I press my temples. My head hurts, and trying to solve the Aaron problem is making it hurt even more. Is aspirin safe for pregnant women? I could use a few.
My phone pings, and I pull it out of my purse. It’s a text from the super—stuff for me to pick up from her office.
Normally, mail delivery people leave things in the lobby, but stuff I get costs thousands of dollars. Haute couture is not for the faint of heart. So I negotiated the privilege of having my packages sent to her office instead.
But the message confuses me. I haven’t ordered anything recently. Well, not recently enough for it to be arriving now.
Maybe I just forgot. I make my way to the office because that’s better than spinning my wheels on Aaron and what to do about him. I should probably order Chinese or something, too. Can’t forget I’m eating for two.
“Hi, Nelly,” I say.
She beams at me. “Hey, Jo. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. You look fantastic.”
“Thanks. The lipstick you recommended is fabulous. Never smudges!” She smiles widely, showing off. “The one I used to use always came off within an hour.”
“Awesome. Happy to hear that.”
“Anyway, your things.” She reaches down and lifts up a big black paper bag with Z written in gold.
That’s the club that Anthony Blackwood owns. Why would somebody send me anything in that bag?
“You didn’t tell me you were dating a hottie.”
“What?” I blink, my mind still on the bag.
“The man who brought it here. Honey, he’s a keeper.” She sighs dreamily. “If I were ten years younger—and single—I’d give you a run for that man. That voice was wonderful, made for pillow talk.”
That’s Edgar for sure. But why did he come over? I peek inside the bag and see a pair of thermoses, a few Tupperware containers and a note on top. I take the note and look at it. The handwriting is neat and strong, just like the man himself.
Dear Jo,
Heard you don’t stock your fridge often, so I thought I’d drop these off. Some soup and food for today and tomorrow. I wish I could say I made them, but actually my brother’s chef did, so they should be excellent. Ivy said that women’s appetites change when they’re pregnant, but I hope you like them anyway. I was told they’re your favorite. Take care and I’ll see you tomorrow.
–Edgar
P.S. You don’t have to wash the dishes.
P.P.S. You should get extra sleep. Cut back your hours if you feel the need.
P.P.P.S. If you don’t feel well, call me. Actually, call any time you need anything.
A phone number is written below. His insistence that I get in touch when I need something reminds me of him trying to convince me to move in with him because I might have midnight cravings.
For some bizarre reason, the gesture makes my eyes hot with tears. It’s so damn sweet. Nobody ever brought me food like this except my family, but that’s what family’s supposed to do. Damn it. If he doesn’t love me, he shouldn’t be acting like family.
The number is like a neon light on the Las Vegas Strip. I want to call and tell him everything that happened today. Then I want to ask him if he can fix it before tomorrow.
Inhaling deeply, I text him.
–Me: Got the food. Thank you!
After a few seconds, he responds.
–Edgar: Hope you like it.
–Me: I will love it.