CHAPTER THREE
AUbrEE
The paint swatch was called "Whisper of Dawn" and it was the most perfect shade of pale yellow I had ever seen.
I held it up against the wall of the spare bedroom, tilting it to catch the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
Not too bright, not too washed out. Warm without being overwhelming.
The kind of color that would work for a boy or a girl, because we'd decided to wait until the birth to find out the sex.
"What do you think?" I asked Tristen, who was standing in the doorway with two mugs of coffee.
He squinted at the swatch like it was a particularly confusing spreadsheet. "It's yellow."
"It's not just yellow. It's Whisper of Dawn."
"It's definitely yellow, babe."
I threw a wadded-up piece of painter's tape at his head. He ducked, laughing, and coffee sloshed over the rim of one mug.
"You're hopeless," I told him, but I was smiling. I couldn't seem to stop smiling lately. It was like someone had finally unclenched the fist that had been squeezing my heart for the past four years, and now all this joy just kept leaking out of me in ridiculous, unstoppable waves.
Tristen crossed the room and handed me my coffee, pressing a kiss to my temple as he did. "I think it's beautiful. I think everything you pick will be beautiful. I trust your vision completely."
"That's a very diplomatic answer."
"I'm a very diplomatic man."
I leaned into him, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
The coffee was warm in my hands, and Tristen was warm against my side, and the afternoon sun was turning everything golden and soft.
For a moment, I just let myself exist in this feeling.
This hope. This fragile, terrifying belief that maybe, this time, things were actually going to work out.
"I was thinking we could do the crib against this wall," I said, gesturing with my mug. "And then a rocking chair by the window. Maybe some floating shelves for books and toys."
"Sounds perfect."
"And I found this mobile online that has little felt animals. Elephants and giraffes and lions. It's handmade by this woman in Vermont who uses all organic materials."
"Order it."
I pulled back to look at him. "You don't even want to see it first?"
"Nope." He was gazing down at me with this expression on his face, this look of such naked adoration that it made my chest ache. "If you love it, I love it. That's how this works."
"God, you're being so agreeable lately. It's almost suspicious."
He laughed and pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His chin rested on the top of my head, and I felt the rumble of his voice through his chest when he spoke.
"I'm just happy. Is that so hard to believe?"
"A little bit, yeah."
His arms tightened around me. "Well, get used to it. We're having a baby, Aubree. An actual, real baby. I think I'm allowed to be a little bit insufferable about it."
I turned in his arms so I was facing him, my coffee mug trapped between our bodies. "You're not insufferable. You're sweet. You've been so sweet these past few weeks."
"I'm always sweet."
"You're really not."
He grinned, and then he was kissing me, and the coffee was in danger of spilling again but I didn't care.
His mouth was soft and familiar against mine, and his hands were sliding down to grip my hips, and for a second I forgot we were standing in an empty room that smelled like paint samples and possibility.
This. This was what I'd been missing.
Not just the physical stuff, although that had definitely suffered during the years of fertility treatments.
The hormones had made me feel so disconnected from my body, so bloated and wrong and unsexy, that I'd started avoiding Tristen's touch almost unconsciously.
And he'd been so careful with me, so patient, that I sometimes wondered if he even still wanted me at all.
But lately, something had shifted. The desperation was gone, replaced by this buzzing undercurrent of anticipation that made everything feel charged and new.
When Tristen touched me now, I actually felt it.
The heat of his palms through my clothes.
The way his fingers pressed into my flesh like he was trying to memorize the shape of me.
The low sound he made in the back of his throat when I kissed him back.
It felt like the early days of our relationship, when we couldn't keep our hands off each other. When we'd spend entire weekends in bed, ordering takeout and watching bad movies and fucking until we were both too exhausted to move.
I missed that. I missed us.
"We should probably finish looking at paint swatches," I murmured against his mouth.
"Probably."
"We're not going to finish looking at paint swatches, are we?"
"Probably not."
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and I felt the vibration against my thigh. He ignored it, deepening the kiss, but it buzzed again. And then again.
I pulled back with a sigh. "Just check it. It might be important."
He fished the phone out reluctantly, glancing at the screen. Something flickered across his face, there and gone so fast I almost missed it. Then he typed out a quick response and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
"Nothing important," he said. "Now where were we?"
But the moment had shifted. I could feel it, the way you could feel a change in barometric pressure before a storm. Something had changed in the air between us, something subtle but unmistakable.
