Chapter 60
Chapter Sixty
Tori
It’s been over a month without Noah, forty days to be exact. Without his touch, without waking up to the sound of him singing in the shower, or the smell of freshly ground coffee that he would make and bring to me in bed each morning.
He’s called a few times, and I have had one letter letting me know he was okay, but it never feels enough.
Only having him home will feel enough. I keep my voice light when he calls, never really letting him know how I am feeling because he needs me to be strong.
He needs to know I’m okay and that I’m holding it together for our baby.
I don’t need him worrying about me when he has an important and dangerous job to do.
I need him to focus on his task, and then get back home to us.
I’m on the couch with a steaming mug of decaf. Harry got me my very own footstool that allows me to keep my growing cankles elevated so I can work comfortably, but balancing a laptop on my thighs with my growing bump is getting harder each day, and sitting at a desk is too uncomfortable.
The rain patters against the window pane, the sky a beautiful orange and gray as the afternoon humidity reaches its peak, and the heavens have opened.
I love the rain; it soothes something in me. It reminds me of our time in the abandoned stable, and I wonder if that was the moment our baby girl came to be. A flutter in my stomach takes me by surprise, and I rub a soothing palm over my bump.
“Good afternoon, baby girl. Did you have a good nap?”
As the weeks have gone by, I’ve noticed little patterns in her movements, and my girl loves a 2am party.
A heaviness weighs on my chest when I think about how much Noah is missing, but to ease that sadness, I remind myself of all the firsts he will experience with her when he’s home.
I have to think that way because spiraling into a pit of darkness again isn’t an option.
I have her to protect, and remaining positive and keeping busy is the way I will get through this time.
I finish the last slide of this presentation, email Anthony back in England, and decide to call it a day.
Thanks to baby girl’s nighttime parties, I have been working around the clock, sneaking in time to finish projects and read through emails.
My dad keeps telling me to slow down and take time off, but truthfully, if I stop, I’m scared to be alone with nothing but my own thoughts.
But being here in New York with Ali and Harry and the others has been the support network I have always craved, and what I lacked last time.
The girls keep me busy with movie nights and baby shopping. I think my daughter has the most elite wardrobe in Manhattan, thanks to her auntie Ali working in fashion.
My bonds with Ria and Gabby have grown, and they all feel like the sisters I never had.
There’s something to be said about the magic of sisterhood.
Growing up, I had friends, but nothing like these three girls.
They would literally go to war for each other, and I am honored that I have been welcomed into their inner circle, as if I was always meant to have a place in it.
The opening of the front door distracts me from my thoughts, and Ali kicks off her heels and tosses her purse and jacket on the ground with an exaggerated huff.
“Hey, you’re home early,” I call, tapping away on my laptop.
She makes her way over to me, swiping her ropes of wet blonde hair out of her face.
“I know. I told them I’d work the rest of the day from home, I had to get out of that office.” She flops down opposite me on the corner couch and props her feet up, sharing my footstool.
“Rough day?” I ask, peering over my laptop screen to see her massaging her temples.
“Try annoying. There’s this new intern, Britney.” She says her name with a mocking tone, and I try to stifle my laugh. “I swear, everything I do, she copies, or tries to claim them as her ideas.”
“Like what?” I ask, closing my laptop, genuinely intrigued. Listening to Ali’s office gossip each day has now become the favorite part of my day and a great distraction.
“Last week I told her about my ideas for the new winter line, and when we were in the meeting, and Diane asked if anyone had any suggestions, she shot her arm up so fast I’m surprised it didn’t pop out of its socket.”
I go to say something, but she sits up straight, and I sense there is more.
“You know the blue dress with the pockets I wore last week?
“Yes.” I try not to laugh at how serious her tone is.
“She came in the next day wearing it in red.”
“Oh.”
“And everyone was swanning round the office telling her how great she looked and what fabulous ideas she had in the meeting.”
Again, I try to offer words of comfort, but then she stands. “And today...” she screeches. “She came in with my blonde hair.” She points to her head, getting animated, which is something she does when she’s annoyed or passionate about something.
I furrow my brows in confusion, “Your hair?”
She grabs a chunk of her bright blonde hair and starts waving it around. “Ali blonde, Tor, she went Ali blonde.”
“That’s not cool,” I say, trying to calm her.
“And what’s worse is, she went to my hairdresser, and then, do you know what the bitch did?
” She plants her palms on the back of the couch, and I really have to try not to laugh.
“She showed us all a photo of the guy she’s going on a date with this weekend, that she got matched with on some app, and I swear he’s a dead ringer for Harry. ”
My mouth falls open, and Ali nods, wide eyed.
“I know. Weird right? No one likes a copycat, Britney. Get your own ideas and man, because you aren’t stealing mine.”
“Harry would never,” I try to reassure her.
“Oh, I know he wouldn’t. That man knows where his bread’s buttered, as you British folk would say.
” She waves her hands at me, and I laugh.
“I need to set her up somehow. I swear, if I walked into tomorrow with a strap on and declared it as this season's must have belt, she would stroll in on Monday with one on but in a different color.
I snort a laugh and cover my mouth.
“Maybe you should,” I suggest.
Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Yes, I’m going to do it.”
I chuckle. “Ali, I was joking.”
“I’m not,” she says, folding her arms. “Is Harry home?”
“In the office,” I reply, opening up my laptop back up.
“Perfect,” she mutters more to herself, and then yells as she walks toward Harry’s home office. “Harry, get your jacket. We’re going shopping.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle at her pettiness, but it’s so Ali.
I love that she takes no shit. There is something to be said about caring less about what others think, and having that mentality is what has led me here.
It gets to a point where you have to decide what’s most important.
The opinions of others or how you want your life to be.
I finally stopped caring what others thought about Noah and me and ignored the whispers and the stares.
People will have an opinion about you and your life, no matter what you do, so I finally chose what I longed for.
Noah.
The thought of him makes my chest tight, and the ache to be in his arms grows, so I do the only thing that makes me feel a little closer to him when that ache grows to a dull thud in my chest. I head for my bedroom and chuckle to myself when I hear Ali retelling the same story to Harry from behind the office door.
I take off my T-shirt and toss it onto the bed, leaving me in only my black bra and a pair of matching sweat pants.
I reach my nightstand, take out the pink box, and set it on the table top where I take off the lid.
Since Noah left, I have taken photos weekly to log my growing bump.
It hurts my heart to know he is missing so much, but when he gets home, I want him to feel like he was somehow a part of it.
I take out the Polaroid camera and hold it out far enough that I can fit my bump in, and I know it won’t be long before I will be asking Ali to take these photos because our girl is growing so fast.
I write the date on the photo and how many weeks I am and place it in the box with the others as I try not to break down. I just have to keep holding on, one day at a time. Having faith, he will be home as soon as he can.