“I’m here for two more weeks,” I remind her. “And Eastwood is two hours away. Less if traffic moves quickly.”
“Which happens so often.”
“I know. But I’ll be in the city at least once a month.”
“You better tell me every time you’re here.”
“I will,” I say and look up from my desk. I put in my two weeks’ notice today. I’d been dreading doing it and actually put it off for a full week before talking to my boss. I’m sad to leave, and part of me will miss this place. But it’s mid-January and I’m so ready to go home and be with Archer.
We have a small apartment downtown and have been finalizing plans for our house to be built this spring. Feeling like I’m becoming my mother, I’ve been pinning and saving posts on Pinterest like crazy. Archer made a list of things he wanted and has left the rest up to me. I’m having too much fun.
“Anxious to go see your man?” Marissa asks, sitting across from my desk.
“Yes. It’s almost worse having him be so close. People do commute from Eastwood to Chicago, and it’s so tempting to stay there.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I’ll have to get up at like five a.m.,” I reply with a laugh. “And it’s so cold to be taking the train and driving.”
“You are such a diva.”
“My coat doesn’t fit.” I put both hands on my large belly. “I have two months left. I’m not going to be able to move once March rolls around.”
“Speaking of March, is Kara still being a twat about the wedding photos?”
“Ugh, yes.” I save my work and shut down the computer. “Things seemed better after we said we didn’t want to even talk about wedding planning until after Emma is born, and she even allowed Dean to move their shower date so we could take December, but now she’s a bridezilla again. If I get like this before my wedding, please slap me.”
“I would have slapped you even if you didn’t ask.” She shakes her head. “My sister got like that with her wedding. Two years later he cheated on her and now they’re divorced.”
“I don’t get it. It’s so much money too.” I heft myself out of my office chair and change from my Toms to snow boots. I’ve given up on stylish footwear for the rest of my pregnancy. “Archer suggested a destination wedding.”
“Oh, those are nice!”
“He thought Hawaii since we went there, but I’m kinda leaning toward Disney World.”
“Please have it there! I need an excuse to go.”
I laugh. “We’ll start seriously planning after Emma. Though if we do want Disney, I’ll probably have to book it soon. I assume they fill up fast.”
“I’m sure they do.”
She stands and puts her coat on. I do the same and struggle to get the zipper to go up past my stomach. Not wanting to rip it, I give up and follow her out. She hugs me goodbye and I go home so I can feed the cats.
“Two more weeks and you’ll be coming with me,” I tell them, running my hand over Neville’s sleek fur. I debated bringing them for the weekend but don’t want to stress them out too much by traveling back and forth.
I change into leggings and an oversized sweater and lug two very full suitcases down to my car. I’ve been bringing stuff little by little each trip, and movers are coming at the end of next week to pack up the heavy stuff.
We’ve been in the transitional phase since Archer started the new job in Eastwood, slowly filling our little apartment with all my stuff. We’ll be cramped for sure, but it’s temporary. What doesn’t fit in the apartment is going in my parents’ basement until the new house is built.
I text Archer when I leave so he knows when to expect me home. It’s been snowing off and on all day, making us both a little nervous about me making the drive home. Part of me hopes I get snowed in Sunday night and have to take an extra day off this weekend before driving back up to Chicago.
He’s at work now and is supposed to be off tonight and all of tomorrow. Currently, the hospital is slower paced than what he’s used to, which is both good and bad for him. I know he’s looking forward to the next few years when the new hospital is up and running. He’ll have a bigger team and probably his own residents ‘to boss around’ as he likes to joke.
Traffic is slow thanks to the snow and several accidents, and I have to stop to pee before I make it into Eastwood. Archer calls to check on me, saying he’s getting ready to scrub into surgery to do an emergency appendectomy.
Fifteen minutes after we hang up, I pull into the parking lot of our apartment complex. It’s the only one in Eastwood and has been here since the 1970s and looks very much like the original.
