The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  I swallow the instinctive urge to chuckle at the expression on Lara’s face.

  “I’m not ready to think about the whole birthing thing,” she whispers.

  Since meeting Dr. Henson, who quickly started running tests, Lara has steadily relaxed. I think she’s still too pale and too thin, and I’m concerned about how sick she told the doctor she’s been during the past few weeks, but she looks more like her normal self.

  Even better, her sense of humor, one of the things I most like about her, has returned.

  “Okay, Lara, would you mind hopping back up on the table?” Dr. Henson says. “And you can get your first look at your baby.”

  Lara’s head snaps around. “Really? But I’m barely pregnant. I thought it took a while before the ultrasound shows anything. My cousin was something like halfway through before she started showing everyone the pictures of her big-headed baby.”

  “Most places usually take an ultrasound picture at around sixteen weeks, but because you’ve been so sick and your iron levels are really low, which has a great deal to do with why you’re so tired, I want to check everything out and make sure there’s not a serious underlying cause.”

  Lara pales and the bottom drops out of my stomach. I only just learned she’s pregnant; I still haven’t fully come to terms with that. If there’s something seriously wrong with her or the baby … My imagination shuts down, unable to cope with that idea.

  Ignoring the last few forms I’m supposed to sign, I jump to my feet and hurry to stand beside Lara.

  “Do you think something is wrong with the baby?” Lara asks, her voice shaking slightly.

  “At this point, I have no reason to suspect there’s a problem. This is just a precaution.”

  “And if there is?” I ask. Lara reaches up and catches hold of my hand. I give hers a squeeze before lacing our fingers together.

  “Eight weeks is a special time,” Dr. Henson explains as she rolls up the bottom of Lara’s sweatshirt, exposing her stomach. “Your baby is moving from what we call the embryonic stage into the fetal stage.”

  “I don’t have any idea what that means,” Lara says.

  “Instead of just being a collection of cells,” I tell her while Dr. Henson covers her belly with a clear gel, “the cells have specialized and all the parts needed to survive have formed.”

  Dr. Henson flashes a smile my way. “Very good. Nice to know some people really do read all the literature I send with them.” She picks up the wand, placing one end on Lara’s stomach. “Lara, you’re in good hands with this guy. He really knows his stuff.”

  “One of us has to,” Lara mutters as all three of us turn to look at the screen.

  At first the only thing I see is shadows and strange looking gray lines, but after a second, shapes start to appear.

  “That right there.” Dr. Henson uses her free hand to point to a pale blobby shape near the bottom edge of the screen. “That’s your baby.”

  Lara props herself up on one elbow, shifting closer to the ultrasound machine’s screen. “It is? Are you sure? How can you tell?”

  “This circle right here.” The doctor points to the biggest blob. “That’s its head. And the oval next to it is the torso. It’s not quite big enough to see the heartbeat yet, but I can tell you that your child has a nice strong heart and that everything looks wonderful.”

  “And those little teeny tiny circles.” Lara’s voice drips awe. “Are those its …”

  “Arms and legs.” Dr. Henson finishes the sentence for her.

  “Paul,” Lara squeals, her hand tightening on mine. “Do you see that? It’s a whole baby. And so much better looking than my cousin’s big-headed kid.”

  I drop a kiss on the top of her skull, inhaling the good clean scent of her shampoo. “Our baby is amazing.”

  “I’ll print out a picture for you to take home. A lot of people like to share it on social media or hang it on the wall.” Dr. Henson hands Lara a cloth to wipe the gel from her stomach before picking up a pharmacy bag, which she hands to me.

  “Lara, I’m sending you home with some pre-natal vitamins to get you through the next few weeks, as well as some pills to help with your nausea. If you need more, let me know. Here at Embrace we have our own pharmacy and a pharmacist on call. And not only can we make up your prescriptions right here, we’ll even deliver them to you.” Dr. Henson hesitates. “I didn’t ask. Do you live in North Carolina? Near Paul?”

  “No, I live in Chicago, just a few blocks from here.” Lara tugs her sweatshirt in place and slides off the table. I put a hand on her shoulder, ready to steady her if she gets dizzy. “I own the Blind Pig.”

  “You do!” Dr. Henson’s expression brightens. “I love that place. If you need anything, definitely let me know and I’ll drop it off myself after my shift here ends.”

  “If you do, let me know and I’ll set you up with a free drink.”

  “It’s a deal,” Dr. Henson says. Her tone gives the impression that it’s the best idea she’s heard all day. “And Lara. Even though there’s nothing wrong with you or the baby, I’m worried about how tired you are. I want you to take a few days off and rest. I’m not restricting you to bed rest, but I do want you to pamper yourself and give your body some time to adjust. Otherwise, if things don’t change, I very well may have to impose more restrictions as your pregnancy advances.”

  19

  Paul

  “The place is closed on Mondays—and it’s closed again on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I’ll rest then. That’s going to have to be good enough.” Lara continues with the rant she’s been on since we left the fertility clinic.

