Margaret’s face turns dreamy. “Oh, honey, it’s the best thing in the world.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to make it seem like a fairytale,” she adds quickly. “But I find myself thinking about it like that now. All the hard parts fade away over the years. I haven’t needed to be an active parent in a long, long time.”
“I’m sure your kids still come to you.”
“They’d never admit it as such, but they certainly do,” she laughs. “But the relationship changes a little as they get older. I went from being their mother to being their friend. Which is a different kind of gift. But there’s nothing like the first couple of years when they’re small and they need you. You’re the center of their universe.”
I take a deep breath. “Sounds like a lot of pressure. And responsibility.”
“It is that,” she agrees. “It’s that and more. But it’s also worth it.”
I smile. “I guess I always knew that. I’m just a little scared.”
“I know, honey. And it’s normal to be scared with your first baby. But like I said, you have a wonderful man who takes care of you. It’s so obvious how precious you are to him.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds as nameless emotions squiggle through me. “You really think so?”
“It’s hard to mistake a man in love.”
I feel my heart twist a little because I’m really not sure that her observation is at all accurate. Anton in love?
No way.
Anton in love with me?
That makes even less sense.
And even if he does have some semblance of feeling for me, how long will it last? Until I have his baby? Five years? Ten?
I feel as though I can’t count on this… whatever this is. And any time I feel even the slightest bit confident that maybe I actually can, I remember how badly I’ve misjudged both people and situations in the past.
Some wounds never scar up. They just bleed and bleed forever.
* * *
I spend almost two blissful hours in the kitchen with Margaret before Thomas appears to tell me that Anton is looking for me.
I find him in the dining area. It’s a splendid room framed on either side by glass bay windows with cushioned seats. The wall around the windows holds inlaid bookshelves loaded with endless leatherbound tomes.
Anton is standing by the windows with his back to me. He turns slowly to face me as I enter.
“Hi,” I say. “You were asking for me?”
“Have you been on your feet this whole time?” he asks, frowning.
I’m both annoyed that he’s treating me like some fragile object and touched that he seems to care so much. But the voice in the back of my head is telling me not to read into it too much. He’s just worried about his baby. You are only important insofar as you’re carrying it. A means to an end.
“I decided to help Margaret in the kitchen,” I say. “I didn’t even feel the time pass.”
“You should sit down.”
I roll my eyes and make my way to where he’s standing. “You’re fussing over nothing, Anton.”
“You almost died,” he points out.
“But I didn’t,” I say. “I’m not being irresponsible. If I thought I was doing anything that would put strain on the baby, I would stop. You don’t have to worry.”