Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sadie
A lthough I knew in the abstract that pregnancy cravings were a thing, I still wasn’t truly prepared for the intensity when they strike. It can be a flavour, or a texture, or both, but when it hits, it will not be denied and you just gotta have it. If you even try not to, or to have something else instead, you’ll get cranky as balls, so it’s better to just get what you’re jonesing for and enjoy it. It’s for the baby, after all.
Which is why I’ve nipped out in the middle of the morning to pick up some baby carrots and a jar of Nutella.
Something about the smooth, thick texture of the hazelnut spread and the sweet crunch of the carrots together is just speaking to me.
I feel marginally more virtuous when I find a different brand of the spread that’s palm oil free and made with all natural ingredients. “That makes it practically a salad, right?” I say to my bump. I’ve started talking to the baby loads more of late, ever since I noticed that he or she moves more when I do, like they like the sound of my voice. It’s the same when Leo talks to them; I swear I felt the baby laugh once when he told them a funny story about Click licking his client’s face when they passed out. It’s heart melting each and every time our baby responds to either of us, to the point where I’m probably going to spend their first day of life smothering them with cuddles and kisses for being so adorable. “You don’t mind a healthy substitute, right? Course you don’t. It’ll help you grow all big and strong…though please, not too big, OK, sweetiepops? Mama’s pink falafel is only so big.” I feel what I think is a little elbow stretch, and I run a loving hand over it with a smile.
I hear a giggle next to me. A woman with grey hair wearing the supermarket uniform is shaking her head at me. “‘Pink falafel’. That’s a new one on me.”
I grin. “You’d love one of my best friends. She’s always coming up with weird and wonderful new names for lady bits.”
She points at my stomach. “First baby?” I nod. “How long to go?”
“Just a couple of months.” I’m not sure if I can’t wait for my due date or whether I just want to stay like this indefinitely. This way, both my baby and my vagina are safe from all harm.
She smiles wistfully at me. “Get as much sleep as you can now. But also remember, every sleepless night to come is totally one hundred percent worth it.” She lets out a sigh as she starts to stack jam jars on the shelf. “I love my boys as they are now, but I often wish I could have one last cuddle with them as babies. They change so fast.”
“They really do. My niece went from baby to toddler within about a week, I swear.” I rub my belly, wishing I could slow down time just a little bit. Aside from the sickness and the tiredness and the crying for stupid reasons, I’m enjoying myself. And while my baby is inside me, I can protect them from all comers. I swallow hard as Wendy’s face when she’s spoken of the Prom Night shooting enters my head unbidden. This baby’s not even born yet, and I can’t even imagine …
I shake it off. I don’t want to start crying in front of a stranger. Exchanging a pleasant goodbye, I pick up a couple of mangoes and a bag of kiwi fruit on my way to the checkout. Lord knows my craving for fruit isn’t going anywhere, and while cutting up the mango will be a faff, I discovered that it’s perfectly safe, albeit fuzzy, to eat kiwis without peeling them first, as long as they’ve been washed. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do in a pinch when I get desperate for a fix.
After paying and wrangling with the ‘unexpected item in the bagging area’ bullshit - every single time, for Chrissakes - I head out. The weather is just starting to turn, and there are fewer tourists around, but it’s still pleasant enough that some still linger for the last handful of mini-breaks they can squeeze in. Carrying an extra six or seven pound weight around my front that I can’t take off, one that also gives my other organs, including my lungs, a bit less space…well, it means walking around in a white t-shirt and shorts is still a solid option. And I’ve been living in my flip flops, which are so beaten up now that I’m not sure they’re going to last the remaining eight to ten weeks, but I don’t care that I can feel the texture and temperature of the pavement through them.
But I do wish the journey back to the parlour wasn’t mostly uphill.
So when Peter appears in front of me, I’m too focused on trying not to get out of breath to recognise him for a few moments. I even smile at him, just because he’s a familiar face. It’s a few seconds before my mind catches up.
If he hadn’t been right in front of me, staring like a creepy stalker, I might not have recognised him. His hair is a little longer than he normally likes; he prefers a haircut you can set your watch by. His skin is dry, his cheeks sunken, his eyes shadowed. He looks like he hasn’t slept well in weeks. His clothes are still of the highest quality - I spot his best Armani shirt straight away - but everything hangs on him like they’re one or two sizes too large for him.