Our door opens to the outside instead of a hall, and there are no attendant or security measures like my swanky place in the city. Neither are really needed here in Eastwood, but bad shit tends to happen when you get complacent.
I’m dragging one of the suitcases up to the door, debating on taking this one back to the car and keeping it at my parents’ house since it’s full of summer clothes when I notice the footprints. They’re not fresh, but they’re not old enough to be Archer’s either.
And they go around to the side of the house.
I let go of my suitcase and pull out my keys, quickly unlocking the door. Snow crunches under someone’s feet and I open the door just in time to step in.
“Quinn?” someone calls, and I catch a glimpse of Bobby walking around.
“Oh, uh, hi.”
Archer’s parents bought a cute little house in downtown Eastwood, with a ‘man cave’ over the garage that they’ve converted into a house for Bobby. They haven’t been here that long, and we think Bobby’s been clean this whole time. Archer doesn’t seem that optimistic, but he’s been talking to his brother more than he has in years.
“Is Archer home?”
“No, he’s at work.” Bobby isn’t wearing a coat and has his arms wrapped tightly around himself. “Come in and warm up.”
“Thanks,” he says with a nod and follows me in, stopping when he sees the suitcase. “Is this yours?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll get it. You shouldn’t be carrying heavy stuff, right?”
“It’s not too heavy but thanks.” I’m probably stronger than Bobby, but the gesture is nice. We go in and, after taking off my boots and coat, I invite Bobby into the kitchen, which lacks a table at the moment. We’ll use mine, though even with the leaf taken out, it’ll be a tight fit. There’s no point in buying new furniture before we move though.
“Want some coffee or tea or anything?”
“Coffee’d be great. Thanks.”
I turn on the coffee pot and microwave a cup of water to make myself some tea.
“I had a British friend,” Bobby says, eyeing the microwave. “He’d throw a shit fit if I made him tea that way.”
Leaning against the counter, I laugh. “I’ve heard they think microwaving water is gross. I’m too lazy to use the kettle.” I get out a tea bag and a jar of honey. “Do you and Archer have plans to hang out later?”
“Nah. I was walking around and got bored. Thought we could talk.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad you two are getting along. I know Archer likes it too.”
Bobby diverts his eyes and nods. It’s strange being around him, and I feel bad that I don’t trust him. But he’s family and if he and Archer can have some sort of relationship, it would be great.
We take our tea and coffee into the living room, and I turn on the TV to keep the awkwardness at a minimum. I debate texting Sheila and inviting her over for dinner or something. I don’t want to have dinner with Archer’s family tonight, and I don’t want Bobby to think I don’t trust him. I’m trying too, and I understand more why Archer feels the way he does.
Bobby finishes his coffee and gets up to use the bathroom. I slowly sip my tea, not really liking it but drinking it because it’s supposed to be good for pregnancy. An entire commercial break plays through on the TV, and Bobby still hasn’t come back. Gett
ing up with the pretense of heating up my tea, I look down the hall.
The bathroom door is open, and I can see Bobby’s shadow moving around in our bedroom. Dammit. I close my eyes and let out a sigh. Setting my mug down, I sneak down the hall, keeping one hand on my belly. My heart starts to speed up, and I stop right outside the door, looking in at Bobby.
My first thought is that he’s looking for prescription pads, which is probably why he came bursting into Archer’s apartment back in Indy. Instead, he’s sitting on the foot of the bed looking through an old photo album.
“Bobby?” I ask, stopping by the doorframe.
“Sorry.” He closes the album and looks up, eyes glistening a bit. “I saw it on my way out. I haven’t looked at these in years.”
“Bring it out in the living room. I’ll look at it with you.”
Nodding, he stands, tucking the book under his arm. He gets a second cup of coffee and sits on the couch next to me, going through the photos of him and Archer when they were children.
“Things were simple then,” Bobby sighs.
“They can be again.”
“Nah, I’ve fucked up too many times. Arch wants nothing to do with me.”
I press a smile, knowing it’s true. “He wants to give you a chance,” I tell him. “It’s never too late.”