Thresholds

by Kate Canterbary

  She was sound asleep in the position I'd named the Drunken Sailor—flat on her back, arms and legs flailed out, head full of wild blonde curls all over the place, drool spilling over her chin. This kid. I had no idea I could adore one little person this much.

  Because she could go from Drunken Sailor to Screeching Attack Ninja in five seconds flat, I backed out of the room slowly and closed the door with more care than I gave to defusing actual bombs.

  I went in search of coffee and found my father in the kitchen. The dogs weaved between his legs, each vying for more head scratches and pats. From the look of his layers and the leashes tucked into his back pocket, I'd guess they were coming in from a walk on the beach.

  "Morning," I called.

  "Morning," he echoed. "I'm going to get these guys set up with some breakfast. We had a nice run, didn't we, boys?"

  He accepted their tail wagging as agreement and led them into the space that served as our laundry room, pantry, and canine living quarters. He returned a few minutes later and busied himself with preparing a bowl of oatmeal.

  I set a pair of mugs, a jar of cold brew coffee, and a jug of milk on the countertop beside my father. "I take it you and Judy had a pleasant evening," I said as I filled my cup.

  He shot me a quick glance from the corner of his eye. Yeah. He knew. He knew exactly what I was talking about. "Yes, pleasant," he replied. "Your mother enjoys watching that singing competition program. She missed it while we were overseas."

  "Singing competition. Mmhmm." Keeping my eyes on him, I returned the milk and coffee to the refrigerator. "I'm sure it was the singing competition that woke Abby around midnight."

  My father had the decency to look contrite, though I wasn't certain I'd observed that reaction from him before this moment. That was how it went with old-school SEALs like him.

  "I'll make sure your mother turns it down," he said.

  He collected the mug I'd left for him and carried it to the coffee pot. He must've turned it on before he went out with the dogs. Cold brew wasn't his preference, definitely not in the winter. My father was devout when it came to the hot drinks during cold weather, cold drinks during hot weather paradigm.

  "The singing competition? Or the headboard banging?" He choked on his coffee, and nearly upended it as he coughed. I relieved him of the mug and gave him a firm smack on the back to clear his airway. "Are you gonna make it, or are you gonna let some fair-trade coffee take you down?"

  "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, waving me off. "I wasn't expecting that comment, that's all."

  "I wasn't expecting the headboard banging."

  "Don't think you can take that tone of voice with me," he snapped. "I don't care how old you are, you don't talk about your mother that—"

  "Believe me," I said, cutting him off, "I'm just as unhappy about this conversation as you are." I shook my head to banish all thoughts of my parents having sex. In my house. Multiple times. Loudly. "And don't correct me if I'm wrong but I believe you had a role in last evening's activities."

  We stared at each other for the longest, most physically uncomfortable moment of my life. Then my father nodded once and turned his attention back to his breakfast. He stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other on his coffee, gazing out the window at the choppy blue-gray waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Determining that the discussion portion of this confrontation was complete, I grabbed a loaf of bread and set a few slices to toast. I didn't understand pregnancy cravings beyond my basic obligation to fulfill them, but it was curious how they varied with each baby. This time around, Shannon was obsessed with hot, spicy foods…and toast. She couldn't function without two pieces first thing in the morning.

  Early on, around her third or fourth month, she left for the office with the plan of grabbing something to eat at the bakery café near Walsh Associates. She didn't even make it out of the driveway before deciding she needed some toast for the ride.

  Now I fired up the oven right after looking over the night's situation reports and delivered her first breakfast straight to the bedroom.

  "Rise and shine, mama," I said, jogging in place beside the bed. "There are five miles of sand with your name on them. Up and at 'em."

  Shannon stretched her arms over her head, and the bedsheets fell away, revealing her round belly and tiny sleep shorts. It didn't matter whether she wore a close-fitting camisole or baggy t-shirt, she always woke up with her tummy exposed. "Do I look like I'm interested in running five miles with you?"

  "You'd rather hit a spin class? What about some barre? I can dig my leotard out of the closet," I replied, still jogging. "Come on, girl. Rally."

