Her doubts came from how much she wanted him involved. She wanted her baby to know him because she knew he’d make an incredible father. Seeing his loyalty and dedication to the Fishnet kids showed her that. But she wanted it for him, too. And for herself.
“There’s a lot of evidence that babies take in environmental sounds, and sometimes emotions, from outside the womb as they’re growing. It’s why they know their mother’s voice and the others’ in their families. It helps them adjust to life in the outside world after they’re born. Since this baby isn’t going to be going home to Beth and Brian, I want the baby to know my voice, the voices of those in my family, to ease the transition...”
To feel safe with her.
And, if she let herself think about it, to sense that she was his or her mother. At least a little bit. To recognize her voice. To look in her direction when he or she heard her voice, as Lily had done.
“You never mentioned this with the first pregnancy.”
“I didn’t know as much then. And we were there, together every morning and night—the baby knew our voices. This is different because I’m not there.”
She wasn’t the one nurturing her child. Didn’t have a changing body. Wasn’t going to feel her baby move. A wave of deep sadness swept through her and she let it pass. Her embryo needed her positive energy and thoughts. Needed everything she had to give to see it born safe and healthy. This wasn’t about her.
And if she got a miracle—and they’d made it through two big hurdles on their way to one—then she was going to be a mother again. To her own biological child. Fertilized in her body.
“I have a Thanksgiving dinner at Fishnet,” Martin was saying. “Our LA facility has grown and I offered to man a spot on the serving line, to give the kids a true family feel.”
Because he was the “father” of them all. She got what Martin had done. He’d taken the loss of his daughter, the loss of his world, and made something wonderful out of his life from the ashes. He’d created a family larger than any he’d ever have created with a wife. And yet, he’d done it while mostly on the outside of the sphere. He oversaw. He didn’t generally interact personally with the kids who were the nucleus of that family.
“Then absolutely you should be there,” she told him, glad that he’d actually volunteered to be a part of the celebration. And was kind of turned on, thinking of him standing behind a long table with an apron covering his expensive clothes and a spoon in his hand. Just the vision of it. Some women went for naked bodies. She apparently liked men fully clothed with an apron on and spoon in hand.
“I need to be at the Applegates’,” he said, shaking his head. “The child should know my voice, too.”
Not if he wasn’t going to be a father to it. Children didn’t need to know the people bankrolling their existence. She didn’t respond to his comment.
“I’m listed on the paperwork,” he continued as she just sat there. It occurred to her then that she should have used the silence to open the door and get out. She’d encouraged more from him by just sitting there.
“If anything happened to you, I’d have rights... I’d be the sole support.”
She didn’t get out of the car. And didn’t speak. Just waited for him to work it out however he had to.
“I should be there for the holiday,” he said. “The mood will be festive. It’ll be a family gathering with loving feelings. My voice should be accounted for.”
She didn’t disagree. Just wasn’t sure what they were getting into. Where it was all going to lead.
If Martin chose to be an involved father, she didn’t worry for a second about him reneging on that. It wasn’t his way at all. If he made the choice, he’d be there for their child. But did she want him to make that choice?
She honestly didn’t know what she wanted where he was concerned.
Because, other than her work, she hadn’t dared to want anything for a long time. The thought struck her cold.
“I’ll call Marsha and Sam Bruins, live-in house parents for the sixteen-and seventeen-year-old area, and let them know I can’t make it.”
“You need to make it,” she said then. “What time is dinner there?”
“Five. We made it later because some of the kids are in food service and have to work.”
“Beth and Brian are having dinner at two,” she said. And then, without thought, suggested, “We could do their house and then I could go with you to Fishnet.”
Why in the hell she’d needed to do that, she had no idea. Except that he was clearly struggling, alone, clearly trying, and if she could offer support...
“What about Sylvia?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d invite her to help at Fishnet, as well. I know she’d enjoy doing so.”
While her mother still believed Olivia’s marriage to Martin had been a mistake, she had come to understand how much Olivia had loved him. And now that, through Olivia, she knew him better, she most definitely admired all that he’d done with his life.
What she thought of him since Beth had been implanted with their embryo, Olivia had no idea. Her mother had been busier than normal the past month and, when they’d met for dinner, had only talked about Olivia. About the baby. About being a grandmother and being involved every step of the way. About being a good mother to her daughter who was going to be a mother...
“Okay.”
Olivia’s gaze shot to Martin. He’d always hated being around her mother. Or rather, had always chosen not to be around her any chance he got. “Okay?” she asked, trying to read the expression in his eyes.
His gaze warm, not quite smiling, but seemingly at ease, he nodded. “Okay.”
And she felt guilty. “You should know, the baby’s ears won’t be fully formed yet. They don’t actually hear sound until around the eighteenth week of pregnancy. As far as anyone can tell or prove. I just want to be there from the beginning. And even though it most likely can’t hear anything yet, the fetus can feel Beth’s emotions, or her emotions can have an effect on it, and I’d like her to feel like I’m there, being a good mom. A part of things...”
