by Troy Hunter
I return to the bed and try to relax under the blankets. The baby kicks and I wince. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to having a moving, living being inside me.
“I like Nate,” I whisper. “However, that is solely my problem. It isn’t Nate’s, and I need to deal with this on my own. It’s just a crush. It will go away. I can deal with this. I’ve liked people before that haven’t liked me back. No problem.”
The bathroom door bursts open a few minutes later and Nate emerges amidst a cloud of steam. It’s a miracle the man’s skin doesn’t boil off with as hot as he has the water when he showers. “Popcorn?”
“I’m trying to live off it,” I joke.
“You won’t live long,” Nate replies. “There’s probably enough sodium in that to kill a man.”
“I’ll take my chances. Look after my kid.”
Nate grabs a handful of popcorn while I scowl at him.
“Hypocrite,” I say.
He sprawls onto the bed beside me, guarding his handful of popcorn like it’s a hoard of dragon’s gold. “This is me saving at least five years for you,” he says. “Aren’t I generous?”
I wrinkle my nose at him and throw a piece of popcorn at his arm. “You’re impossible,” I say.
His grin is meant to be infuriating, but instead it just makes me feel light and fluttery inside. Yes, he is impossible. Yes, he is generous. I dare to think of what it might be like, being with him. Different, sure. Would I like it? He’d want to support me and take care of me and a logical part of me thinks that would be a dream come true. But then, another part of me wonders if that isn’t somehow selling out. All I know is work. What would I do if I never had to work again? How much of my life really revolves around working and struggling? It’s a lot when I think about it. And Nate has never known that.
While I’m lost in my thoughts, Nate snatches the remote.
“Nothing scary,” I say.
“Don’t worry, Kitten,” Nate replies. “I’m in an action-adventure kind of mood tonight, anyway.”
That’s a fair compromise. I just wonder if we’d be able to compromise on everything if we were together. If there’s one thing I know about relationships, it’s that they’re a lot of work, and while I’m ninety percent sure I’m ready to put in that work, I don’t think Nate even likes me the same way I like him.
10
Felix
Nate is on the floor of my apartment trying to construct a crib without using the directions. I sit on the bed, propped up on several pillows, most of them newly purchased. It’s impossible to get comfortable, but I’m trying very hard to do so. I also try to ignore my discomfort by watching the impromptu comedy show that has broken out on my floor. Nate keeps muttering under his breath. He’s already taken the crib apart three times. The poor, neglected instruction booklet, still in its plastic packaging, lays mere feet away from him. “Nate.”
“Not a word, Felix. I can do this without the damn instructions. It’s just a crib.”
Maybe so, but right now it’s a crib that has him swearing and furrowing his brow. That crib is kicking his ass. “Okay,” I say.
“Just sit there and supervise,” Nate insists. “I’ve got this. I’m going to put this damn thing together all on my own or die trying.”
“Your funeral,” I say. “I’ll write you a very eloquent obituary.”
“So that’s your plan,” Nate says, practically growling in frustration. “You’re going to have me work myself to death, so you can have all my money.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say. “You’ve caught me.”
“Damn right. I hate this fucking thing. I’m telling you it’s missing pieces.”
That’s when it happens. I’d been having contractions and already had a false alarm where I rushed to the hospital only to be told I was very decidedly not ready to have a baby yet, so at first I ignore the contractions. That is, until I hear a faint pop and feel fluid trickling between my thighs.
I’d expected my water breaking to be a more…exciting event, and for a few seconds, I stand and laugh at how melodramatic the whole experience is. Nate looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Then, the contractions get worse, and I’m reminded that I’m about to give birth.
By the time I arrive at the hospital, I’ve lost all my self-control. I swear like a sailor all the way into the delivery room. It’s quickly decided that they’re going to do have to do a C-section. Expected. Fine. I just want them to get a move on with it. I’ve never had a C-section before, but I’ve heard and read enough about them to know what to expect. I nod in reply to all the doctors’ questions. I understand what they mean, but while everything hurts, somehow this doesn’t feel like it’s really happening. Then, there are drugs, and everything falls into a strange, soft sort of…
Not awareness. It’s like looking through fog.
A light, fluffy fog. I hear and see things, but I can’t decipher them properly. Whatever I’m on must be good. Dimly, I’m aware of Nate holding my hand. I think it’s Nate.
It gets harder and harder to tell.
No one screams, so I suppose it’s all good.
I don’t feel much.
And suddenly, everything becomes uncomfortable. It still doesn’t quite hurt, but I’m still half-high off the drugs they’ve given me. A high-pitched scream pierces the air, and I finally see my baby. I’ve never seen a newborn baby before, and I wonder if that small, screaming baby covered in blood is really mine. Somehow, I’d managed to keep the naïve notion that she would come out clean and pristinely wrapped in a blanket. Just like a TV baby.
For a while, I’m alone except for Nate. I don’t know how long it takes for me to become fully aware of everything again. It’s gradual, and Nate is there the whole time. I raise my head from my hospital bed and look at him. “How is she?” I ask.
She. My baby. Opal.
