by MV Ellis
“Hold off on making a decision for a little while longer. If after that you still don’t want to stay here, I’ll back off, I promise.” As Gramps always says, “A promise is a comfort to a fool.”
London is no fool, but she sighs, nodding grudgingly. Yes!
“Okay, come with me.” I lead her out of the room and across to the boardroom. Before she has the chance to protest again, I throw open the door and flick on the lights. I steal a sideways glance at her. She opens and closes her mouth several times. Good. That was exactly the response I was hoping for. I wait, but patience has never been my jam, and the suspense is killing me.
“London, I’m dying over here. Put me out of my fucking misery. Say something.”
She opens and closes her mouth once more, but still no sound.
“I can’t believe it. You did this for me?” Ah, she speaks. Finally.
“And Squirt.” I feel the smile creep across my face.
“And Squirt,” she mutters almost to herself. “Arlo, it’s… beautiful. Just gorgeous. But what about the boardroom and your office?” What was once the rarely used boardroom is now an open-concept kitchen, living, and dining area. Not the largest of spaces, but not the smallest either, and all hers—and Squirt’s—unlike the communal living areas at Marko’s place. The whole thing has been designed by my architect and interior designer, so it’s sleek and slick with every care taken to maximize the space and utility of the floor plan.
“As you know, I never used the boardroom, even on the one occasion I’ve had a meeting at home.” I quirk my eyebrow knowingly, causing a pretty blush of recognition to heat London’s cheeks. I know that like me, she’s remembering the “meeting” in question. It started with the proposition that would alter the course of our lives forever—me asking her to come on tour as my official photographer—and ended with me making her come over the kitchen countertop.
“I’ve relocated my office to the club, much to the annoyance of Hunter, but it makes perfect sense. Now that I’ll be based in New York again, I’m going to be playing a more hands-on role there anyway, so having an office there serves two purposes.”
“Looks like you’ve thought of everything, except for somewhere for Squirt to sleep.” Her tone is gentle, trying to soften the blow.
“Oh shit! Fuck, Tog, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think. I guess it’s hard to take in the fact that soon there’s going to be a third person in our lives. He or she isn’t even born yet, and already I’ve had my first epic daddy fail. No doubt the first of many, if this is anything to go by.” I lead her by the hand to a third door across the hall, turning the handle and throwing it wide open. I reach for the light switch. Once the light is on, I pull London inside. I watch confusion work its way across her face.
“Umm… it’s an empty room.”
“Correct. Your powers of observation are still sharp as ever, Tog. It most definitely is an empty room.” I chuckle, enjoying her consternation.
“So…?”
“So, it’s the nursery.”
“What? What?”
“You heard me. It’s the nursery. I didn’t forget about Squirt, I just figured you’d want a hand in how our baby’s bedroom is decorated, so I left it as a blank slate. It’s yours to do with whatever you like.” I motion to the smooth, bare white walls.
“Wow. I’m….”
“Speechless?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m in shock. I honestly don’t know what to think. I mean, this is the sweetest and outright craziest thing anyone has ever done for me. You’ve pulled some pretty epic stunts in the past, but you’ve outdone yourself with this one. I just don’t even know what to say.”
“Say yes. To be clear, I’m asking you and Squirt to move in so I can be near you both. I’m not going to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. I want you as much as I ever have, but I know you’re still not sure about me, and about us.” The tension builds in my shoulders.
Nobody has ever had the power to make me as tense or anxious as London, even when I was a kid and would get called to the principal’s office for this thing or that. Especially then, in fact. Nerves imply giving a fuck. Back in those days, I gave fewer than zero fucks what the principal—or anyone, for that matter—thought. With London, I’m at the other end of the spectrum. What she thinks matters almost too much.
“You’ve done all this, and you didn’t even know for sure I’d be coming back. What if I’d decided to stay in Sydney?”
I clench and unclench my fists, taking a moment before answering. I know I’m not out of the woods yet with her, and the last thing I want is to do or say anything that would upset the apple cart before she’s even unpacked her bags.
“I’m here for as much or as little as you want, but one thing I won’t negotiate on is that I want to be a hands-on father, no matter what is going on between the two of us. Having you both here is the best way to do that. So you know, you raising our child in Sydney was never going to be an option.” I had been giving her the time and space she needed to come to the right decision her way, but if she had decided to do anything other than come back to New York, you can bet I would have gone on the offensive. I’m glad for everyone’s sake that it wasn’t necessary. I take a breath.
“This way you have your own completely self-contained living area, but I get to be part of Squirt’s life 24/7. I don’t want to be a part-time parent. I’m all in, whether that means being up to my eyeballs in poop in the middle of the night or whatever else needs to be done. But you also get to tell me to go the fuck away if and when you want to. This is your own personal space. There’s even a bathroom over there”—I motion to the fourth, unopened door—“with an integrated laundry, so you have everything you need right here on this floor. It’s basically an apartment. It’s a win-win situation. Surely you can see that?” I know I need to stop talking and give her time to process all of this, but I’ve been hit by a severe case of verbal diarrhea. Seems like it’s terminal.
