Lauren makes a face, one that’s easy to read. She wants to ask me why I don’t like my mother but doesn’t want to offend me. Sometimes she’s too fucking nice. I hate that she holds back on account of not wanting to risk ruffling feathers. Though on the other hand, I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Or ever.
“I really want a hot dog,” Lauren says. “And a big pretzel with cheese. We need to stop at the cafe on the way out.”
“That’s doable. I haven’t had a big pretzel in years. It sounds good.”
“Doesn’t it? I’m craving salty stuff bad right now.”
“I got something salty for ya.” I put my hands on her waist and she playfully shoves me away.
She takes the list from me, checking things off. I have to admit I admire her organizational skills. I’ve tried being organized before. It just doesn’t happen and sometimes I have a hard time understand how anyone can keep their shit together like that.
“You’re going to be a good mom,” I tell her.
Lauren looks up from the list and smiles. “I hope so. I worry a lot about it. I don’t want to let this kid down. It’s bad enough I didn’t take prenatal vitamins until I was over a month along.”
“The doctor said that wasn’t going to be an issue,” I remind her. “And you seriously need to let that go and not beat yourself up over it. Ella is doing just fine.” I put my hand on her belly.
“Thanks. And you’re going to be a good dad.” Her eyes meet mine and she smiles, honestly believing it.
I smile back, but feel like a fraud. She believes it, but I don’t.
Chapter 19
LAUREN
“SHOULD YOU START bringing stuff over?” I ask Noah. It’s Tuesday night and I just got off work. I’m exhausted. At thirty weeks pregnant, I don’t see how I can get any bigger. And I still have ten weeks left.
“Probably. I hate packing.” He makes a face and stands, taking both our empty dinner plates off the table to put in the dishwasher. “If I start now and slowly bring shit over it won’t be that bad.”
I nod. “What about your furniture? It won’t all fit in here.”
“Fuck. I hadn’t thought about that. Is there room in your basement?”
“There is.” With this house being older, the basement is dark and cold, making it feel more like a cellar. Plus, it’s creepy. I keep the door closed and rarely go down there. “We can swap some stuff out. Your stuff is a bit nicer.” Most of my furniture is a hand-me-down from my sister, parents, or grandma. But hey, it works.
“Whatever you want,” he says. “But I am putting in my TV.”
“It’s going to take up the whole wall!”
“I know.” He smiles. “Trust me, you’ll learn to appreciate watching your princess movies on it.”
“I probably will.” I lean back, resting my hands on my belly, and yawn. “These twelves are killing me,” I say then regret it. Noah worries too much about me working.
“You should cut back your hours. Or start your leave earlier.”
“If I start earlier, then I’ll have to come back sooner. Though, that is tempting.” My back and feet scream in protest every morning when I get dressed. Noah comes over and helps me up, and we take our conversation into the living room. The dogs follow, squeezing onto the couch with us.
“You get off at four tomorrow, right?”
“I do. Why?”
His full lips pull into a smile. He shaved his beard off last week and it’s coming in thick already. He looks good with and without it. “I booked you a prenatal massage.”
My eyes light up. “Seriously? Oh my God, thank you!”
“I didn’t know they were a thing, or else I would have done it sooner. A client told me about it yesterday. It’s an hour massage then a pedicure. It’s at four-thirty, so you can go right after work. Then come back here and I’ll make dinner. And later you can thank me sexually, of course.”
“Of course.” Maybe I’ll be in the mood after some pampering. Because right now, Ella is pressing down hard on my pelvis, making sex uncomfortable. So much for keeping romance alive the whole nine months.