Chapter 12
Hazel
Spoiler alert: The tryst in my kitchen is hardly the last time Luke and I get intimate.
We have sex in the luxury steam shower in my primary bath.
We have outdoorsy sex in his pickup en route to Portland to purchase an antique changing table. The rambutan we bought on the way gets crushed in the heat of the moment.
We have sex in the butler’s pantry off my kitchen in November, when I daringly host Thanksgiving dinner.
And when my belly swells to uncomfortable dimensions, we have doggie-style sex on the chaise by my Christmas tree with a pillow propped under my middle.
But it’s more than just sex, I’ll confess. As much as I try to deny it. As much as I deeply believe that a platonic co-parenting relationship is the only one that truly makes sense.
Tell that to my idiot heart, which starts banging around like a bug in a bottle anytime I come within six feet of Luke. As my due date draws near, we grow closer with each pregnancy milestone.
We bond over awkward birthing classes and a Lamaze course where one woman farts so loudly the sound of it rings through the room.
Luke somehow succeeds in stifling his laughter, but I’m not as lucky.
Until I was seven-and-a-half months pregnant with twins, I never knew “laughed so hard I peed” was more than a figure of speech.
Today marks thirty weeks in my pregnancy, and also our final birthing class. Luke holds my hand as our instructor reviews final preparations.
“Does everyone have their labor bag packed and ready to go?” She surveys the room and our fellow classmates. “At this stage, it’s crucial to be prepared.”
A woman beside us in a blue maternity tracksuit raises her hand. “I had questions about one of the items on the packing list.”
“Let me guess.” The instructor smiles. “The goldfish net?”
Luke and I trade a mystified look. Glancing around, he leans close and whispers. “Uh, did we have a goldfish net on our list?”
“No.” Maybe that’s a joke.
“The goldfish net,” our instructor explains, “is for those of you who indicated you’re having a water birth. It’s the most effective tool for fishing human excrement from the pool.”
Luke winces. “Did not see that one coming.”
“Ew,” I whisper. “I guess it makes sense, though. I read babies sometimes poop when they’re being born.”
“Seriously?” Luke looks visibly horrified. “You mean you could give birth to a human who’s actively pinching a loaf?”
The instructor strides past us. “Not the babies,” she says. “Birthing mothers often experience unplanned evacuation of the bowels. Anatomically speaking, it’s like sitting on a tube of toothpaste.”
Luke blanches as we all begin gathering our things. “Remind me to switch to those solid toothpaste tablets. I’ve suddenly lost interest in Colgate.”
I snicker and follow him toward the classroom door. “Can I get a ride?”
“Did you waddle here by yourself?”
“Very funny.” I whack him in the chest and walk—okay, waddle—down the hall next to him. “Lucy dropped me off. My car’s still in the shop.”
“Kaleb’s sure taking his sweet ass time installing those baby seats.”
“It’s not his fault.” Wincing, I shift my powder pink Dior Toujours tote to the opposite shoulder. It’s getting tougher to balance with all this extra weight.
Without saying a word, Luke takes my bag and keeps walking. “Isn’t Kaleb supposed to have some kind of special certification in child seat installation?”
“Yes, but the ones I bought are special. They have sensors that send alerts to your phone if there’s a temperature spike, or the child unbuckles their harness.”
“Christ,” Luke mutters. “When Amy and I were little, our mom threw us in the back of the truck and let us sit on the spare tire all the way to the county fair. I couldn’t have been more than five.”
“Is that even legal?”
“Beats me.” He keys open his car, then hustles ahead of me. “But it was fun.”
I wait while he opens the passenger door of the Subaru hatchback he bought as a fixer. In a matter of weeks, he’s transformed it from a rusted-out bucket of bolts into a respectable family automobile.
“Watch your head,” he says. “Those sunshades are new.”
“Thanks.” Easing my considerable bulk into the passenger seat, I tug down the one on my window. There’s a cartoon cat with a huge Cheshire grin stenciled on this side of it. “This looks like Squash.”
“That’s the idea.” He fires up the engine, which purrs just like Squash when she naps in a sunbeam. “I read it’s important to shade all the windows, not just the ones in back.”
“I didn’t know that.” Maybe it’s not too late to have Kaleb install extra sunshades in my car.
“Babies can’t tell you if the sun’s in their eyes, and I figure I won’t always know which window it’s streaming through.
” He glances over and grins. “Don’t worry.
I know babies can only ride in the backseat.