“Like I said before, you don’t have to say anything now. I’m gonna go downstairs and fix myself a coffee. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to let me know where you’re at, yeah?”
She nods but doesn’t speak.
I head downstairs and make my brew. I have no issue drinking coffee 24/7—my body clock is shot to pieces from the years of travel, late nights, and artificial stimulants anyway, and if I want to sleep, a coffee or ten isn’t going to get in the way of that. I pass the time idly flicking through social media on my phone. The waiting is a bastard. I’m impatient any day of the week, let alone in situations like this, when time seems to stand still, or worse, move backward.
Just as I’m about to lose my mind, London emerges. Thank fuck.
Her expression is unreadable—damn, her poker face is getting better and better. I think some of my ways are rubbing off on her. She calmly and quietly takes a seat opposite me at the table, fixing me with a steady gaze. Uh-oh, she means business.
“So I’ve thought about what you’re offering, and before we go any further, I’d first of all like to again say thank you. The way you’ve thought about Squirt and me has truly blown me away. I’m genuinely touched. Like I said before, it’s the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me, and I really appreciate how much effort you went to, especially while I was in Australia and behaving like a total fucking diva.” She takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around her body as though trying to give herself a comforting hug. I want to cross to her side of the table and replace her arms with mine, but I resist the temptation.
“The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve constantly surprised me with how amazingly thoughtful and generous you are. They’re some of your most endearing and surprising qualities. Contrary to popular belief, you have a huge heart, and I love that about you.” I can tell she’s building me up to let me down gently.
“But?” Might as well stop her beating around the bush and get to the guts of the matter.
“But as beautif
ul as the space is, and it is truly beautiful, I can’t just live in your converted boardroom like a squatter,”
What?
“You’d be nothing like a squatter, and it’s not my boardroom anymore. It’s a self-contained apartment, and it’s yours.”
“That’s all semantics. However you dress it up, it wouldn’t feel right.” She casts her eyes downward.
“London, why do you have to be so stubborn all the time? You’re overcomplicating this when it’s actually really fucking simple. I want to be near you and our baby. That’s it.” Probably not the best time to point out her shortcomings, but honestly, sometimes I just want to shake some sense into her. Figuratively, obviously. Literally, I’d like to fuck her into seeing things my way, but I’m pretty sure that’s not an option right now.
“I’m not being intentionally difficult, I’m just trying to think unemotionally about the offer you’ve put on the table and do what’s best for everyone. With that in mind, I’ve decided that if Squirt and I are to stay here—and definitely it’s if, not when—the only way it can work is if I pay market rent.”
“No.” Not until there’s a snowstorm in Hell.
“Yes. This is not negotiable, Arlo, it’s a total deal breaker for me. It’s this way or I start looking for somewhere else. Period.” So goddamn frustrating.
“For fuck’s sake, London. I am not taking rent from the mother of my baby. I don’t care what you say about that, it’s not gonna happen. Period.” Two can play at that game, Little Miss Stubborn.
“Then we don’t have a deal. Those are my terms. I have enough money coming in from book and print sales to mean that I won’t need to worry about working for months, even with rent and baby-related expenses. I want to pay my way, and I know I can make it work, so I’ll start looking for something in the morning. The jetlag is starting to catch up with me, so I’m going to go crash.” She makes to leave the table.
“Okay.” I swear this woman will be the death of me.
“What?” She doesn’t even try to mask her surprise.
“You heard me. I said okay.”
“Okay? Like okay we have deal, just like that? No Arlo tantrum or drama. Just okay?”
“I can see you’ve made up your mind, and I have nothing to bargain with in this ‘negotiation.’ I want you and Squirt here, and if the only way that’s going to happen is by agreeing to your crazy terms, then what choice do I have? You have me well and truly by the balls.” I really wish that were true in the literal sense, but I have a feeling that’s not going to be the case for a long time, if ever again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next three weeks are as close to perfect as life could be without me going to sleep every night with London in my arms and slipping inside her as soon as I wake up every morning. It’s like the standard cheesy “life is amazing” montage in every romcom ever, set to an inspirational tearjerker track. But then I’m learning that clichés exist for a reason. I’m fucking living one right now.
Sure, I wake up every day with the hard-on from hell and nobody to fuck, but weirdly, I’m kind of okay with that. Of course, I would prefer that things were totally right with London and I had her in my bed. In the absence of that, I love that I don’t have to wonder how she and Squirt are, or even where they are.
Today I head down to my kitchen to make myself a coffee, and to my surprise, I find London there already at the helm of the beast of a machine.
“Oh, hey, babe. What are you doing?” I can’t hide the note of surprise in my voice.
“I’m running a marathon. What does it look like? I’m making you coffee.”
Ha! Ask a stupid question…
“Sit.” She points to the seat nearest to the machine.
“Of course you are. What I guess I meant to ask was why?” I sit as instructed.
“Umm….” She chews on her bottom lip. “I kind of wanted to ask you something.”
“Yeah?” I look up from the table, surprised by her statement. She sounds nervous, which is highly unlike her. “Shoot.”
