startled to hear my name called.
In whirling around, I almost slipped, but I righted myself and my tower of laundry as Barry rushed to my side.
“Hey, hey, let me take that.” He dropped his duffle and took the two baskets from my arms to bring them the rest of the way.
“I was doing just fine,” I told him.
“Are you even wearing pants?”
“Yes!” I scoffed, indignant, even while the skin of my thighs and calves stung with the cold. “They’re just shorter than my coat.”
“Come on.” He jerked his head at the garage side door, and I followed him in. It was barely warmer than outside.
I started loading my stuff into the washing machine, batting his hands away when he tried to hand me more of the colored clothes.
“How far on your home renovation list is the laundry room project?” he asked. He was in a baggy hoodie and sweats, a typical post-practice outfit.
“Far,” I admitted. “The garage is working fine, it’s not so bad.”
“It’s dangerous!” he said. “And do you know how much laundry a baby goes through?”
I didn’t say anything, because in fact I did not know how much laundry a baby went through.
I imagined not a ton, other than spit up rags, and I put near a million of those on my baby registry.
I’d been doing laundry like this fine for the last year, and even longer because I used to help grandma with her laundry before she died.
Though I could admit that lugging my hampers in the snow was my personal hell in winter.
Even still, the laundry room wasn’t the priority.
“I want to do the bathroom and kitchen first,” I said.
Barry let out a distressed sound. “You haven’t even started the kitchen.”
“Well, I bought the flooring, which counts.” It was in boxes stacked in the garage, and I pointed at them. “I have a couple quotes for the cabinets and counter, I just need to save a little longer.”
And buy a car.
“How much?”
I paused in pouring detergent into the drum and raised an eyebrow at him.
“How much?” he repeated. “How much to finish the bathroom and kitchen renovation?”
I shut the lid of the washer and turned the knob to get the water going.
“A few thousand,” I said, though by a few I actually meant seven, which felt like a long way to go.
I didn’t think I’d have the kitchen or the bathroom done before the baby came, which was fine because both rooms were livable.
As was the laundry situation. Not ideal, but timelines shifted when I learned that to even deliver the baby, I would have to pay my entire out-of-pocket maximum for my health insurance. It wasn’t going to be cheap.
“Let me pay for it, then,” he said, and I gave a too-dramatic guffaw. Couldn’t help it.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Laundry started, I led us from the garage back to the house. He picked up his duffle and, to my mortification, a pair of underwear that fell in my near slip.
I snatched them from his hand and stuffed them in my coat pocket. “You can’t just pay for my house renovations, it’s my house.”
“And the house of our baby,” he pointed out. “And, like you said, I’m rich.”
“I said that to remind you that you have better options of living than my living room or the tiny room in my basement.”
“Well, I happen to like your short basement. It’s cozy.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You never let me buy things,” he whined and dropped his bag in the spot under the coats that I now think of as his hockey bag spot.
“I let you buy plenty of things. You buy all the groceries.”
“I bet we could get all the renovations done before the baby comes if you were just a little less stubborn.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.” I shed my coat. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you in the first place. I’m not trying to trap you into paying for everything, Barry.”
“But I want to pay for things. That’s the thing, you don’t even give me the choice to help, you would have kept her from me forever if I didn’t get traded.”
I didn’t deny this because we’d already covered that he was exactly right. I didn’t know how many times we were going to have to hash this one out before he forgave me for being imperfect and morally unsound in disclosing the paternity of this baby.
“Can I at least see the plans?” he asked. “You have plans, right?”
“Yes, I have plans for the kitchen. I’m not just renovating by vibes.”
“Can I see them?”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re not going to let me help pay for them, then I want to see what we are working toward so I can at least help with the heavy lifting when the time comes.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, but I closed my mouth, my dad’s assessment that I was “needlessly contradictory” running through my mind.
“Fine.”
Trading my outside boots for inside slippers, I shuffled across the house to retrieve my laptop from my nightstand.
I brought it back into the kitchen and set it on the counter before pulling up the plans I had for the kitchen.
