Twenty
Aoife
Present
I was hurting.
It was a strange hurt. Deep inside my abdomen. It had been coming on and off for a day or so.
My biggest concern was that it reminded me of how I’d felt just before Jake’s due date. Only this was two trimesters too early.
Rubbing my side, I turned to my guard who doubled up as my driver and asked, “John, can we go straight to the apartment?”
He nodded. “Of course, Aoife.”
He muttered something into his earpiece, so I knew the car riding behind us, one that housed my extra guards, would be following us back to my apartment building.
“Thank you,” I murmured, wincing as the rubbing only made it worse.
I knew I’d eaten too much at lunch with Jen, but damn, thishurt.
I’d intended on running some errands, dropping in at the bakery to make sure everyone was still coping with the uptick in business, but feeling like death warmed over, I had no desire to traipse around the city or to visit with my staff.
It was with relief that we arrived at the apartment building, and I slumped into the corner of the elevator as it shuttled me to the top floor.
When the doors opened, I hobbled down the hall on the hunt for my little man and found the kitchen in a state, but Jacob was smiling, so I didn’t even cringe at the sight.
Flour dusted his cheeks and what appeared to be salt dough had his fingers sticking together as he waggled them when he saw me.
“Mama!” he crowed like he hadn’t seen me in days. “Mama!”
Laughing at the sight, I leaned against the door to catch my breath as Lena grinned back at me. “He loves it.”
“He loves making a mess,” I corrected, stepping deeper into the room so I could kiss her cheek and ruffle my son’s hair before I smacked a kiss on his head too.
Taking a seat opposite Lena, I winced as my bones rattled at how heavily I’d plunked myself down and admitted, “I’m pooped.”
She eyed me as she formed a shape with the salt dough. “You should take a nap.”
Lena and I didn’t stand on ceremony anymore. Hadn’t done so for years. But still, I muttered, “I feel bad. You come to visit and I spend most of the time running errands.”
“You think I’m mad about getting to spend all this lovely time with my grandson?”
My lips curved as I watched Jake chortling away as he played, somehow managing to get the dough in his hair—this kid, I swore, was a walking, talking, breathing cognitive behavioral therapy session for OCD.
Mom would have loved this.
I had no idea where the thought came from, but it winded me. I took a second to reply, to handle the slice of pain and sweet sorrow that hit me.
“No,” I denied with a wobbly smile, “I know you love spending time with him, but I shouldn’t just cut and run. You know I like it when you come and stay with us.”
This visit was definitely impromptu, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
She’d showed up a couple days ago and had told me that I could take things easy for a while.
What expectant mother with a toddler and a busy bakery would say no to that?
“I told you I came because it’s easier to handle your doctor’s appointments when you don’t have babies clinging to your skirts.” Her gaze sharpened as she watched me rub my side again.