Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
One day I’m going to learn not to answer the phone when my mother calls.
“I know , you’re busy and don’t have time,” she clucks before I can even say hello.
“Mom.” I roll my eyes, but not without a hardy stab of guilt because that is exactly what I was about to say.
“How’s the new daycare performing? You think it’s going to make it?”
I grit my teeth, rethinking my guilt. “We’re doing fine. It’s been a lot of work, but we’ve already exceeded our own expectations.”
“Really?” she says, with a clear measure of doubt. “Well, maybe that fancy partner of yours knows what he’s doing.”
“Or maybe I do,” I mutter, pulling into our driveway. “I can’t talk long. Anton and I have a date and I need to?—”
“ How is the poor dear doing?” she asks with affected sorrow. “Lydia, you give him a great big mom hug from me. I’m so glad you can at least make time for Anton around your career. You know, I’ve seen plenty of women lose husbands over?—”
“Mom?” I cut the engine. “Is there a reason you called?”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” She sniffs. “Celia said you got to meet Baby Gabey this week—isn’t he the most precious—I’m only calling to see if you’d made a decision about Thanksgiving.”
I blink, trying to let my brain catch up. “I told Celia I won’t know until it gets closer.”
“Yes, but can you find out?” my mom says, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. “I was considering going on a cruise, but then I had this marvelous idea to get all of us together. And you know, Celia and Adam are going to be moving. So this is our last chance for a real Thanksgiving at home.”
“I thought it was Celia’s idea...” I say absently, letting Heartthrob out of my car and heading for the porch. It looks like we beat Anton home. If I can get my mom off the phone, I should have time to shower and think about what to wear.
“It might’ve been. But you know, she’s so scattered now. All she wants to talk about is breast milk and diapers.” I almost laugh at the distaste in her voice. “Between you and me, she seems to need all the help she can get. I’m not sure motherhood is instinctive for her.”
“Maybe it runs in the family,” I mutter, but I can still hear my husband declaring Celia a natural . Which is a sharp reminder of the conversation ahead of me this evening; what’s at stake.
“She dotes on him too much,” my mom says, not listening. “Doesn’t do anything that isn’t about him. I’ve seen it happen, Lydia, she’s going to lose herself if she’s not careful.”
My stomach has started twisting painfully as I imagine the future I could lose. With the person I love most.
“Maybe she needs one of those live-in nannies,” I say without really thinking.
“Oh!” my mother exclaims. “An au pair—what a wonderful idea. I never had that sort of luxury with you girls, but Adam could certainly afford it.”
I exhale, relatively sure that isn’t what my sister wants, but relieved to get my mom off my back. “Okay, glad I could help. Now I do have to go.”
“Fine, but let me know about Thanksgiving . I’m going to call your sister.” She sighs. “Lydia, you’re so practical. Sometimes you really remind me of me. ”
I spend, admittedly, too much time getting ready. Partly because, working with dogs all day, I just never have a reason to really gussy myself up and look nice. But if I’m honest, I’m also nervous as hell, and experimenting with eyeliner is a great way to procrastinate. Because there’s a lot more than just a date going on tonight. Each of us has drawn a line in the sand, and now one of us will have to budge—we can’t just have a romantic dinner and pretend we haven’t been avoiding each other the last three days.
Once I’m done blowing out and styling my hair, I put on a touch of lip gloss, a cute yellow sundress, and sandals with just a little heel. Anton made a reservation at D Bar, which makes this feel more like a special occasion than an armistice. It’s one of my favorite date night spots in Denver—elegant, but casual, and Anton knows their specialty desserts are the part I like best.
“You look beautiful,” he says as I meet him at the front door.
“So do you.” When he frowns, I scrunch my nose. Because he does . He’s dressed in jeans and a linen button-down, with a jacket folded over his arm. He’s about a day out from a shave (my favorite), his wavy hair tousled, and when he looks at me there’s even a glint of heat in his eyes.
We haven’t said anything to each other yet about why we’re going out, but there seems to be an unspoken understanding. We both know what this date is about.