Instead of letting me hand the computer over, he came to look over my shoulder, his body radiating heat.
I took a quiet breath and focused on anything other than the way standing this near him made me feel tingly all over. Made me remember his hands all over me.
The slide deck was mostly for my own organization, mood boards, color pallets, inspiration pictures, measurements, quotes from different contractors and supply companies, and even a sequence of events for the renovation.
Barry clicked through each slide silently, his lips turned down in concentration as his arm brushed casually against mine.
I felt itchy watching him look at my plans, first for the kitchen, then for the bathroom, the living room, the basement.
Minutes passed like this, him carefully reviewing my ideas, me looking over his shoulder and feeling nervous about it.
“Hannah, did you make these?” he said after moving through the entire renovation plan.
“Yeah.” I crossed over my chest. “I’ve been working on it for a long time. Had a lot of time to think about it.”
“This is amazing,” he said, then looked up at me like I was something astounding. We still stood too close for comfort, barely a foot between our faces. “Seriously, it’s incredible.”
I blinked, shocked. “I—it’s just a PowerPoint.”
To be honest, the plans were awesome. I had thought so much about them, done so much research, had clearly outlined what I needed to save for and the order in which I wanted to get them done.
It was going to take me years, and my plans might change for certain rooms in that time, but it really was going to be great.
“Have you done this before? Like as a job?”
I frowned and shook my head.
“No, but I learned a lot from helping my mom redo one of her bathrooms. Watched a lot of home renovation shows and series online. Still a lot I have to learn.”
“You could give this bible to anyone, and they could figure out how to build you the home of your dreams. It’s incredibly thought out.”
I thought of it as the house bible, too. I loved making it, researching, finding the things I wanted and then locating the best prices was exciting to me. I loved thinking about it because I loved the idea that I could take something and make it mine.
“Well,” I started, but didn’t know exactly what to say.
I felt defensive, but he was complimenting me, looking so earnestly impressed by my work I felt embarrassed.
I swallowed and took a step away from him, needing the distance before I started staring at his mouth and remembering what it felt like on mine. “Thank you.”
“I want to help you with these, I mean it,” he said, and I believed him. He was always so sincere, so honest. It’s what I liked about him that first night, and what’s still so nice about him now. He’s just good.
“What project are you working on next?” he asked.
“There are a bunch of little things I want to get done before the baby, but redoing the bathroom will be the next big project I tackle. I already have some of the supplies, but not everything. It’ll be a lot. I need to demo everything, then build it all back.”
Barry thought about this for a minute, then nodded, something decided in his mind. I didn’t like the look, but he didn’t explain or offer to buy me anything again, so I wasn’t going to question it.
He reached his hand across the counter and rested it on my wrist, sending heat radiating from the five points of contact of his skin and mine all the way up my arm. Did he know the effect he had on me? Could he see it from just my face alone? It embarrassed me how much I craved closeness to him.
“I meant what I said about the plans. They’re really, really good. You have a talent for this.”
I squeezed my lips together, then pushed them up into a smile. “Thanks.”
Barry nodded and headed for the basement door.
“Do you work again today?” he asked before descending the flight.
“Not tonight.”
“Come to the game? It’s the last one before a road trip,” he said. “I’ll get seats for whoever you want.”
I thought, objectively, this was a bad idea.
Going to hockey games wearing clothes with his name on them wasn’t the best idea for keeping us strictly platonic—or even better, just roommates—through this pregnancy.
I saw it when his eyes found me in the stands, when he came home to see me in one of the team shirts or clothes he got for me.
He was getting attached. He wore it so clearly. He wanted to pay to fix my house, to flirt with me in the kitchen, to go to all family dinners, and I wanted it right back.
Wanting wasn’t enough, though, not when we had a baby almost here. I felt like she deserved parents who were sure. Stable.
I needed to protect my heart from Barry in case he came to find that these feelings had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fact that I was carrying his baby.
I needed to remind myself of this.
“Please?” he added after too many seconds of hesitation.
“Fine.” I pretended I didn’t see his face light up at the answer. “My parents will be thrilled.”