“In the drawer next to your . . . uh, hip.” I avoided using the more accurate word, figuring he’d know what I meant even though the drawer was slightly behind him. We were both silent as he arranged two huge eggplant parmesan meals in the dish, opened the oven door, and popped it in.
“I brought salad, too. We could eat that while we’re waiting for the eggplant,” Noah offered. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get the plates and forks and shit.”
“You don’t know where any of that is,” I objected.
“I’ll figure it out, or I’ll ask you. C’mon, Alison. You’ve been working all day, right? Get off your feet. Let me do this for you.”
It struck me then that Noah was anxious to show me that he was serious about being part of this pregnancy, about doing anything he could to help me. Since this was exactly what I’d been most craving since the day I’d learned I was having a baby, it would be petty of me to refuse him.
“Okay. Fine.” I pulled out my chair and sat down, unable to stifle the sigh of pleasure that gave me. I was lucky that I didn’t have a job that required me to be on my feet all day. I sat down during as many of the exams as possible, and I spent a decent percentage of the day at my desk. Still, it didn’t seem to matter. I was so damn exhausted every single day.
“From what I read, fatigue is a huge part of the first trimester.” As if he’d been listening to my thoughts, Noah spoke. He opened a cabinet, saw it didn’t hold what he needed, and closed it again.
“Yeah, I could’ve told you that.” I tried to hide a yawn, gave up, and let it happen, covering my mouth. “I can fall asleep any time and any place. It’s my new superpower.”
“Huh. Sounds fun.” He found the dishes and made a noise of satisfaction. “Here we go.” He set two salad plates on the table. “Well, the good news is, once you hit the second trimester, you’ll probably have energy to burn. You’ll need less sleep, any nausea should begin to go away . . . oh, and you’ll start to show more. According to my research, that is.”
“Wow, look at you. Total expert after twenty-four hours of impending fatherhood.” I heard the note of bitterness in my tone and forced it away. “And that second-trimester stuff sounds too good to be true.” I pointed to the drawer next to the sink. “Not that watching you play hide and seek in my kitchen isn’t fun, but the silverware is right there.”
“Thanks.” He pulled open the drawer and selected two forks and two knives for us, pausing on the way to the table to grab a couple of cloth napkins as well. “When does the first trimester end?”
“Next week, officially. That’s according to my dates. The midwife will be able to give me a more exact estimate when she can begin measuring the fundus of my uterus—and when I have an ultrasound, too.”
“You haven’t had one yet? Good. I’m glad I didn’t miss the first look.” Noah sat down in the chair next to me and reached for the salad container. He served us both a healthy portion.
“Listen, Noah.” I picked up my fork and stabbed at some lettuce, tomato, and cucumber. “Before we talk about things like ultrasounds and dates and trimesters, I think we need to discuss exactly what your role is going to be—in both the pregnancy and in the baby’s life. It’s really important—to me, especially—that I know what’s in your head so that I know to expect. I don’t want to assume things that might not be what you’re thinking.”
“You make a good point,” Noah agreed as he chewed his salad. “All right. I’m going to lay all my cards on the table, Alison. I feel like shit for what I put you through. Everything that happened from the last time I texted you up through yesterday . . . it was all a mess. I don’t have any excuses for the way I’ve been acting.” His mouth twisted. “My coach told me that I’m like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The more I think about it, the more I have to agree.”
If he was waiting for me to protest that he was being too hard on himself, he was waiting in vain. I took another bite of salad and crunched down on it.
“Anyway, a couple of things happened within the last week that were kind of a wake-up call, I guess. Culminating with you telling me about the baby yesterday.” He dropped his gaze to the table. “I was living like I had no reason to do the right thing anymore. Like I’d lost all of my hope. But now . . .” He blew out a long breath. “I know it sounds sappy, but I feel like I have a purpose. Like . . . I’m needed again.”
I nodded slowly. “I can understand that. I was actually thinking the same thing as I came home tonight—that I’ve never really known what it’s like to feel needed on anything other than a professional basis. I know Tom—my fiancé—he loved me, but he didn’t need me. Not really. No one ever did other than my colleagues and my patients.”
“I know what it feels like—being needed—and when you lose that . . .” Noah sucked in a quick breath. “It’s brutal. I don’t recommend it.”
I bowed my head over my salad. “I’m happy for you, Noah, that you’ve found a new sense of purpose with the baby. But what exactly does that mean?”
He finished his salad and scraped his chair back. “Let me get the eggplant out, and then we can talk about that.”
I smirked as I speared more lettuce. “Are you stalling here? Buying time?”
“Nope.” He spooned some pasta and then the eggplant, sauce and cheese onto my plate before tackling his own. “Well, maybe a little. I don’t know, Alison. I’m not sure what you want to hear, so if I come in too hot, I’m afraid you’re going to run scared.” He carried the casserole to the sink. “Just being honest here. I want to do the right thing, but I haven’t nailed down what that is.”
Twirling some of the spaghetti onto my fork, I blew on the steaming food. “I don’t know, either, Noah. I don’t have a game plan in mind. This wasn’t ever how I planned to start a family you know. I guess maybe I didn’t think about it in specific terms. I used to picture myself married with a few kids, but after Tom died, all of that changed. I stopped expecting any future that wasn’t made up of work and being alone.”
“So basically, this is a whole new ballgame for both of us.” Noah used the side of his fork to cut into the eggplant. “What do you think about this, by the way? Pretty good? Or is it too garlicky for you?”
“It’s perfect. It’s easier for me to eat carbs and other food with lots of flavor. I don’t do as well with bland stuff or anything too sweet.” I wrinkled my nose. “The worst thing is that I can’t stand the smell or the taste of coffee anymore. That just started a couple of weeks ago.”
“Awww, that must suck.” Noah swallowed another bite and shifted to face me. I wanted to back up again, ease away from him, but I didn’t let myself do it. I didn’t want him to think I was afraid to be close to him, even though my heart had picked up speed and my palms had begun to sweat.
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have it anyway unless it’s decaf, so I’ve decided to look at the aversion as my body helping me do what I should be doing in the first place.” I scraped off some of the cheese and took a bite of the tender eggplant. “This is really good. Thank you for bringing me dinner. I was looking at another night of PBJ.”
“Alison. Seriously? You have to eat better than that.” He laid his hand over mine. “I’m not saying that just because of the baby, either. You have to take care of yourself. Your body is pulling double duty now.”
I tugged my hand away and cleared my throat. “I guess we should talk about the pregnancy first. Do you want to go with me to my midwife appointments? To the ultrasounds, too? Are there any tests you feel strongly that I should have or avoid?”