“She’s great,” Nate says. “A beautiful, healthy baby. You’ll have to stay overnight because of the C-section. I’m going to go over to your place and finish up her crib—hopefully.”
“Maybe if you’d read the directions,” I reply tiredly.
“Maybe,” Nate says. “Or maybe I’ll make Eleanor come over with me.”
“So it’s your butler’s job to help assemble cribs now, is it?”
“She’ll do it if it’s for you,” Nate replies.
He takes my hand in his and squeezes gently. I smile at the warmth of his palm and the way it warms my own. “We’re going to be parents,” he says.
We. My heart is in my throat.
“Well, you’re going to be a parent. I’m going to be the mysterious and wealthy uncle,” Nate says, growling like he’s the Beast from Beauty and the Beast. Like he has some sort of grand, mischievous plan already in the works. He’s going to make my dear daughter into a little terror, I just know it.
Maybe I wish he was going to be a father, too, but he doesn’t get it. I should tell him how I feel, but I can’t. He doesn’t feel the same way. I’d only be burdening him with my feelings, especially now that I have a baby.
What have I done? I mean, he stayed with me the whole time, and I know I don’t have anyone else that can stay with me. But still. I want this to devolve into sappy love confessions and sweeping music, but I know it won’t. I want to cry and scream from the frustration of it, but this isn’t the time or place to untangle my feelings. No, if I’m going to tell him, this is something I need to plan and approach with tact and dignity. I need to let this go for now.
“Don’t spoil her too much,” I say, “Or she’ll want you to be her dad instead of me.”
Nate smiles, oblivious to how quickly my heart is beating or how conflicted my thoughts are. “I’ll try my hardest. If she’s anything like you, I doubt anyone will get the chance to spoil her. You stubborn mule.”
“You can’t insult me. I just gave birth,” I say.
“I know. Do you want to hold her?”
“Not yet,” I say.
Nate raise
s an eyebrow.
“Is it selfish that I just want to sleep for a little while?” I ask.
Nate shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ll let you sleep. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll have the whole apartment ready and baby-proofed for when they release you!”
“Isn’t it a little early to baby-proof the place? She isn’t going to come out of the womb crawling,” I say.
“I like to be proactive,” Nate quips.
He pats my shoulder and smiles again. Then, he leaves. I sigh and smile. “I have a daughter,” I say.
I’m exhausted. Beyond exhausted. And sore. It’s not unbearable, but there’s definitely a deep throbbing etched across my stomach.
But I have a baby! The world doesn’t feel real. A baby.
I wonder for the billionth time if I’m really, truly ready for this. I know I don’t have to do this alone. Nate will be around. He can help me, but while I want him to help, I can’t keep myself from also desperately wanting to do this on my own.
But I can’t think that way anymore. I can do without, but my daughter can’t. If that means I have to set aside my pride and accept Nate’s help, I’ll do it. Whether or not he’s romantically interested in me, I know he’ll help me in any way I need.
Nate keeps close to my side as I walk into my apartment. The crib is put together beside my bed and filled already with blankets and a mattress. Just as he said, he’s baby-proofed the house and perhaps gone a bit overboard with it. Every single corner is covered with wads of duct tape. The different types of formula are lined up on the kitchen counter.
We’re ready. I smile and sit on my bed, keeping Opal close to my chest. She doesn’t look like much now, she’s very, very red and wrinkled, but I’m told this is normal. It doesn’t really matter. She’s my baby. I wouldn’t care if she was Medusa, and admittedly, if she was Medusa, Nate would only love her more. I hold her against my chest and smile at her. My dear daughter has no idea how loved she already is.
Nate sits beside me. “Hey, little girl,” he says, poking at Opal’s fingers. “She’s so much smaller than I imagined!”
“And she’s big for a baby,” I say.
“Look at her little fingers,” Nate coos with unusual softness. “She’s going to have a great life.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“You, too,” Nate adds. “I’m going to hang around and help you out. I’m assuming you won’t feel like being up and about that much for the next few days.”
“You don’t know that,” I say.
“No, but I’ve read online that might be the case. That’s all,” Nate replies. “So I’m going to take a week off from shooting to spend time with you.”
“But that’ll put everything behind,” I say. “That isn’t fair to everyone else.”
“Oh, they’ll last a week without me. That’s why we have a chain of command. My producer will step in. Besides, I’ve already missed the deadline for that contest, so there’s really no need to hurry things along now. As long as I keep paying her, Isabella will let me keep filming there. And even if she wouldn’t, you’re more important.”
I smile despite myself. “I’ve heard so many horror stories about babies,” I say.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like the fact that I won’t be getting any sleep for a very long time,” I reply.
“To be fair, you weren’t really getting much working at Target either,” Nate says.
I need to tell Selene I’ve had my baby. I’ve only spoken sporadically to her since I left Target, and I feel a twinge of guilt over that. Aside from Nate, she’s the closest thing I have to a friend, and though I’m sure she’ll understand, I have sort of neglected her. I’d told her I was pregnant, but I still haven’t mentioned I’ve actually had the baby.