I consider asking him what the hell has happened to him, he looks that sick. But then I find I just don’t care enough to spend the breath it would take.
So I look away and start to walk past him.
“Sadie,” he says, his voice a mix of tiredness, irritation, and begging, but I ignore him. “Sadie, stop a minute.”
I roll my eyes and carry on, but I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be, so he’s easily able to keep pace with me.
He makes a choked noise. “Jesus, you’re pregnant?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I stop and give him a wide eyed, innocent stare. “I’m what? What do you mean?”
He’s so shocked that he doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm he hated so much, and just points carelessly at my abdomen.
I cradle it, wishing my baby didn’t have to breathe the same air as this cretinous dicksplash. “What, this? No, I just swallowed a watermelon whole, you fucking idiot .” He continues gaping at me, and then, inexplicably, he takes a step forward, his hand inching towards my stomach. People seem to have no inhibitions about doing that, I swear. I will tolerate well intentioned clients touching it without asking, just , but not this wanker. “Touch my bump and I will break your face,” I snarl, making him jump slightly.
He sighs, rubbing his eyes fitfully. “I didn’t know. I…didn’t know.” His eyes are red and sore looking, and he looks almost defeated. “Leo’s, I suppose?”
I narrow my eyes. “Who else’s? Yours ?” If he asks me if this baby is his, eighteen months after we broke up and even longer since we had sex, I don’t think I will ever stop laughing.
He doesn’t take kindly to being mocked. When I used to playfully tease him, he didn’t like it; open scorn is a red rag to a bull. “So, you two were carrying on behind my back, then?”
I roll my eyes. “Stop projecting. Just because you didn’t keep it in your pants doesn’t mean the rest of us were so sexually incontinent.”
He actually looks abashed for a second. It’s the sort of expression I’d have expected to see on his face back at the beginning of our relationship. But it doesn’t wash anymore. None of it does.
Having spent the last few months being adored by my devastatingly handsome and charismatic best friend, the most generous, big hearted, kindly inclined, smart, and fun person I know, it throws what I had with this jackass into sharp relief. Christ on a bike , I was so bored with him. He’s just grey and dull and tedious, both in appearance and personality. What was I thinking?
And what did my loyalty and fidelity to this bowl of watery porridge of a man get me? Fuck all.
“I wish I had, though,” I add spitefully, turning away. The gloves are off, now, and I want to hurt him. I want to piss him off. I don’t care about being nice or fair or the bigger person anymore. “I’d have had a lot more fun, in every area of my life.”
He whips across so he stands in my way again, almost but not quite squaring up to me. “Did you ever ask yourself why I chose Cecelia?” His voice is raspy, almost worn.
“Do you ever wonder why I couldn’t give a fuck why you did?”
“You care. Even if it’s just hurt pride, you care.” He sneers. “I’m glad you’re sticking to your level these days, at least.”
I lift an eyebrow, the red mist descending. “Go on…?” Let him say it. Let him see what happens when he finally just goes ahead and says what he’s always thought.
He looks me up and down, lingering on my bump…and, if I’m not mistaken, my boobs. “Do you know what it was like for me, taking you to all those networking evenings, surrounded by my peers, with you on my arm? The eyeliner, the tattoos bared for all to see, the loud laugh, the way you made it clear you had no idea what anyone was talking about, and just started wittering on about art or films that nobody else cared about? The way they’d look at me afterwards…” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Like you were the best and most appropriate partner I could find, like you were the best I was capable of? You never even tried to behave with dignity, or carry yourself with any kind of elegance. You were fun to begin with, I’ll grant you that, but you’re so… selfish , so unwilling to try to - ”
I hold a hand up, and to my surprise, he shuts up. I give him the sweetest smile I can. “Try?” I start giggling, seething inside. “Like you did, you mean? Face like a slapped arse whenever I wanted us to go out with my friends? Insisting we leave early? Treating them like something you found on the toilet paper you’d wiped your arse with?”
