29. Lucy
29
LUCY
I ’m floating on air Friday morning as I pack the last batches of cookies to take to Court’s office for the pizza party.
We met Dr. Henry after the sonogram, and he assured us that if we didn’t feel comfortable making the drive out to Warwick, he had associates at six of the Manhattan birthing centers. Just call his office or the after-hours on-call, and they would direct us where to go.
The front door opens, and a woman calls out, “Hello, hello! Where is the goat?”
“On the balcony!” I reply and head to the front door.
Maggie is a late-fifties woman with stenciled-in eyebrows, a helmet of senna-red hair, and the warmest smile I’ve seen so far in New York. “You must be Lucy. Oh, you are about to pop!”
I run my hands over the white shirt self-consciously. “A week or so to go.”
“First baby?”
“Yes.”
“You have time.” She props the door open wide to push in a cart covered in cleaning supplies and bags of groceries. “I have food. I will clean. It’s been two weeks. But Mr. Court is so clean.” She sniffs the air. “You cook!”
“I’m making cookies for Court’s office. We’re having a pizza party there today.”
“How delightful. So good for such a stern man.” She closes the front door. “Now let me see that goat.”
I lead her to the balcony, where Matilda lies in her hay.
“She is so small!” Maggie presses her hands to the glass. “She seemed bigger when she was running at me. Does she butt things with her head?”
“Only Court when he deserves it.”
The woman’s laugh is hearty and deep. “I like you, Lucy.”
“I like you too. And don’t worry about the balcony. That’s my job to keep clean.”
“Good. The goat scares me. But maybe we’ll become friends.” She heads back to her cart. “I hear all the baby goodies will arrive today.”
“Yes, around eleven. Have them load it all into the green bedroom.”
“Oh yes, that’s perfect for the baby. So cozy.” She pushes her cart to the kitchen. “I will unload and get out of your way.” She spots all the cookies. “That’s a lot! You take my cart when you go.”
“Court is sending someone to fetch these. But thank you!”
“He thinks of everything.”
I’ve barely packed the last box when there’s another knock. That must be the courier.
I open the door to a young man with a handcart. “I’m here to take boxes to Pickle Media.”
“Yes, in here.”
I fuss over the cardboard boxes lined with parchment paper, making sure they’re secure. I can’t have them fall and all the cookies break.
I’m so excited. I’ve never done anything like this, and I feel like this could be the start of some genuine friendships in Court’s office, not the least of which will be for him.
“Am I riding with you or going separately?” I ask the young man.
“You can come with me.”
“Oh, good.” I shove my phone in the pocket of my dress. “See you later, Maggie!”
The ride is short, and soon, the cookies and I are both safely delivered to the large conference room down the hall from Court’s office. The big table has been pushed to the back wall, and the seats line the walls.
Dawn from merchandizing is there with a giant box. “Hey, Lucy! Devin, where should I put these?”
“Line them up by the plates,” he says. “Cookies on the other end. I left you some trays.”
Dawn and I both start unloading.
“What do you have?” I ask her.
“Court ordered these. Thought the motto could use an adjustment.”
“From Dill with It?” I still have my water bottles.
“Look at them.” She passes me a large cup with a built-in straw. It reads, “You can’t DILL with my awesome.”
“That’s so terrible, it’s good,” I say.
“I know, right!” She lines the cups up along the wall. “Everyone gets one today.”
“How fun.” I tug a pair of plastic serving gloves from a box on the table and unload cookies onto plates.
I’m in the zone, arranging them by flavor, when I feel arms come around me. “I want to eat this right now,” Court whispers in my ear.
I lift a snickerdoodle. “I can stuff it in your mouth.”
He laughs, then coughs when I do, in fact, stuff a cookie between his lips. He takes a bite. “Almost as sweet.”
“Court!” I elbow him.
Devin and Dawn exchange a glance at us, but they’re smiling.
The pizza delivery arrives, and preparation begins in earnest. Two women from HR arrive to set up lemonade, tea, and water.
Within minutes, the first hungry employees poke their heads in the door.
“Come in,” Court says. “Grab a bottle, fill it with the drink of your choices, and get pizza and cookies. Lucy did all the cookie baking.”
He’s making a point of mentioning me.
My belly buzzes with happiness.
More employees file in. The chairs fill up, and others stand around. Only a few grab their lunch and go.
Conversation flows through the room. I meet more employees. Court knows everyone’s name, which seems to surprise some of them.
When we get a quiet moment, I ask him, “Did you learn everyone’s names for this?”
He slides another piece of pizza from a box to his plate. “I did.”
We make another round of chatting. There’s no sign of the distant, off-putting boss I met my first day. People are talking about it, sending furtive glances as they gossip.
Court lifts his hands. “Hello, everyone.”
People realize he’s speaking and quiet down.
“I wanted to do a quick thank you to several key people who made this lunch happen.” He gestures toward Devin. “My trusty sidekick Devin, who ordered the pizzas and got the room ready.”
Everyone claps.
“Dawn in merchandizing who got us these cool and clever bottles.” He holds his up.
There’s some cheering and many toasts with the new bottles.
“Mimi and Jean in HR who got us drinks and helped decorate.”
Another roar of approval.
“And most of all, to Lucy, who baked cookies for everyone and came up with the idea in the first place.”
There’s a huge round of applause.
My face gets hot with the attention, but I give a little wave.
“As a token of my appreciation, and I’m sure all of yours, I wanted to give her something.” He pulls out a small box.
The roars get excited, and my blood pressure skyrockets. Surely, he won’t propose at a party. We’ve only known each other for two weeks.
What will I say if he does? Do I do that? If Court wants to secure our relationship before the baby, does that mean he believes me? Should we give it a really hard try?
But he doesn’t get down on one knee, and he doesn’t open the box. He simply passes it to me. I notice the words “Natural Outfitters” on top. Clearly, they don’t do engagement rings.
I’m not sure how to feel. Relieved? Disappointed?
I set down my plate to open the box.
The excitement has come down now that the gift is in my hands. Everyone realizes they misjudged the moment. Future grooms don’t hand over a box.
Even Court seems to understand something else was expected and tugs at his collar.
I open the top. Inside is a heart-shaped locket with a goat on the front. “It’s a goat necklace!” I exclaim. “Court has no hard feelings for how many times Matilda butted him with her head!”
This saves the moment. Everyone roars with laughter. I unclasp the necklace and put it around my neck. It’s a difficult reach, but Court doesn’t step forward to help.
When I continue to struggle to get it clasped, Dawn swoops in to assist.
While she’s close to me, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
What is she sorry for? That we all thought he was proposing?
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I haven’t known him long.”
She squeezes my shoulders. “He’ll figure it out.”
The air seems to have been let out of the party, and it slowly dwindles until there’s only me, Devin, Court, and the HR ladies.
“I’ll put the extra cookies in the breakroom,” I say, glad for an excuse to escape everyone.
I combine the leftover cookies into one box and carry it down the hall. I’m getting emotional, when I promised myself I wouldn’t.
It was totally silly to think what I did. For all of us to think it. Court was the only sane one in the room.
But even so, it was a lot of excitement for a big letdown.
I’ll be all right. We have a DNA test to do. By then, a couple more weeks will have passed, and we’ll be tested in the most intense way by caring for a newborn.
We’ll know more about our future as a couple when life get hard than we can ever figure out while things are easy.