  I stopped when she beckoned me closer, and I dropped my hands to either side of her hips. She was warm and drowsy, her hair spread over the pillow like a sunrise. I adored this unpolished version of her, the one that existed only inside the four walls of our bedroom. The one reserved for me.

  "Listen carefully, Commando." She closed her fingers around my shirt and tugged me down. She smiled, but it was one of her I hope you enjoy the torture I'm about to inflict smiles. "I've figured out what you can get me for Christmas."

  "And what would that be?"

  "A vasectomy," she replied. "For you, of course. But mostly for me."

  I barked out a laugh. "You don't mean that," I said.

  "Oh, but I do," she said, coasting her hands up my back. "You did this to me."

  "I did," I said, dragging my fingers along her waist and over her belly. "Though I recall you enjoyed it at the time."

  "Lies," she murmured. "All lies." She sucked in a breath then let out a low groan. "Someone's awake."

  Based on the movement under my hand, this kid was doing jumping jacks in there. "I want you to stay here today."

  She sighed, shaking her head. "I have a full day."

  "I want you to stay here today," I repeated. "Anything you need to do, you can do from home." I tipped my chin toward her. "Save the eye rolling. That shit doesn't work on me."

  "Will, I'm fine, and I need to do this. I'm going to be annoyed if I can't get everything done before the holiday."

  "Then Abby can stay with my parents, and I'll go in with you."

  "That's not going to work. I have meetings and—"

  "And I have a responsibility to take care of you," I said, cutting her off. "I'll sit through your meetings. I'll do whatever you need and go wherever you need to go."

  "Yeah, Will. Sure. You won't last ten minutes in a meeting with my brothers."

  "I'll be fine," I replied. "They might end up hog-tied but that can't be helped."

  "There will be no commando tactics in my office today," she said with a decisive nod. "You can drive me to the office—"

  "That's a given, mama." I had to swallow a laugh. Shannon couldn't drive out of the garage with her belly. She hadn't been able to reach the steering wheel in weeks.

  "I'll get one of the boys to bring me home," she continued, edging up to lean back against the pillows. "Judy promised Abby we'd decorate cookies tonight, so I'll be back for that."

  "The Christmas chaos is going to break loose tonight," I warned. I handed her the toast. "The grandparents have a fuck-ton of gifts for Abby, and that's on top of the special pajamas."

  "I know all about the pajamas," Shannon said. "Christmas Eve and Christmas Eve Eve. She had them custom-made because Abby is a hot potato and can't wear fleece or flannel to bed."

  "That's my girl," I murmured. "She's got gifts for everyone. Judy, that is. Your siblings, their wives, Sam's kid. Even Alex. I'm telling you, she went a little overboard."

  "I know all about the overboard," she replied. "We've talked about it several times. She wanted to make sure it wouldn't feel like she was trying to replace my mother."

  "Does it?" When Shannon hesitated, I continued, "You can tell her, and she won't take it badly, Peanut."

  "No, it doesn't feel like Judy is replacing anyone," she answered. "It's just different. It's not as if she's trying to
re-create childhood memories or anything. She just doesn't like that we trade bottles of liquor in a Yankee Swap as opposed to thoughtfully selecting presents for each other. I'm pretty sure she thinks we're heathens."

  "Judy likes it well enough," I said easily. "It's the Navy in her. She won't leave a sailor behind or let him be forgotten on Christmas."

  Shannon considered this as she ate the toast. "Lauren once told me there were always guys from the Commodore's unit coming for Sunday dinner or visiting for the holidays. I made a pervy comment about it at the time—"

  "Of course you did," I muttered.

  Her eyebrow arched before she continued. "But I understand that it's Judy's way. That, and"—she giggled into her toast—"shaking the house down to the damn foundation."

  "I had a talk with the Commodore this morning," I said, glancing away. "I imagine the vasectomy would be only a bit more uncomfortable than a conversation with my father about him nailing my mother."

  "They've been loud before, but," Shannon started, shaking her head at the plate, "but that was intense."

