17. Liv
Chapter seventeen
Liv
Itake two plates from Josh’s cabinet and stand there with them in my hands.
Counter or table.
Counter means food. Table means dinner.
Iris kicks in the bouncer like she has an opinion. “Noted,” I tell her.
I put the plates on the counter. Then I move them to the table. Then I move them back to the counter.
Iris kicks again. “I heard you the first time.”
I put the plates on the table.
Fine. Dinner.
The mugs go to the kitchen. The shift schedule goes to the bookshelf. The burp cloth goes to the laundry basket. The legal pad goes to the counter, then the coffee table, then the counter again.
Lamb ragu. Ninth. After Iris goes down.
Not, Do you want me to grab something?
Not, Should I pick up food on the way home?
Dinner.
I could have said no when he called.
To dinner, at least. To Iris, in theory. To Josh… I have done that before.
The problem is not that Josh asked. The problem is that some part of me has been waiting for him to ask since the first morning he made my coffee right.
I have not been thinking about dinner since two o’clock. I have checked the baby log twice, answered three emails I did not need to answer, and moved the same legal pad from the coffee table to the counter and back again.
The legal pad is currently on the counter. That feels like progress.
Not thinking about dinner.
Iris is in the bouncer beside the couch, one sock halfway off and her eyes fixed on the ceiling fan.
“Still mad at it?” I ask.
She kicks once.
“Fair. It does look suspicious.”
I tug her sock back over her heel. She immediately starts working it loose again.
“You’re right,” I say. “Fashion is a personal choice.”
I pick up the giraffe from beside her foot and tap its soft nose against her belly.
Iris goes still for half a second before kicking both feet and letting out a squeaky little laugh.
“Oh, that’s funny?” I ask, doing it again.
She laughs harder, one sock sliding down her heel.
"Oh, absolutely not,” I tell her, brushing the giraffe against her belly again. “You do not get to be that cute when I am trying to get things done.”
She kicks both feet.
The second sock slides down.
I let it go. One battle at a time.
She reaches for the giraffe but grabs my finger instead.
My phone rings.
The office.
Carter, second year.
“Carter.”
“Liv. I’m sorry. I know you’re out.”
Never a good opening.
Iris has moved from ceiling-fan suspicion to low-level complaint, so I pick her up and settle her against my hip.
“What happened?”
“Opposing counsel sent a revised demand and moved the response deadline to tomorrow morning. Ramirez is asking if we can get him an answer tonight.”
Tonight.
I look at the two plates on the table.
“No,” I say.
Carter goes quiet.
“No, we are not promising him an answer tonight,” I clarify. “You tell Ramirez we received it, we’re reviewing it, and he’ll have our recommendation tomorrow.”
“He’s pushing hard.”
“Then let him push. Do not concede urgency just because someone used bold font.”
Iris kicks once, hard, and gives a sharp little protest against my shoulder.
“Was that—”
“A baby,” I say. “Did you tell Ramirez we’d have something tonight?”
A beat.
“Carter.”
“I said I’d check whether you were reachable.”
Which is second-year for yes.
The front door opens.
Josh steps in with the takeout bag in one hand. He takes in the room in one pass — Iris working herself toward Atomic Tomato, my phone still in my hand, the two plates on the table.
“I see negotiations have deteriorated,” he says quietly.
He sets the bag down and reaches for Iris.
I hand her over without thinking.
She goes to him with one offended sound, both fists catching in his shirt.
“Carter,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Daniel is reachable. I am available for a quick review after Iris is down. I am not taking the file back.”
Josh looks at me. Just for a second. Iris winds up again, and his hand moves over her back.
“And the full recommendation?” Carter asks.
“Tomorrow.”
Iris objects at full volume.
“Liv, is this a bad time?”
“It is a baby, Carter. Send me the demand.”
“Got it.”
“And Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time, do not offer my availability before you know whether you have it.”
Another beat.
“Understood.”
I hang up.
Josh has Iris against his shoulder. Her cries are already smaller, less certain, as if she is still upset but open to hearing counterarguments.
He used to wait in doorways when I was on a call. Never interrupting. Never asking for anything.
Just there.
Tonight, he did not interrupt either.
He only took the little person that was screaming.
“Work?” he says.
“Associate. Second year.”
His eyes move to the two plates on the counter.
“Someone else’s emergency?”
“It should be.”
He shifts Iris higher against his shoulder. “Then we’ll let it be someone else’s for a minute.”
I set my phone on the counter.
I know what work can do to dinner.
Josh knows I know.
He does not say it. He just shifts Iris higher and keeps one hand steady on her back.
“I may need fifteen minutes after Iris goes down,” I say. “Maybe twenty. I don’t want it to take dinner.”
There.
I said it.
Josh looks at me for a second and nods.
“Then we’ll protect dinner.”
“We should eat. Dinner’s going to be cold,” I say.
“Oven’s on.”
He walked into a live conference call, a baby at full Atomic Tomato, and somehow, his first move was to put dinner in the oven.
I step into the kitchen. The plates are still waiting, and Iris is quiet against his shoulder.
No call. No crying. No Carter in my ear.
Just the two plates waiting on the table.
Josh sways with Iris against his shoulder. I set two spoons on the counter.
“You were on when she—” He nods at Iris.
“Yes.”
“They notice?”
"He heard something,” I say, spooning ragu into the first bowl. “Carter kept going, to his credit.”
Josh watches me for a second. He shifts Iris higher. “So did you.”
“It was a phone call.”
“It was a phone call with Iris at full volume.”
I reach for the second bowl. “Multitasking.”
Iris makes a small sound against his shoulder, not quite asleep but close.
Josh looks toward the hallway. “I should get her down.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Dinner can wait.”
There.
A clean exit.
If he wants one.
He doesn’t move toward the hallway.
“Dinner can wait.” His eyes stay on mine. “But the reason I asked didn’t go away.”