"Who was it?" I asked, keeping my voice light.
"Just Oakleigh. She had a question about the appointment schedule."
"She texted you directly? Not the group chat?"
Tristen shrugged. "I guess so. Does it matter?"
I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time, trying to figure out why my stomach had suddenly tightened.
It was a reasonable question. We'd set up the group chat specifically so that all three of us would be on the same page about everything pregnancy-related.
It was supposed to make communication easier, more transparent.
So why was Oakleigh texting my husband directly?
"It's just that we have the group chat for a reason," I said carefully. "I don't want to miss any updates about the baby."
"You won't miss anything. I'll tell you everything."
"But that's not really the point, is it?" I set my mug down on the windowsill, giving myself something to do with my hands. "The point is that we're all supposed to be communicating together. As a team."
Tristen was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not defensive, exactly, but something close to it. Wary, maybe. Like he was trying to figure out where this conversation was heading.
"Aubree, it was one text. She probably just tapped on the wrong contact. It's not a big deal."
"I know it's not a big deal. I'm not saying it's a big deal."
"You kind of are, though."
The warmth I'd been feeling moments ago was rapidly cooling into something else. Irritation, maybe. Or frustration. I hated that I was even having this reaction, because Tristen was right. It wasn't a big deal. It was one text message. People made mistakes with their contacts all the time.
But there was a voice in the back of my head, a small and poisonous voice, whispering that maybe it wasn't a mistake.
Maybe Oakleigh had texted Tristen directly on purpose.
Maybe she liked having a direct line to him.
Maybe she liked the way he responded to her, all attentive and accommodating and eager to please.
I shut that voice down immediately, because it was crazy. It was actually insane. Oakleigh was our surrogate, not some scheming temptress trying to steal my husband. She was doing us an enormous favor, and here I was, acting like a jealous psychopath over a single text message.
"You're right," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm being weird. Sorry."
"You're not being weird." Tristen stepped closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're being protective. I get it. This whole situation is new and scary and there's a lot at stake."
"There's everything at stake."
"I know." He cupped my face in his hands, tilting it up so I had to meet his eyes. "But we're in this together, okay? You and me. Nothing is going to come between us."
I wanted to believe him. I really did. And standing there in that sun-drenched room with his hands warm on my cheeks, it was easy to let myself be convinced. Easy to sink back into the comfort of his certainty.
"Maybe just mention it to her?" I said. "About the group chat? I don't want to make it awkward, but it would make me feel better if we kept everything in one place."
Something flickered in Tristen's eyes. Just for a second, too fast for me to identify. Then he smiled and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Sure. I'll mention it."
"Thank you."
"Of course. Now can we please get back to what we were doing? I believe we were in the middle of something."
I laughed, and he kissed me again, and I let myself be swept back into the warmth of him.
His mouth, his hands, his solid reassuring presence.
This was my husband. The man who had held me through three miscarriages.
The man who had wiped my tears and rubbed my back and told me we would get through this together, no matter what.
He would never do anything to hurt me. I knew that.
So why couldn't I shake the feeling that something was off?
Later that night, after Tristen had fallen asleep, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked at his phone. That flicker of something on his face, there and gone before I could name it. It had looked almost like guilt. Or maybe secrecy. Like there was something he didn't want me to see.
You're being paranoid, I told myself firmly. The fertility treatments messed with your hormones for years. You're not thinking clearly.
It was true. The medications had done a number on my brain chemistry. My therapist had warned me that it might take months for everything to regulate, that I might experience mood swings and irrational thoughts and baseless suspicions.
That was all this was. A baseless suspicion born from years of disappointment and loss.
Tristen loved me. Oakleigh was just our surrogate. The three of us were a team, working together to bring a baby into this world.
Everything was fine.
I rolled onto my side, pressing my back against Tristen's warm bulk. He murmured something in his sleep and draped an arm over me, pulling me close. His breath was warm against my neck, steady and slow.
This was real. This was solid. This was the man I had married, the man I had built a life with.
I closed my eyes and made a decision. I was going to let this go.
I was going to trust my husband and trust Oakleigh and focus on the incredible blessing that was growing inside her.
I was going to decorate the nursery and buy the organic felt mobile and allow myself to be happy for once in my goddamn life.
No more suspicions. No more irrational jealousy. No more letting my broken brain poison something beautiful.
It was going to be fine.
Everything was going to be fine.