  "I don't need the reminder." A whole body shiver shook the thought away. "Eat. Please. Anything but that discussion."

  "Do you think Wes is going to make it?" she asked, her teeth sawing over her lip.

  "I don't know, Shannon. Chances are good he's stowed away on a cargo plane out of Moscow and he'll show up on our doorstep Christmas morning."

  That was the truth. I had no idea where he was or why he'd missed three check-ins with his CIA handler in the past two weeks, but none of that was atypical for my brother. He took his work right to the edge, and he didn't look back. But I didn't like the circumstances of his recent silence, or the chatter Jordan and I picked up during a Ukrainian mission last week.

  "I'm worried about him," Shannon said.

  "Do not worry about Wes," I said. We couldn't add anything more to Shannon's stress list. "He knows what he's doing."

  "I know, but I saw on the news—"

  "Let me stop you right there," I interrupted. "You're not allowed to watch the news. Remember when you sent me that article about human traffickers hanging out at an Ikea?"

  "Yes, because that story was insane and—"

  "And I'm not fucking around when I tell you that you're not allowed to read that shit. That is the last thing you need to worry about," I said.

  "You know what's wonderful?" she asked in the sweet voice that told me I was about to get my ass nailed to the wall.

  "What's that, Peanut?"

  "That you allow me to read at all," she replied. "You're one of the good ones, Commando."

  "Thank you for recognizing that after all these years," I said. "Now, as I was saying, I don't care what you saw on the news because that kind of reporting is four thousand layers away from Wes's operation in Russia. There will not be a time when the reality of covert affairs like his will ever appear on the nightly news or front page headlines."

  She considered this for a moment, nodding slowly while she nibbled her toast. "So, we'll leave a place for him at the table. There will be plenty of food, and we have the room."

  If he makes it back in time.

  I didn't say that. I didn't need to. I could tell from the furrow in Shannon's brow that she was thinking the same thing.

  "Remind me to set up the spare room for him," she added, setting her empty plate on the side table. "I can't remember the last time those sheets were changed."

  "No," I said flatly. "You're not changing sheets."

  "Will, for fuck's sake, I'm not putting your brother in a questionably clean bed after he's been undercover in Russia for a short eternity," she cried. "You'd think I said I was going out back to dig up that boulder on the edge of the property or chop and stack wood."

  "Please tell me those aren't actual items on your to-do list because I will lock you in this room."

  "Please suck my dick."

  We glared at each other for a long beat. I blinked first, and only because her breasts were screaming for my attention. With a finger curled around the strap of her camisole, I tugged it down until her nipples popped free.

  "Hello, my pretties," I murmured against her skin.

  "You're not going to distract me," she said as I dropped light kisses all over her chest. "Nothing is going to distract me today. I have a lot to do, you know. I'm hoping I can close sales on two of Riley's properties. It would be great to get them off the books, especially since they're such unique homes. But I haven't heard from the buyer's agent since yesterday morning. I don't know where the hell this guy went, but if I don't get a response this morning, I'm moving to backup offers. And then I'm working on something for Matt, and really hoping to finalize that today or tomorrow. Oh, and then there's a new project for Patrick. I need to move quickly on that one."

  "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, Peanut. Time to close up shop for the holidays," I said, my lips on her breast and my palm on her belly. "And this little swimmer."

  "I'll close up shop when I'm ready."

  "I realize you're not familiar with the notion of vacations, Shannon, but this might be the time to learn," I said. I ran my tongue over her nipple and grinned when it pulled a needy cry from her. "It will make me happy."

  "When has that ever been my priority?" she asked, breathless.

  I peeled off her camisole and tossed it to the floor. "There's a first time for everything, Peanut."

  "Do we still have time to leave town?" she asked, grinning as she tugged my shirt off. "Maybe this is the year we make it to Mexico. If you go, I will definitely follow this time."

  "Too soon, Shannon," I said, shaking my head. "Too fucking soon." I nudged her legs apart but she snapped them shut. "What?"

  "There's probably a Mesozoic forest growing down there," she argued, her face twisted in a pout.