When we get to the restaurant, we’re seated in the middle of the room. Even with a reservation, it’s a busy Friday night. We take our time perusing the menu, and while our waiter is just the right amount of attentive, he mostly leaves us alone. But after we’ve made our selections and returned the menus, there’s a moment when we look at each other and I’m not sure either of us knows what to say. Technically, tonight was Anton’s idea, so it seems like I should give him the space to start the conversation. But after thinking everything over carefully the last twenty-four hours, I’ve made my decision and I’m anxious to move forward.
“I uh...” He clears his throat. “I owe you an apology,” he says, straightening the knife and fork beside his plate .
“Anton—” I shake my head, but he holds up a hand.
“Please. Let me finish.” He raises his chin, looking straight at me. “It wasn’t fair of me to suggest our marriage was somehow contingent upon the decision to have, or not have, children. We’ve been together so long, and we’ve already done so much work on our relationship. You’d think that should’ve been obvious, but apparently I needed a kick in the teeth to realize it. Yet again.”
I touch his hand on the table. He swallows and goes on.
“Some of this stuff with my mom has been hard. Harder than I expected. There are things I will always wish we could have shared with her. And while I try to make choices that will honor her memory, starting a family isn’t just about what I want. It needs to be a decision we make together—even if that decision is to not have kids.” He closes his fingers around mine and squeezes. “I just want you to know you are the most important thing to me, Lydia. Above everything.”
My heart is in my throat. I wasn’t expecting this at all, and for a few minutes I have to walk back through all my own soul searching the past few days. Second guessing the choice I’ve made. Should I rethink? Everything feels like it’s changed.
But even with him sitting across from me, holding my hand, staring at me like I really am everything to him, the center of his universe... It’s hard to forget the way he looked at me and said, I don’t know if I can not do kids . And because I can’t breathe when I think about the future—the one where I’m not enough, so he goes in search of more—I steady myself to stick with my plan.
Anton releases my hand and reaches into his jacket pocket. “I got you something.”
He places a small bottle tied with a red ribbon on my bread plate. I pick it up to take a closer look before realizing what it is. The moment I do, every inch of my skin heats in a full-body blush.
The corner of his mouth pulls into a subtle smirk and his eyes flash. “I um, thought I could try to make it up to you after dinner.”
My eyes dart around the room in a strange mix of panic and... heat? Oh God. I hold the bottle between both hands in an attempt to cover the label. Somehow sure that, situated as we are in the center of the room, everyone in the restaurant sees it. Knows what it is. Is imagining us using it.
I clench my thighs. Because as unnerved and scandalized as I am by this thought, I suddenly realize—I’m also kind of aroused.
And the heat in Anton’s eyes tells me this is exactly what he was aiming for. “If you want, I can put it back in my pocket,” he says in a gravelly voice.
I nod, handing the massage oil to him with immediate relief. But when his fingers brush mine, it’s like a charge of electricity passes through us, and my breath catches.
My reaction must be completely transparent because he seems to dial in on it, leaning close, voice laced with hunger. “As much as I’d like to oil you up and eat you right here on this table, that part of the apology can wait.”
My mouth drops open, my breathing ragged at his words. At the image they placed in my overstimulated head. Thankfully, as soon as the bottle is out of sight, my anxiety subsides. I take a breath, and my head starts to clear.
Which is good, because that’s when our dinners arrive.
The waiter makes a fanfare about our choices, then the wine selection, and as soon as he leaves, I start eating so I have an excuse not to speak. But that doesn’t stop me from stealing glances at my husband.
This man who has never before spoken . . . dirty . . . to me.
Reflexively, the cerebral, feminist part of my brain kicks in, trying to convince me not to call it that. It was a perfectly normal, playful conversation between a married man and woman.
That line of thinking lasts about thirty seconds before my ingrained prudishness regains control. It was dirty. And even more shocking... I enjoyed it.
God. I am going to give myself provocative whiplash.
But first things first.
“So, I have been doing some thinking of my own,” I finally say, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in my core. “About all of this. And I think I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Um...” I take a deep, stuttering breath. “To have a baby. ”
I can’t quite read Anton’s face. He’s staring at me with a mix of confusion and skepticism. Maybe a little hope. “But you said you didn’t want to...”