He looks at me like I’m disgusting. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. The coarseness … It was never appropriate, and you just didn’t give a sh- ”
“I always tried. I talked to everyone you introduced me to and tried to find common ground. You can’t say the same.” I take a step backwards. “You say I’ve found my level and I’m sticking to it? Well, my level puts me with Leo, who is smarter, more successful, more polite, and more interesting than you will ever be, so I take that as the highest compliment.” I scoff at his stony face. “Do you realise? You can’t even insult me successfully. And now you’ve bored me, again , and I’m not interested in saying anything else to you, or hearing anything you might have to say, so goodbye forever, and…” I flip him the bird with both hands, and then walk away, striding as best I can while walking uphill.
“That child of yours doesn’t stand a chance,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.
“This child of mine will be able to kick your kid’s arse, if you ever have one. And you know it.” I wink at him, clicking my tongue and giving him finger guns. “I’m off to live a fun and happy life. Enjoy your boring and empty one, and go fuck yourself.”
I couldn’t resist the last three words. I’m only human, after all.
He wanted me to feel beneath him, because that’s the only way he can try to make himself feel better.
He failed.
His opinions hold no weight anymore; in fact, because they’re his opinions, I’m more likely to think the opposite of anything he tries to tell me.
And my lord , I will be raising my child to be nothing like him.
Leo
This is my favourite time of day.
Who am I kidding. It’s my favourite thing that has ever happened to me.
Sadie and I are both naked, both sated after a slow, lazy fuck on the bed - having made creative use of her long pregnancy pillow to keep things comfortable for her throughout - and now I’m running my hand over her bare skin, from her neck to her knees, over and over. I focus most of my attention on our little one, who occasionally prods at my hand from inside the woman I love. Sweet little alien.
“...and you’re gonna love Brazilian barbecue,” I tell them, continuing our admittedly one sided conversation about the food waiting to be experienced once they’re born. “The meat is so tender and juicy, it’s insane . But if you end up being a vegetarian, that’s cool, I know a place that does this habanero falafel slider that is just …” I do a chef kiss, before kissing just above Sadie’s navel. “Seriously, though, anything you want to be, I’ll be behind you all the way.”
“You’re making me hungry,” Sadie says sleepily, curling a lock of my hair around her fingers.
I smile up at her. “Want to order anything in?”
She sighs as she thinks. “Hmmmm, maybe. In a bit.” She blinks. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you: guess who I ran into today when I popped out?”
I concentrate, trying to read her mind. “Not your dad?” I ask with concern, but she seems fine, and I think seeing him would have distressed her.
“No, thank goodness, but you’re in the right ballpark.” She sits up a little. “Peter.”
Shit. “Whoah. And he survived?” I joke, privately bracing myself for whatever she has to say about him.
She grins. “Just about. Though I did tell him to fuck himself.”
I hold up my hand and she high fives me. “Long overdue. Good girl.”
“Ooooh,” she shimmies, “we can revisit you saying that to me sometime.”
I laugh, the relief that he hasn’t upset her making me a little lightheaded. “So, what did Lord Douchecanoe have to say for himself?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing memorable, and nothing I didn’t already know he thought. He did accuse me of boning you behind his back.”
“If only,” I say dryly, shifting up to kiss her. It feels necessary, like a claiming. I’m not above the need to mark my territory, it seems.
“That’s basically what I told him,” she dimples.
Oooof. Hearing her say that gives me unreasonable amounts of smugness.
“It was weird, though. He looked sick. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was on something, like a Class A, maybe.” She shrugs. “Still, not my circus, not my monkey.”
“Sounds like his life has hit the skids. Oh dear. How terrible.” My voice is flat and sarcastic, and she laughs. “I’m proud of you for telling him where to go.”
“It felt so good,” she admits. Lying back on the pillow, the way her hair cascades over the cotton pillowcase drags my attention away from concern about that bag of dicks trying to talk to her.
I mean, what’s more interesting? My woman, or him ?
And she doesn’t seem like she’s changing her mind about what we’re doing here. Far from it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happier or more at ease with herself and her life.
Will you ever win? Stevie Nicks sings in my memories as our baby kicks against my palm like a reminder, and I think, yeah, actually, Stevie, I will.
I am winning.