He nodded. “Fine. Thanks for the clarification. I’d still like to be there.”
Well, then, her world was definitely changing. She wasn’t opposing the changes, but didn’t trust them, either. Didn’t trust them to be what she thought. Or to not go wrong. Which meant she had to hold on tight to her heart.
And pray that she didn’t get thrown from the galloping horse she seemed to be riding.
* * *
Sylvia couldn’t make it to Thanksgiving. While Martin wasn’t surprised, Olivia seemed a bit bothered by her mother’s refusal.
“She said she has a friend whose spouse died not that long ago with whom she wanted to spend the day,” Olivia had told Martin. He hadn’t heard from her since dropping her off at her car more than a week before, other than the text he’d requested once she got back to Marie Cove safely that afternoon.
And while he’d thought of her every day and wanted to pick up his phone and at least text, he didn’t do so. She wasn’t actually pregnant, carrying the baby, so no excuse to check up. Right? And until he knew he was going to be in her life—if he was going to be in her life or just the baby’s, or just be a financier unless they needed him—until he knew something...he didn’t want to build anything.
More than anything, he wasn’t going to let her down.
He’d choose death over causing her to suffer. Melodramatic, maybe, but most days that was how he felt.
Because they were traveling to multiple places, and ending up at Fishnet, they’d agreed to meet at Martin’s home, where she could leave her car, and they could drive together to the Applegates’. She’d suggested he find himself a pair of jeans for the occasion, paired with a casually nice sweater, and though he might not have chosen the outfit himself, he felt okay in it as he answered
the door to her just after noon on Thanksgiving Thursday.
In brown leggings and a cotton blouse with a pattern of fall-colored shapes that fell to just above midthigh, and brown flats, she stepped inside his door as though she belonged there. So he could be forgiven for the instant sense that she did belong that was flooding over him. He couldn’t allow that to continue, though, and went to collect his keys and phone.
She was in the kitchen when he returned, standing with her hand suspended down toward the handle of the cupboard under the sink. With her hair thick and silky-looking as it flowed over her, and the large, dark eyes and tan complexion, she looked like an angel to him, slowing him down for a second.
“I had a mint,” she said, holding up the wrapper. “I went to throw it away, but the door wouldn’t open.”
She was staring at him, the wrapper still suspended, almost as though she’d forgotten it.
“I had the place babyproofed last week,” he told her, grabbing the wrapper and getting it in the trash without looking her way again. “A service came in. I saved their card for you, in case you wanted to use them.”
Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed his wallet, and then the card.
Openmouthed, she was still standing there, watching his every move. He felt her stare, felt her questions.
In hindsight, he probably could have waited until after the first trimester passed to have the work done.
“You aren’t even sure how involved you want to be and you’ve had the condo babyproofed?”
“In case of emergency,” he enunciated clearly. “If for any reason you need help or, say, just have appendicitis or something...”
“My mom will babysit,” she told him. “And Christine would, too.”
Right. She had it all covered. He was proud of her. Relieved, even. And yet he couldn’t just stand back and let her be. No, he had to insert himself... “You know me,” he joked. “Always prepared.”
She could possibly buy it. He’d always gone overboard to anticipate any need she might have and make certain that he’d done all he could do to fulfill it. To the point of suffocating her, he supposed.
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Martin,” she finally said, taking the card and putting it in the small, black zippered purse she always carried, then she moved toward the door. “If you want the baby to come here, all you have to do is say so.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“I know.”
Did she? He tried to meet her gaze, but she was the one avoiding him that time.
* * *
Olivia was excited to see the Applegates again. To be close to her fetus. To know that when she spoke the sound might reach the baby in some fashion, a vibration even. And the surrogate could soak up Olivia’s energy, too.
As a doctor and scientist, she knew, more than most, how miracles happened, and they weren’t through anything she or her colleagues had learned or done.
The turkey was out of the oven and dinner was ready to be served by the time they got there, homemade pies in hand. After the rest of the introductions—Beth’s aunt and sister to Olivia and Martin, and the kids, three and seven, who mostly just wanted to be able to play their video games in the family room—the conversation was general. No talk of the baby Beth was carrying. Just people getting to know each other better and feeling thankful—each in their own personal way.
The kids both chatted through dinner, asking questions, making note of what they did and didn’t like. Olivia liked that they were comfortable speaking up at the table. She’d always thought a family dinner table should be free for all—a place where, hopefully, the children would bring to the adults anything going on in their lives.
Her grandmother had always insisted they have dinner together, even when it had to wait until Olivia was off work from the job at the fast-food restaurant she’d taken in high school, and they didn’t actually eat until nine or later. And Olivia had always replayed her day for her grandmother at that same table.
She’d been seated next to Martin at dinner, across from Beth’s aunt and sister, but when dishes were done and it was time for dessert in front of the TV, she noticed Beth’s aunt, who’d been watching the football game, on one side of Martin, and Brian on the other. The kids were on the floor with bowls of vanilla ice cream, so Olivia joined them. She was good with kids. Comfortable.