I purse my lips and nod. “I did.”
His brows draw more deeply together. “Sorry, I’m having a hard time following.”
I reach for his hand again, savoring the spark when my skin touches his. “We’ve always talked about starting a family. But like you said, we seem to keep pushing it out. I—I know most of that is on me. I can’t deny that such a big decision really freaks me out, and would bring a lot of change. But when I think about not doing it... I don’t know, it’s hard to imagine a future with just the two of us.”
It’s the truth, on some level.
But what I’ve left unsaid only matters for a moment. Because Anton’s face lights up at my words in a way I have missed . His eyes are warm and excited, and sparkling for the first time in weeks. And something blooms within me.
“Are you sure . . . ?” he asks.
Deep inside my head, a tiny voice says: No. Just as I hear myself say: “Yes.”
Again, Anton’s fingers tighten around mine. He reaches his other hand across the table so we’re both holding on, looking straight at one another, and there’s a slight sheen in his hazel eyes. “I—” He swallows. “I would love that. More than anything.”
My throat tightens. And for a second it feels like I’m falling. I panic at first, afraid I’ve made the wrong choice. But when I meet his eyes again, I realize it’s not just me. It’s happening to both of us. We’re sharing this, connecting, and this— this is what’s been missing. Suddenly, the air is charged, like it was moments ago when he presented his gift and whispered those naughty things. Except now it isn’t just lust crackling between us; it’s more than that. Like I’m seeing him—our future—come back to life. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling, and I’m finally sure: this must be the right choice.
The air between us grows so thick with desire I can barely swallow. And as I imagine his hands on me, groping my thighs, my breasts, I think, yes, this is it. We should do this. Now .
Until I glance down at my lap and imagine a round, distended belly bulging under my dress.
I suck in a breath. And just like that, all my arousal, the connection between us, drains away.
Almost like he can read my thoughts, Anton clears his throat and says in a husky voice, “You’ll be so gorgeous, carrying our baby.”
I dip my chin to hide my face. Because it doesn’t land the way he intends. It makes everything worse. I think of my body, my curves—distorted and swollen like a balloon at first, then deflated and misshapen once it’s served its biological purpose.
But when I look up, Anton is still glowing. Not just in his face, but deep within. Like he truly can’t imagine anything more beautiful. So I grasp that and hold on with everything I’ve got—because maybe it could be the way he says?
“I guess... getting there could be fun,” I say, trying to convince myself.
And then I giggle. I can’t help it. Because, despite some improvement, we’ve been in therapy because I’m so bad at physical intimacy we almost lost our marriage. And it strikes me as hilarious, hearing myself suggesting sex as an incentive.
But Anton doesn’t laugh. He arches a brow, stroking circles on the backs of my hands with his thumbs. “Seems like an excellent excuse to do homework.”
My face warms, but I nod because he’s right. We’ve probably already had more sex in the last three months than we did in the past three years. At least, until a couple of weeks ago. But I still have to concentrate on it a lot. It has started to feel like things are getting easier, more natural. But I know we’ve still got a ways to go.
He pauses his circles. “We could try some new things...”
“New things?”
“Yeah,” he says with a perfectly straight face. “We did discuss spanking...”
I glance nervously around the crowded room, and hiss. “Stop. Not here.”
His eyes darken and he leans close. “Then where do you want it?”
“ Anton . ”
I pull my hands away and cross my arms over my chest--only to realize when he starts chuckling that he’s been messing with me. I scowl, leaning back in my chair. But as I glance down at the barely touched dinners going cold in front of us, I decide it’s a game we both can play.
“You already owe me one apology, Mr. Richie. Are you looking to grovel?”
His grin fades, one hand drifting to the pocket where he stashed the massage oil. “I am. So sorry,” he says in a low voice.
“You should be,” I say, raising my hand to flag down the server. “You know how much I love the desserts here.”
“Hi. Was everything all right?” our waiter asks, glancing cautiously at our uneaten food.
“Delicious,” Anton says, his eyes fixed on me.
“That’s great to hear... Can I interest either of you in dessert?”
“We’ll take two boxes.” I bite my lip. “We’re having dessert at home.”