  "There's not," I promised. I trailed my fingers along the smooth skin of her inner thigh as she went right on pouting. "And even if there was, I wouldn't care."

  I gestured to the erection throbbing against my track pants as proof.

  "Your standards need some work, Commando."

  Impatient, I pulled her shorts down and tossed them aside. She didn't wear undies to bed, and that was the only gift I needed for Christmas, my birthday, our anniversary, and the Fourth of July. "My standards are exactly right," I murmured. I pressed my palm to her inner thigh, silently asking her to open for me. "Stop worrying about this, everything. Relax. You are perfect right now. Everything about you is perfect."

  With a sigh, Shannon parted her legs. "If my water breaks and I go into labor, and you drown in amniotic fluid, you'll have only yourself to blame."

  I glanced up at her, taking in the vinegary-sweet scowl on her face. "I'll remind you that I've survived far more harrowing experiences," I said. "I'll also remind you that I did this to you, and I can deal with the consequences." I reached up and ran my hand over the swell of her belly. "Now, let me take care of you."

  Chapter Two

  Matthew

  I was on my third home design of the morning when Lauren rolled over and wrapped her arms around my waist.

  "Why are you awake?" she mumbled into my side. "It's still dark out."

  "That's December in Boston for you," I replied, still focused on nailing the look for this house. It was close but not there yet. I was going to get it there if it killed me. "The sun doesn't come out until seven in the morning, and it sets before four thirty."

  "But you're an early bird nonetheless," Lauren said.

  "I am when I have this much work on my plate," I said.

  Truth be told, I hadn't been sleeping much lately. Too much on my mind. And I was going to build her that house. I was going to do it. I'd been promising her this for years now, and it had never been the right time. I couldn't think of a better time than now. Right the fuck now. Even if I stayed up all night, every night until I finished it.

  "How are you feeling today?" I asked. I brushed my hand over her hair before returning to my work.
>
  She nestled closer, her head resting on my lap and her fingers drawing lazy circles on my flank as she yawned. "No complaints."

  I glanced away from my tablet to smile down at her. "That's what I like to hear."

  "But I don't want to jinx it by saying that. Tiel was fine for almost four months and spent the rest of her pregnancy with crackers in one hand and antacids in the other." She levered up on her elbow to peer at the sketches on my screen. "What are you working on?"

  "Just some designs," I said, not yet ready to share the details with her. I wanted this squared away and solid before I showed her anything. No half-assing it for the mother of my child.

  I was still coming to terms with the fact we were going to be parents. I'd figured we'd have a couple of months of trying before anything came of it, but that wasn't how it worked with Lauren and me. Hole in one on the first shot.

  If I was being quite honest, I'd admit that I was a little rattled by this. I was anxious—an emotion I didn't understand or enjoy—and edgy. I was freaking out about ridiculous things. Vitamins, doctors, statistics. None of it made me feel any better. I was driving Shannon crazy with my need to find a property. I wanted something I could tear down or fully restore, and it had to meet a long list of additional requirements. She hadn't found the right one—yet—and it was one of the many things keeping me up at night.

  On top of all that, Lauren was as chill as a pickle. My list-maker, my action-planner, my over-preparer was sailing through her first trimester without breaking a sweat. She couldn't stand the smell of fish and she fell asleep on the sofa within five minutes of getting home every evening, but she was living the pregnant life as if she was made for it.

  "All right, well," she started, throwing back the blankets, "I'm going to hop in the shower."

  "Okay," I murmured, watching her pad into the bathroom as she rubbed her eyes. "It's not necessary to hop. Acrobatic stunts are not required."

  "Good clarification," she called. "I was planning a back handspring but I'll scrap that for now."

  I heard the faucet turn on and then the shower, and I stared at my tablet without seeing. The shower door opened and closed. I was being ridiculous again. I knew that. I wasn't sure whether recognizing my ridiculousness made it better or worse, or if this sort of thing even had gradations. Perhaps it was just a state of being. A condition. Just like pregnancy. You were either ridiculous or you were not.