  “Do you really think three days is going to be enough time?” I move the shopping bags that contain the toiletries and clothing I picked up at Wal-Mart on the way back to her apartment to one hand, using the other to open the door to her apartment. I hold on to the edge of it, waiting for her to enter.

  Lara glares at me as she does. “She said I needed to rest for a few days. Three is a few. Plus she sent me home with all of these.” She rattles the paper pharmacy bag in her hand. “They’ll help me feel better, more energized. Plus, I’ll ask some of my staff to clean up after we close. That’ll also make things easier and a few will be glad to earn the extra money.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that’s what she had in mind,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What?” Lara snaps.

  “Nothing.”

  Atticus leaps off the windowsill, where he apparently spent the day sunbathing, and charges across the room, barking at me the entire time. Either he doesn’t remember that we were introduced a few weeks ago, or he’s not happy that I’ve returned.

  I prepared for this. I dig into one of the shopping bags, pushing aside the jeans and tube of toothpaste until my fingers close on the bag of expensive dog treats I picked up while I was grabbing emergency supplies for myself.

  At the bag’s first crinkle, Atticus’s rear end hits the floor and his eyes, fever bright with eagerness, follow my hand’s every move. His ridiculous tail sweeps back and forth.

  Tearing the bag open, I remove one of the chicken-flavored treats and toss it across the room. The tiny, hairless dog takes off after it like he’s been shot from a cannon.

  Lara and I watch him go. “That’s one way to win him over,” she comments with a small smile.

  “I don’t care if I win him over. I just want him to like me well enough that he doesn’t chew up my shoes, at least not until I can get a back-up pair.”

  She floats a brow. “You think you’re going be here long enough for that to become an issue?”

  That’s one of the many things we still need to discuss. It’s also not a conversation I really want to have now.

  Cupping my hand around her elbow, I guide Lara to the couch and help her sit before dropping to my knees and removing her shoes. Unable to resist, I place my hand over her lower stomach, covering the place where our baby is growing. She hesitates a second before placing
her hand over mine.

  “That ultrasound, that was pretty cool, wasn’t it?” I whisper. I still can’t believe that Lara and I created a life together.

  “Yeah.” Lara’s brow creases. “Until then, I didn’t really believe those tests were right. I was sure it was a mistake. Now that I’ve seen him … or her … with my own eyes…” Her mouth bows in a soft, secret smile. It transforms her into the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. “Now, I don’t know, it’s like I’m filled up with this incredible sense of love and purpose. I know it’s probably just pregnancy hormones, but still, it feels amazing.”

  I know exactly what she’s talking about. The ultrasound had the same effect on me, but I’m not ready to voice my feelings, not yet.

  But this does feel like the perfect time to bring up a thought that’s been rattling around in the back of my mind since we left Dr. Henson and the fertility clinic.

  “Lara, I really think you should plan on taking more time off than three days, two of which are still more than a week away. You owe it to yourself and the baby.”

  “I know, I get it, I really do.” Her head drops to the back of the couch. “This is the busiest it’s been since I opened. I can’t afford to lose any business. I would if I could. Taking a break isn’t possible.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How?”

  “I can take your place.”

  She sits bolt upright and stares at me, her indigo eyes as big as saucers. “You can what?”

  “I can take your place.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not. I haven’t always been a software designer. I started working when I was fifteen as a busboy, and I put myself through college by waiting tables and tending bar. Granted, it was a college bar, so basically all I did was pour beer, not the fancy mixed drinks you serve, but the point is, I’m not nearly as unqualified to fill your shoes as you think.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sensing her wavering, I push my slight advantage. “Look, Dr. Henson said you don’t require bed rest, that you just need to take it easy. I’ll work behind the bar and you can chill in your office all night.”

  “Chill?”

  I ignore her. “You can spend the time in there doing whatever you like. Paint your nails, catch up on paperwork, start picking out baby names … I have some parenting books installed on my Kindle. You can read one or two of those if you like.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “While you do that, I can work behind the bar. You use multiple bartenders; they can train me as the night progresses and if we need your help, we’ll just knock on your office door. The setup should give you some time off your feet, which is what you and the baby need.”

  “I guess we can try it,” Lara says, though she doesn’t look entirely convinced. “We open in an hour, so we need to head downstairs and find a uniform that fits you and I’ll give you a crash course on mixing our most popular cocktails.”

  “Great.” I rise up a little and kiss her cheek. “I promise, you won’t regret this.”

  20

  Paul

  “Atticus, shut up, will you.” The incessant barking on the other side of the door stops, though the animal whines softly. A moment later, the door swings open as far as the security chain allows and Lara’s face appears in the narrow crack. At least I think it’s Lara’s face; it’s kind of hard to tell exactly what’s under the thick layer of bright green goo covering her skin.

  Atticus inserts himself between the door and her ankles and sticks his ugly face through the crack to growl at me.

  “Paul!”

  “Hey, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I got up about a half hour ago.” Lara raises her hand, touches the goo and grimaces. “I decided on a mini-spa day.”

