Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Are you sure you’re okay? Can I get you anything else?” I ask, clearing away the dinner dishes.
“I told you, I’m fine.” Lydia smiles sweetly. “Just tired. Think I’ll get ready for bed.”
It isn’t even eight o’clock and she only picked at her meal, but she went into the Pooches early this morning and she’s barely holding her head up. “Go ahead. I’ll finish in here.”
She looks at me gratefully, sliding out of her chair, and I try not to leer at the cleavage peeking out of her V-neck, daydreaming about following, lifting her shirt over her head...
I force my eyes away. It’s been nearly a week since I went down on her and made her climax, which triggered massive cramping in her uterus. We called the OB’s office immediately and the nurse assured us it was totally normal after orgasm, especially in the first trimester. She said there was nothing to worry about as long as there wasn’t any bleeding, and there hasn’t been. But it was sobering for both of us. I’ve been afraid to touch her ever since.
I clear my throat. “Um, I was thinking I’d start clearing out the second bedroom this weekend. Maybe get it ready for a coat of paint?”
She pauses in the door of the kitchen, glancing down the hall toward the room in question. “Isn’t it a little soon? I’m still only nine weeks.”
“I know, I just thought...” That I need an outlet, something to do with my hands if I can’t put them on her. It’s funny, you’d think I’d be okay backing off now. She’s growing our baby; we reached the goal we set out to achieve. After talking with the nurse, we agreed to hold off on sex at least until the second trimester. But the more pregnant she gets, the more I just want to put my hands all over her, claim her as mine, again and again. “It’s going to get cold this weekend. It seemed like a good time to start. Maybe we could go pick out colors together.”
She gives me a strained smile. “But if it might not—if we don’t even know what it is?”
I shrug. “I thought we could go with something neutral. The walls are pretty dark in there. I just want to brighten it up.”
“And what about all the furniture and stuff? Where will I keep my laptop, and yours? The printer and our files? I’ve had a home office for five years, Anton. I’m not sure I can just work from wherever.”
But you do all the time, I want to say. The kitchen, living room—our bed. She hardly ever sits in the other bedroom, at her actual desk. I bite my cheek. “Maybe, if we’re going to be making space for a family, we should think about how to leave work at work.”
At this, she bristles. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just... you have an office at the Pooches. I have one at Vesper?—”
“That might work for your nine-to-five, Anton, but I own three businesses. I can’t just not think about them when I’m not there.”
I set my jaw. “Okay, that’s fair. We’ll... figure the space out. But there are going to be some changes, Lydia. We should start making a list of names. And have you thought about when you might step back to take some time off?”
She folds her arms over her chest, causing her already-snug shirt to pull down in front, and it is all I can do to focus on her face. Especially with her frowning at me like that.
“We’re at nine weeks! According to the email you sent me this morning, this thing is barely the size of an olive. I just—I have decisions I need to make for next week. I can’t think about what’s going to happen in seven more months. ”
It’s my turn to take offense. I’ve never actually called Lydia a workaholic, but her work-life balance, or lack thereof, was one of the factors that pushed me toward Unmatched last spring and made me feel like I had no other choice. She’s become more conscious of it, and does her best to strike a balance, but sometimes I still get the vibe that she can’t make time for me. Which makes me a little uneasy when I think about her making time for a family.
“Okay, when will you?” I ask as calmly as I can.
“Soon,” she says, twisting her fingers in her hair.
I exhale, trying to take a gentler tone. “Look, I know you’re already doing extra work—you’re making our baby. But we need a plan because of your businesses. So you can step away and not have to work so much?—”
“Are we really having this conversation again?”
I meet her eyes.
“I brought Henry on to help solve that problem—at your suggestion—and he’s helped. I don’t spend my weekends on payroll anymore. I hardly have to worry about any of the software systems or financial projections. But there will always be things that require me to be present?—”
“Like your family.”
She’s quiet, and for a moment I’m afraid I was too harsh, that she might cry. Instead, she levels me with a cool gaze.
“Do you know what one of the weirdest things is about being pregnant? It isn’t how tired I am, or how suddenly none of my clothes fit, or even that certain smells knock me over. It’s that there is no way to not be present every second. I can never just set it aside and not think about it. Every bite I eat feeds our baby, every breath I take gives it oxygen, even which side I sleep on apparently matters. I am present for it. All. The. Time.” Her shoulders slump and she turns back for the hall. “And right now, I’m exhausted.”
Heartthrob follows her out of the room, but I stay still, leaning against the kitchen counter.
When I hear the shower come on, my feet unfreeze, and I head into the second bedroom—our office. There isn’t a ton of stuff in here. A couple of desks, some bookshelves. A houseplant. Maybe Lydia’ s right and I’m being too pushy, wanting to change the space now. There is a lot going on for her that I don’t have to deal with, much as I wish I could. But if all her energy is going into... gestation? I feel like I need to channel mine somewhere.