And she had a view of Martin and “Aunt Wendy” as they chatted about players and stats. And enjoyed Olivia’s pie.
“I’ve always been a 49ers fan,” Wendy was saying. “Ever since the Joe Montana days.”
Olivia had no idea who Joe Montana was.
“And the Chicago Bears were next,” Wendy continued, while a commercial played out on the set and Beth and her sister were still occupied in the kitchen. The kids were discussing who had the biggest glob on their spoon. “I’d watched Jim Harbaugh play for Michigan and was thrilled when he was drafted by Chicago.”
Jim Harbaugh was the football coach at Michigan, she knew. Because one of the little ones she’d cared for, a boy who’d gone home just the week before, had been born a Michigan fan. His parents had put up blue and maize all around his bassinet, and every Saturday his father would have the game on, giving the baby a play-by-play of what was going on. It was the man’s way of coping. She’d recognized that, and so had taken an interest.
He’d failed to mention that the Michigan coach had once been a famous professional player. Or even that he’d quarterbacked for the college team he now coached.
But Martin and Wendy both knew. They’d both watched him play, in college and in Chicago. Sometime before she’d been born. He’d gone on to play for other professional teams, too, when she’d been alive, but still a little girl. Olivia heard it all.
When Wendy’s hand landed on Martin’s arm as she was exclaiming over something some announcer had said ages before, Olivia got up and left the room.
Martin was a charmer. In the best sense of the word. He was genuinely a nice guy. She’d never met anyone who didn’t like him. Or anyone he couldn’t engage in conversation.
But he was also a man. And Wendy was most clearly a woman who’d become charmed.
It didn’t matter. Wendy wasn’t the only woman who found Martin attractive. She knew that he was invited to functions where the hosts evened the numbers with a female partner for him on occasion. Knew he still had sex.
That didn’t mean she wanted to witness the effects of his charisma.
Or be reminded of the fact that there were other women in his life.
She wasn’t jealous, she promised herself. She wasn’t.
Martin wasn’t hers. They weren’t happy together. She wanted him to be happy.
Honestly.
And honestly, she was burning with jealousy, too.
Over something she couldn’t have and wouldn’t accept if it were offered to her.
Maybe she wasn’t as ready for a changing world as she’d hoped.
Chapter Fourteen
“Wendy sure looked good.” Martin was making small talk as he pulled out of the parking lot of the Fishnet three-floor dormitory-style boardinghouse later that evening. “You’d never know she’s in dire need of a liver.”
Something was up with Olivia. She’d been pleasant but wearing what he could only figure was her bedside manner since dessert at the Applegates’ that afternoon. And at Fishnet, she’d been polite, kind, did all that was asked of her with a smile as she stood at the end of the row of food pans and served dressing to the teenagers coming through their line. She’d had dinner with a table of eight girls and by the looks of things they’d been enthralled with her. But there’d been no laughing. She’d sat up straight the whole time and insisted on helping with dishes rather than relaxing in the huge, living-room-style lounge with the kids to watch Miracle on 34th Street.
She hadn’t met h
is gaze one time since they’d been passing mashed potatoes, sitting next to each other at Beth and Brian’s table.
Until he could figure out what was bothering her, he’d keep her talking.
Distract her, if nothing else.
Because there were some things you couldn’t fix. Like a baby too sick to live. A relationship that had broken when they’d needed it most. Like the fact that his ex-wife had spent the afternoon with the woman who was pregnant with her baby. Because she couldn’t carry her baby herself. It had to be hard.
While he’d heard that some women didn’t particularly enjoy pregnancy, were uncomfortable and just wanted it done with, Olivia had been a natural at it. She’d been so happy, touching her stomach all the time, marveling at every new moment. The first time she couldn’t fasten her jeans. The first time she could feel the baby move. And later, when they’d actually been able to see a bump move across her belly as the foot or fist moved...
His comment regarding Beth’s aunt’s looks hadn’t elicited a response.
“I expected her to be frail,” he added. He’d been expecting her to be nearly bedridden. Or in a wheelchair.
“She has a cirrhosis that is terminal to liver function,” she responded. “It hasn’t yet progressed to the point of making her look jaundiced, but the longer they wait to do the transplant, the more risk there will be to her overall health. If they can get it done while she’s still relatively healthy and able to manage symptoms with medicine, the better chance there is that her body will accept the new liver.”
More than he needed to know. As were the next paragraphs of medical terminology that came at him regarding overall liver function, disease and treatment. He was reminded just how far she’d climbed in the world since their divorce, though. Impressed as hell by what she’d become. “The liver is one of the few organs that regenerates itself,” she said. “So the donor can lose part of a healthy liver and not miss it.”
She was talking to him. Not staring silently out the side window as she’d done most of the way from the Applegates’ to Fishnet.
Her Christmas Future Page 13