Chapter 32 Deena
THIRTY-TWO
DEENA
“He means well,” Erica said as I poked at my rubbery scrambled eggs. I’d almost ordered runny eggs out of spite, but Cal’s words rang in my ears.
What if I did get sick, and something happened to the baby? I’d never forgive myself.
“I know he does,” I said, “but I just wish he’d back off a bit. How did you handle it for so long?”
Erica had told me that Cal had taken her in when her ex left her after her diagnosis. He’d handled all her appointments, her treatment plan, and her daughter’s care—but he’d micromanaged her diet and recovery as well. It had driven her crazy.
“You have to take the good with the bad,” she said. “When he cares about you, Cal is all in, all the time. It’s how he is with his business, it’s how he is with his family, and it’s how he is with you.”
We’d only really been together—truly together—a little less than two months. It was overwhelming to be put in the same category as the company Cal had spent his life building and the family he cherished above everything.
I swallowed past a lump in my throat. “He told me about your little sister,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
Erica smiled sadly. “Gracie’s death changed him. Changed all of us.”
“I appreciate everything he’s doing,” I said slowly. “I do. It’s just…a lot.”
“Try to be patient with him. A baby is a big deal. He’s probably still reeling.”
“We both are,” I admitted. “The weeks just seem to fly by. And then the baby will get here, and…”
“And everything will get even more complicated.”
I nodded, glum. Part of me wished I’d never walked into Cal’s office back in December last year. But that wasn’t exactly true, was it? I felt more alive than ever. And even though this baby was unplanned, I couldn’t deny that I was excited for its arrival.
We had to adjust. Maybe, like Erica said, I had to be patient with Cal. He was being overbearing because he cared, after all.
Still, as we headed back to his building, and my eyes climbed the skyscraper to look at the windows where his penthouse perched, my gut tightened with apprehension.
I wished I could go back to my own apartment, be surrounded by my own things, and just breathe.
Yes, my studio wasn’t as secure as this building.
My furniture was cheap and some of my things were falling apart.
But they were mine. As we rode the elevator up toward the residence, I wondered if I was giving up a little too much for the luxury Cal provided.
How much more freedom would I have to sacrifice in order to placate his fears?
And would he ever truly understand the kind of independence I needed in order to be happy?
Erica left me to go rest, and I headed up to Cal’s bedroom. I should’ve thought of it as my bedroom, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like I’d squished myself into Cal’s life, constricting some parts of me to the point of pain.
It would take time. There had been lots of changes in a short amount of time. I needed to be patient.
Cal found me a few hours later. I sat on the armchair in the bedroom, my laptop on my stretched legs.
I’d gotten a lot done in the stillness of his home, and I felt better.
He entered the room slowly, his eyes searching mine, and some of the tension within me eased.
With his top two buttons undone and his hair mussed, he looked as unraveled as I felt.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed closest to me, Cal leaned his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I’m just trying to do what’s best.”
I exhaled. “I know, Cal.”
“I still don’t want you to eat runny egg yolks,” he admitted.
I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips.
“I won’t.” I stood up and went to him, sighing in relief as his hands slid around my thighs.
His thumbs brushed the underside of my bottom, and he tilted his head up as I raked my fingers through his hair.
He hummed, his eyes fluttering shut, and I knew that no one—not even his beloved sister and niece—got to see him like this.
There was something so beautiful between us, and I was desperate to make it work. I just hoped he would be willing to give me the space I needed for that to happen.
We reached a truce. I went back to the office on a part-time basis and kept working with my own clients during the other regular business hours. I cut down on after-hours work and forced myself to choke down the green smoothies he insisted I consume.
To his credit, Cal stopped pestering me so much. He still scheduled appointments with physiotherapists and personal trainers, doctors and dietitians, but he checked with me first.
It felt good, but it also felt like we were balancing on a knife’s edge.
We were tolerating each other’s preferences, testing each other’s boundaries.
I’d work until I knew he was vibrating with anxiety for me to rest. He’d send me calendar requests for workouts and other appointments.
We circled each other as the weeks passed.
My body began to change more rapidly, and the tension between us grew thicker.
We found out we were having a boy. I reeled, everything suddenly feeling that much more real. After that appointment, Cal insisted I set my laptop aside and rest. He watched me eat and reviewed my latest bloodwork until the late hours of the night. I watched him, heart sinking.
Neither of us was getting what we needed, and we both knew we never would. Cal wouldn’t give me the freedom, autonomy, and independence I craved. I wouldn’t give him the doe-eyed submission he needed. We were in stasis.
When I met with Alba on her rooftop veggie garden at the end of July, her eyes slid toward me, and she hummed.
I sat on a bench Vaughn had built for her and rubbed my palms over my face. “You think this is a gigantic red flag, don’t you?”
“I’m just concerned about what will happen when the baby gets here,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “I don’t think seeing a tiny, helpless infant will make him stress less.”
I gulped. “Right.” She was saying my own fears out loud. There was a big ticking bomb above my head—in my womb—and I wasn’t sure Cal’s and my relationship would survive its explosion.
It wasn’t all bad. When I was in my twenty-first week, I felt a flutter. It was late in the evening, when I was in bed next to Cal, and I gasped. I grabbed his hand, and the baby fluttered again.
Wide-eyed, I looked at him. “Did you feel that?”
He focused his gaze on the back of his palm like he’d suddenly developed X-ray vision. “Feel what? Is the baby moving?”
“There! Oh!”
“I can’t feel anything,” he said, pressing a little more firmly on my lower belly.
I laughed. “He’s moving so much! I can’t believe you can’t feel that!”
His eyes were shining as he met my gaze. “I’ll feel it soon. A few more weeks, maybe.” He smiled and leaned over to kiss me. My heart burst with happiness and excitement and fear, conflicting emotions making it hard to figure out what, exactly, was making me so teary-eyed.
Cal held me close, his palm on my belly, his steady heartbeat helping me settle. In moments like this, I wondered why I was so worried about the future. The two of us were clearly meant for each other; we could weather whatever storm would come.