I step out to the garage, poking around until I’ve found a couple of empty cardboard boxes. When I come back in, I try to figure out where to start. The walls are the same dingy yellow color they were when we moved in. Lydia might be right that we don’t need to turn the space into a full nursery just yet, but giving it a fresh coat of paint would be an improvement overall.
I’ve emptied the contents of the bookshelves into one of the boxes and am in the middle of unloading the second when my phone rings in my pocket.
“What’s up?” I ask, seeing my brother’s name on the screen. “Any news?”
“I generally like to start conversations with ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’” Seth says.
“Sorry.” I grunt. “Stressful week.”
“What’s happening? Boss man still pushing extra travel?”
I clench my jaw. That’s the part of it he knows. I don’t love keeping the rest from him, but I’m trying to stick to what Lydia and I agreed on. “Not yet, but he’s laying plans for spring.” I clear my throat and change the subject. “So, is Chandra planning another open house for Sunday?”
“Actually, no, we’re abandoning that plan,” he says. “We won’t need it because we went back under contract tonight.”
I set down my armload of books. “No shit—that’s fantastic!”
My brother’s grin is practically audible. “I figured you and Lyd would want to know.”
He’s right. I abandon what I’m doing and trip down the hall, bursting into our bedroom to tell Lydia the news. Only I find her curled into her pillow, sound asleep, a book on top of the covers by her side. I approach the bed, ready to wake her up. But then I think about what she said earlier about being exhausted, and decide I don’t want to disturb her.
I turn the light off and tiptoe quietly for the door. Heartthrob gets up to follow.
“When will you close?” I whisper to my brother.
“Next month. I might even be in Denver by Thanksgiving,” Seth answers, matching my tone. “Why are we whispering?”
My stomach knots and I continue down the hall, through the kitchen, not stopping until I’m out in the backyard. Heartthrob runs out with me, excited to play, but I sink into one of the metal chairs, ignoring his urgent wagging.
“I—we won’t—” I can’t catch my breath. Why didn’t I think of this? “Lydia and I are doing Thanksgiving in fucking Ohio.”
“Okay...” he says, sounding confused. “I mean, that sucks for you guys. But no big deal.”
Heartthrob drops a tennis ball in my lap, and I hurl it across the yard so it ricochets off the neighbor’s fence. I can’t believe I put Lydia’s fucked-up family before my own brother our first holiday without Mom. I drop my head into my hand, wondering what I was thinking, how I could’ve let this happen.
But then I remember.
“We’re going because—” I force myself to take a breath, knowing I should stop. I promised. Then I say it anyway. “We’re having a baby.”
“Whoa . . . Lydia’s pregnant?”
“Yes.” My chest swells with the confirmation, right before a trickle of guilt seeps in. “But—shit—you’re not supposed to know. It’s pretty early and she doesn’t want to announce yet.”
Seth chuckles, walking back his enthusiasm. “Okay, got it. Don’t spill the beans and get you in trouble.“
“Yeah, thanks, man.” I exhale, sitting back in my chair. I wasn’t really worried about Seth sharing the news. But I’m surprised by the relief I feel being able to talk with him about it. “I... we’re excited.”
“That is exciting—I should’ve given my congratulations first. I didn’t realize you guys were so serious when you said you were going for it.”
“Yeah, it . . . just worked out.”
He clears his throat. “Well, sounds like you’ve got plenty to deal with next month. So let’s not worry about Thanksgiving.”
“No.” I grunt. “Our family should be together.”
“Anton, this sale could fall through like the last one,” he says patiently. “If I do luck out and get to move that weekend, Bruno and I will share a turkey sandwich while we unpack.”
I clench my jaw. It’s not like we have a precedent of spending the holiday together. It never seemed right leaving Mom on her own, so Seth used to do a video call from her bedside, eating pumpkin pie off her hospital tray. “I just hate the idea of you spending it alone.”
“I think I’m going to have a way better time than you. Unless you’re thinking of having Lydia’s mother declawed?”
I snort. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Good.” His tone lightens. “So, when’s the stork due to arrive?”
“May sixteenth, if all goes well.”
“Okay.” I hear him clap. “That gives me time to work on my fun-uncles vibes.”
And actually, I can picture Seth being exactly that. Getting on the floor and playing with our kid. Taking them out for ice cream. Teaching them all manner of things from how to ride a bike to the best way to win at checkers.
For a moment, I wish I could call Mom and share the news with her, too. She would’ve been so excited, offering to knit something, or maybe to come help after the birth. But as soon as my heart starts to sink, I close my eyes and push it away. I can’t stay sad about what I’ve lost when there are so many reasons to be happy about what’s to come.