“Be that as it may, I suspect parenthood is an entirely different animal,” I say, kissing my daughter’s forehead.
I hadn’t realized new babies have a sort of powdery smell to them.
“You don’t have to tackle that animal alone, though. No, you won’t tackle it alone,” Nate says, “Because you’re my best friend, and I’m damned sure not going to let you raise this kid on your own.”
I want him to be there more than anything, but not quite in the way he’s thinking. Still, it’s difficult not to be overwhelmed by such a fervent declaration. “Thank you,” I say. “I really don’t thank you enough for everything you do for me.”
“That’s okay,” Nate says. “I don’t do it because I want your thanks. I do it because you’re my best friend.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was reiterating best friend to warn me off, but Nate isn’t that subtle. He has no clue that I’m in love with him, and the closer he gets, the more conscious I become of the heat between our bodies and the way his breath is warm on my collar bone when he leans down to whisper to Opal.
Every word and every bit of help makes me imagine us living together and parenting Opal together, and every little touch reminds me of the time we had sex. Of how hot everything was. If we’d never had sex, would I feel this way? I want to say no, but I don’t think that’s quite true. Opal has me thinking of everything in a different light. I want Nate. I want him to live with me. Even though he’s showering so much attention on me now, it isn’t enough. I crave all the trappings of a proper, romantic relationship. All the mischievous glances and secret smiles, all the flirting, and the physical affection.
He throws his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me close. Nate is a man who never hugs anyone fully. He’s all casual arms thrown over shoulders and side hugs, but now, I can’t help but imagine us sitting here with Opal.
We’re sitting here, and we’re together. He’s promising to support me but also telling me he loves me. He’s imagining our life together and painting it out, polishing the rough edges of it, until it gleams like a cabochon. Maybe years from now, we’re sitting here. We’re sitting here, and my jewelry business has taken off. I have my own money, so I can contribute equally. He’s a filmmaker and talking enthusiastically about all his new projects. And Opal is here, young and learning, in a petal-pink dress with an absurd number of frills.
“We’ll have to invest in more parenting books,” Nate says. “Eleanor is terrified at the thought of me raising a child.”
Well, Nate doesn’t have the best track record with keeping things alive. When we were children, he went through a Poison Ivy-inspired phase where he was going to become a master gardener with super powers. Eleanor let him buy as many plants as he wanted, and he, insisting that he needed no help whatsoever, managed to kill them all. It might not have been so bad if he’d done it when he was five or six, but he’d been fifteen.
“She believes in you,” Nate adds, “And she sends her congratulations. She’d have come to visit if she wasn’t in Ireland visiting her relatives.”
She had sent me congratulations on Facebook, though, along with nearly a hundred other people. I don’t know that I even speak to most of those people, but I’m still flattered by their kind words and encouragement.
“Selene offered to babysit if I ever need a break,” I say, because it’s something to say. A distraction.
“Oh? How is she doing anyway?”
“Fine,” I reply. “She’s working at a privately-owned café now. She’s doing their budgets for them now, and she’d really rather do that sort of thing than work at Target.”
“I think digging ditches would be better than working at Target,” Nate says.
I nod. Yes, there is still the fact that I’ll need to find the financial backing to support both my child and myself now. My two months’ worth of efforts weren’t for naught; my sales have skyrocketed. However, this doesn’t mean that I’m out of hot water yet. I still have to keep promoting and working if I’m going to earn anything close to the pay I made at Target.
“Don’t insult hard-working people,” I say. “Target at least had air conditioning.” Well, most of the time. There was that one month a
couple of years back where the air busted, and it took forever for maintenance to fix it.
“Nevertheless, you don’t ever have to go back,” Nate says.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not with the sudden way I left. But I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind even once that I could go back and beg for my job.
“I know,” I reply, “And I really do think I’m going to have to focus very hard on my jewelry business. It’s doing well. If I keep promoting and increasing my platforms and number of clients, I know I’ll succeed. It’ll be a lot of work, but I’m no stranger to hard work.”
“Don’t I know it,” Nate says.
“And maybe it’ll be something Opal is interested in,” I reply. “If I get big enough, she might be able to run the business, too.”
“Or she can mooch off her wealthy uncle. That would be the smart thing to do.”
“No,” I say. “My daughter is going to have some sort of work ethic. You can’t just hand children everything on a plate. Even if you can afford it.”
“Careful,” Nate warns. “I was handed everything, and I turned out fine.”
“That’s because I was around to keep you from getting arrested.”
Nate gapes and gives me a look of mock-offense. “You’re a terrible person,” he says.
“Like you’re much better,” I reply.
“No, I figure we deserve each other,” Nate says.
I should tell him just how I think we deserve one another. I swallow around the lump in my throat. I should just tell him. But that sounds so very selfish. I don’t just want to tell him. I want him to choose me. I want to know that he cares about me the way I care about him.
“I didn’t realize there were that many different kinds of diapers,” Nate says, “Or that the process of changing a diaper would have so many steps. How did you even figure it out?”
“YouTube videos,” I reply. “Along with several other things. That and I, you know, used to work in the softlines department. That includes the baby department.”