And I might not have super-fancy car seats with sensors, but I promise I’ll make sure they’re safe. ”
“I trust you,” I say, watching him look both ways before pulling into traffic. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He looks over and grins. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop busting my ass to make sure it stays that way.”
We chat all the way to the grocery store, where I insist on paying for all the supplies to make dinner together. This is the night Luke’s finally teaching me to make his world-famous pulled pork.
It’s also the first time I’ll set foot in his house. Up until now, he’s been self-conscious about the scale of it, compared to my place. But he’s spent the past few months doing renovations, and tonight I’m officially allowed to see it. I can’t wait.
We’re next in line at Safeway as our cashier rings up a harried-looking woman with a drooly toddler buckled into the front of her cart. There’s another child latched onto the mother’s leg, a pigtailed young girl who looks about five.
“That’ll be one-eighty-four-sixty-nine,” says the cashier. “Cash or card?”
“Oh, um—cash.” The woman looks nervous as she counts out her bills. “How much did you say?”
The cashier is patient as she repeats the amount, but I can see from the contents of the young mother’s wallet she doesn’t have nearly enough.
Nibbling my lip, I scan what she’s buying.
Diapers, wipes, dried beans, and some rice.
There’s a large bag of apples, along with a box of rainbow chip cake mix and a package of birthday candles.
My heart pinches tight in my chest as I slide my hand into my wallet.
“I’m really sorry.” The young mother keeps digging through her purse. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this much. Maybe if I put back the—”
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Tapping her shoulder, I point to the ground near her feet. “I think you dropped something.”
She stares at me blankly, then drops her gaze to the pair of crisp hundreds folded in half on the floor near her little girl’s shoe. “Oh,” she says softly. “That can’t—I mean, I’ve never had—”
“I saw it happen.” Luke bends down to pick up the bills. He presses them into her palm as he rests a hand at the small of my back. “Watched both of ‘em fall out of your bag just a second ago.”
“It’s true,” I agree. “They’re clearly yours.”
The young woman stares as tears pool in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I—you must be right.”
“Mama.” The little girl tugs on her mother’s pantleg. “Can I help you make the cake for Grandma’s birthday?”
“Yes, sweetie.” Swiping her eyes, the woman turns back to the cashier. “This should cover it.”
“Perfect.” The cashier rings her up, then places the change in the palm of the young mother’s hand. “You have a good night, Kelsie.”
“You too, Joan.”
We all watch her go, my heart firmly lodged in my throat. As soon as she’s gone, the cashier gives us a kindly smile. “That was sweet of you,” she says softly. “Kelsie’s my sister’s cousin-in-law. She’s had a real tough time of things since her husband left.”
“It was nothing,” I say as Luke piles our purchases on the conveyor belt.
“No, hon,” the cashier says kindly. “To her, it was everything.”
“That was delicious.” Folding my napkin, I try to stand up from the table.
Try being the operative word.
Luke’s out of his seat in an instant. “Up you go.” He needs both hands to hoist me out of my chair, and by the time I’m standing, we’re both out of breath.
“Ugh,” I wheeze, pressing the heel of my hand to my lower back. “How is it possible I still have six weeks to go?”
“You heard what Molly said. The average duration of a twin pregnancy is anywhere from thirty-two to thirty-eight weeks. You’re at thirty weeks now, so you might not be too far away.”
“I feel like I’m going to pop any day now.”
Grinning, Luke leads me away from the table. “I just reupholstered those chairs, so try not to pop in the general vicinity.”
“Charming,” I grumble. “What would I do without your selfless, compassionate support?”
Luke lifts an eyebrow. “That was a joke, right?”
“Of course.” I frown. “Is my sense of humor so shaky that you can’t tell?”
“Nah, just sensitive, I guess.” He guides me toward the hall. “Want a tour?”
“I’d love one.” I’ve never even seen photos of the nursery he’s spent so much time on. “Your house is really cute.”
“Thanks.” He looks a bit sheepish as he steers me down a narrow hallway. “Had some help from my mother and sister. I’m not great with decorating.”
“It looks wonderful to me.” There’s a framed photo on the wall of a much younger Luke with his arm around a pretty blond woman in a police uniform. “This must be your sister?”
“Yeah, that’s Amy’s graduation from the police academy.” He looks proud as he straightens the frame. “There’s the guest bath over there if you need it.”
“I’m good for now.” For once I don’t have to pee. “Can I see the nursery first?”
“Of course.” There’s that sheepish expression again as he guides me to the end of the hall. “I know we agreed they’ll stay at your place most of the time, especially when they’re little. But I wanted to make sure they have their own place here, too.”