15
Jace
After work, I head home. Olivia is already fiddling around in the kitchen. She’s chopping up vegetables, and there is a small fruit salad in a nearby bowl.
Together we make dinner. I prepare most of the ingredients, but she helps whenever I ask her to grab something from the fridge or hand me a utensil once I point out where it’s located.
Olivia’s cell phone buzzes in her pocket during dinner. She doesn’t so much as reach for her phone or glance at the screen to determine who is trying to get hold of her.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask.
“Seems rude to do that during dinner,” she says.
She has a point. Is she trying to teach me manners that I’ll hand down to my kid? I do tend to look at my phone a lot. It’s part of the business, not just running Barone Industries but also the mafia.
It requires a lot of my time.
How the hell I’ll raise a kid and find the time to change diapers, feed the little one, I’m not sure. I’ll probably have to bring on a nanny full-time. Which will be fine. Olivia’s room will be vacated by then, and the nanny can move in.
I smile, silence my phone, and shove it into my pocket. While I wasn’t checking it during dinner, it was on the dining room table.
Her face burns. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t saying that you can’t look at your phone.” She is quick to apologize.
“No, you’re right. It’s rude to be on your phone during dinner or when someone else has your undivided attention.” However, I am curious who is reaching out to her.
I’m sure she has friends, family, someone who is checking up on her. But she hasn’t told me about anyone else. As far as I know, she’s an orphan, which I doubt is a fact, but it seems that way.
She scrunches her nose and laughs. There’s a lightness to her demeanor, yet I can also see a struggle cross her features that I can’t explain. I don’t know her well enough to read her like a book. At least not yet.
With time, I’m confident I’ll know everything about the woman carrying my child.
“Now that it’s official,” I say, gesturing toward her, the fact that she’s pregnant, “I started ordering practically one of everything for the baby. When you start seeing dozens of packages delivering to the house, you’ll know why.”
She laughs and covers her mouth with her hand. “You don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl yet!”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I can donate anything I decide not to keep to a charity for single mothers. I’m sure there’s one out there somewhere.”
She takes another bite of her dinner, smiling and shaking her head. She doesn’t appear the least bit upset by my remark, which is good. “Always thinking ahead,” she muses. “You should probably buy a crib at the store and not online.”
“Why?” I’m curious about her thoughts. She’s a mother, and while she might not have custody of her child, she probably knows more about kids than I do.
“You can’t tell how sturdy or durable the crib is online or in a catalog. We went overboard on the nursery when I was pregnant, although I’m sure you’ll put my buying habits to shame.”
I frown. Could the caller have been her ex-husband? Does she ever get the opportunity to speak with her son? I’m sure it’s a touchy subject, but Olivia never speaks about either one of them.
“Do you speak to your son often?” I ask.
Is that who had been calling her during dinner? If it was, I can’t imagine she’d have ignored the caller. She doesn’t seem like the kind of mom who would ever ignore a phone call or text, no matter the hour or how busy she might be.
Her face falls, and she drops the fork, the metal rattling against the table. Olivia’s eyes widen, and she grabs the utensil, her cheeks red. “I, uh, he’s dead, Jace.”
My stomach flops.
I had no idea.
“I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing I can say to console her, to take away that pain. I don’t ask her any further questions.
If she wants to tell me about him, I’ll listen. But I don’t want to push her away.