“Well, I wondered if you wanted to maybe be involved in decorating Squirt’s nursery? I mean no pressure, either way. It’s no big deal if you don’t want to, I just thought….” She lets the words hang in the air, and so do I. For once I resist the urge to answer right away. I want to hear what she thought. I wait.
She takes a deep breath. “I just thought that the same way you didn’t want to go ahead and make decisions about how the room should look without me, nor should I without at least giving you the option. I mean this baby”—she rubs her belly, and in that moment, I’ve never wanted to touch someone as much as I want to place my hands on her stomach—“is as much yours as mine, and it’s your house. You should get a say too, if you want.”
“Let’s just get something straight, Tog. It’s not my house. I told you it’s your space to do with what you want, and you’re even paying me rent, for Christ’s sake. You don’t owe me any kind of access or input to anything. Having said that, I’m totally down for anything to do with Squirt. Anything at all. I told you, when it comes to that baby”—I nod toward her stomach—“I’m there. One hundred and ten percent. No matter what it is. No questions. We clear on that?”
She nods.
“So yes, I would love to be involved in putting together Squirt’s room.”
“Okay, great. So while we’re on the subject… there’s this scan….” She mumbles this so quietly, I’m not certain I hear correctly.
“I’m sorry, sweets, what was that?”
She clears her throat, careful not to make eye contact. “There’s this scan on Wednesday. For the baby, I mean. If you’re busy, it’s no biggie. It’s at midday. So…?”
“So you’re asking me if I want to come?”
“Yeah.”
“After what I just said? Yes, I want to come, Tog. Yes. Please.” I speak gently, suddenly aware of how fragile she is right now. Vulnerable, I guess is the right word. I just want to hold her and reassure her, but at the same time, I don’t want to overstep. I stay in my seat.
Later that day we settle down on her couch to pore over Pinterest boards and baby decor sites for inspiration. It couldn’t be further from anything I ever in my life imagined myself doing if I was having tea with POTUS. In fact, nibbling on cucumber sandwiches with the president seems slightly more plausible in my mind. Even weirder still, I enjoy it. I mean, I don’t truly enjoy looking at decor—there’s a reason I normally hire someone to do that shit on my behalf—but I love taking an active role in Squirt’s life alongside London. Even more, I appreciate the fact that London asked me to, wants me to be involved. Though of course, being the two of us, we very quickly run into trouble.
“I was thinking… shouldn’t we maybe wait until we know whether Squirt is a squirt or squirtette before we start decorating?”
“What?”
“Whether we’re having a boy or a girl,” I clarify.
“I understood what you’re asking. My question was really why you’re asking it. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, then we’ll have a better idea of what colors—”
“Wait. Stop speaking.” She raises a hand in front of me as though stopping traffic.
Uh-oh.
“Are you for fucking real right now? You do what you like on any given day and give zero fucks about what anyone else thinks, or so you claim, and now you’re over here worrying about whether to paint the nursery blue or pink? Shit, Arlo, I’m disappointed in you. I thought that you of all people wouldn’t conform to that bullcrap. It’s the twenty-first century, not the 1950s.”
I feel a fight coming on. “I didn’t say anything about blue or pink.”
“You didn’t get a chance to because I interrupted you. I mean, apart from the fact that I hate pastel colors with a fiery passion, I definitely don’t subscribe to all that ‘blue is for boys, pink is for girls’ bullshit. I guess a lifetime spent in pink leotards and tutus will do that t
o you. I don’t even like the idea of ‘neutral’ colors. All colors are neutral in my eyes. If a guy wants to dress from head to toe in hot pink, more power to him. Or if a chick wants to spend her whole life in khakis, who the hell is anyone to tell her otherwise?”
I can tell I’ve hit a raw nerve with this topic. Not that I’m surprised. If it’s one thing I’ve learned about life with London, it’s that I’m only ever half a sentence away from pissing her off. Now that she’s pregnant, it’s sitting at about a quarter of a sentence on a good day, with unexploded verbal land mines at every step. Sometimes I’m surprised I still have all my limbs intact. Just.
“Besides all that, I have no intention of finding out the baby’s gender.”
“Wait. What? Why not?” What the actual fuck with this woman?
“Because I don’t need to know what color to paint the nursery based on gender. And because at the end of the day, I really just want to know my baby is healthy. Everything else I’m happy to wait for.”
“Really? You know I’m an impatient asshole, and I hate surprises. I can’t wait months and months to know something so important.” The suspense will kill me.
“Well in that case, we have a problem, because at this appointment on Wednesday we could find out, but I have no intention of doing so. If that’s going to be a problem for you, maybe you shouldn’t come after all.”
Of course. Because it would be too simple for us just to want the same fucking thing for once. God, give me strength.
“Isn’t this the kind of thing we should discuss together as parents? Sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind.” As this baby’s father, I technically have as much right to have a say in these things as she does, after all. I do not say this to London. Though they haven’t been getting much action lately, I still value my dick and balls nestled safely in their rightful spot. It’s a status quo I’d like to maintain, for sure.