  “You deserve it.” I rattle the paper bag I’m holding. “I bought doughnuts. Let me in and I’ll share them with you.” I look down at Atticus. “I’ll even let the mutt have one.”

  “Oh.” Lara unfastens the security chain and opens the door. “How can I possibly refuse an offer like that?”

  Moving in perfect unison, we head to the kitchen. Lara grabs a plate out of the cupboard and sets it on the table. While I pull the doughnuts out of the bag and arrange them on the plate, she pours two cups of coffee, one of which she hands me before she sits down.

  “It’s decaf,” she warns. “Apparently caffeine isn’t good for babies.” She takes a sip and grimaces. “I had to throw all of my good stuff away just to avoid temptation. I don’t know what I’m going to do downstairs. My customers don’t drink much coffee, so they won’t care if I change, but my staff might revolt.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  She selects a raspberry jelly doughnut from the plate and bites into it.

  “I’m seriously considering telling them that they need to start bringing their own thermoses, but I’m afraid I’ll start stealing sips each time I walk past the employee break room like some kind of caffeine junkie who’s desperate for their next fix.”

  “I bet after a day or two, you get used to the caffeine-free life.” I chuckle before biting into my Boston crème. Atticus whines, reminding me of my promise, so I drop the plain powdered sugar one I bought specifically for him on the ground. He springs forward and starts eating like it’s the only food he’s seen in days.

  Lara eyeballs me over the top of her doughnut. “Thank you for working the bar last night. I can’t believe how easily you took to bartending. I wish you’d let me pay you.”

  “Lara, we talked about this last night.” The words come out sharper than intended. “You’re not paying me.”

  “But it feels like I’m taking advantage of you and I hate that.”

  “I’m at least fifty percent to blame for why you need to rest. More when you consider that I was the one with experience that night, and therefore the one expected to make sure we were protected every time we made love and not just the first. Shouldering your workload is the least I can do.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, you make a good point.” She doesn’t look like she’s as convinced as her words indicate. “Are you willing to lend a hand?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” Lara doesn’t bother to hide her relief; that and the fact she’s not still fighting me about the money situation proves she still isn’t feeling one hundred percent.

  We eat our doughnuts, occasionally breaking off a piece for Atticus, and drink our decaf coffee in strained silence, both of us knowing we need to talk about the baby and what the future holds, neither of us wanting to be the first to broach the subject.

  I can’t take the silence any longer. “Are you still getting sick?”

  “No. Well, not really. Morning sickness hit as soon as I woke up, but after that I popped one of the anti-nausea pills Dr. Henson gave me and my stomach settled right down.”

  “That’s great.” I reach for another conversation topic. “What are you planning for today, aside from the mini-spa day and relaxing?”

  Lara wipes her finger with a napkin, and nods at the boxes stacked in the living room. “Decorating. I should have done it weeks ago.”

  “Excellent. I’ll help.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m an excellent decorator. And I don’t often get a chance to show off my skills. Living by myself means there’s not much point in doing the house up, and a team of professionals decorates the office each year.”

  Lara doesn’t look convinced. “If you’re sure you really want to.”

  “I am.” I all but leap off my stool just so I can help her down from hers. Atticus follows us into the living room. “Where do we start?”

  “First we’re going to haul most of these boxes downstairs. The only ones that don’t go down are the ones labeled tree,” she explains.

  “Everything but the tree ones. Got it.”

  I survey the boxes, reading the words neatly printed on the side of each one. Out
doors. Lights. Wreaths. Wall Decoration. Tree. My eyes fall on the final box and my blood runs cold.

  I jab a finger at it. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

  Lara looks at the box. “It’s a tree.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I tell her. “It’s a poser. An abomination against Christmas. You can’t put that thing up.”

  “I put it up every year. It works great. “

  “Abomination,” I repeat. I pull out my phone and find the number of the private car service I use every time I’m in Chicago.

  “I’m putting it up in this room this year. And I’m ordering one of those pre-lit ones for downstairs.”

  “No. You’re not. You’re putting on something warm, grabbing Atticus, then, as soon as the car gets here, we’re finding a real Christmas tree. One that smells like a forest, needs to be watered every few days, and sheds needles all over the place.”

  21

  Lara

  “Thank you,” I murmur to the lanky driver as I slide out of the car’s warm interior and into the cold air.

  Atticus, dressed in a heavy bright blue dog parka and wearing winter booties to protect his feet from the cold, leaps out behind me.

  “You’re welcome miss,” the driver says with a sweet smile.

  Tail wagging, Atticus stretches his delicate head toward the sky, conducting a sniff test of this new place, while I give it a good visual exam.

  Before hitting the road, Paul and the driver had spent a good fifteen minutes consulting Google before they finally decided that the Kormondy Family Tree Farm sounded like a good bet. It certainly looks like a nice place.

  A small assortment of trucks and cars are parked in front of an enormous red barn. Half a dozen pine trees are propped against the side of the barn, close to one of the prettiest nativity scenes I’ve ever encountered. On the opposite side of the barn, in a corral, two blanketed horses chew hay.