Shit!
I was not expecting that. I set my mug down and let the silence drag on between us, giving her a chance to say more but also not knowing what to say at all. Whatever I ask (Do you want to keep it? When are you due? Who’s the dad?) is probably going to be the wrong thing.
But she looks at me expectantly.
“Okay…”Fuck. Am I supposed to say “Congratulations!!!” or “I’m sorry…”? “Help me out here. I don’t know what you need from me,” I say, spreading my hands in a sign of utter helplessness.
She pulls me to her side, and I hug her back. “You’re the best,” she whispers in my neck.
“You got… pretty low standards. I didn’t say or do anything.”
Her shoulders shake.
“Hey, baby, I got you. We got you.” I pull her away from me so I can look at her. “Are you crying or are you laughing?” I’m so confused by the state of her face.
“Both!” she says, hiccupping weirdly.
Hormones. And I mean, also, the whole freaking situation.
My heart swells and breaks for her at the same time. A baby!
I need to know where she stands with all this. To get her talking, I ask the safest question I can come up with. “How far along are you?”
“I’m due in six and a half months, and I’m not sure about the dad.”
Holy shit!
She must read my facial expression, because she adds, “Iknowwho the dad is. I… He’s all sorts of wrong.”
Lots to unpack there. “Didn’t peg you for a bad boy kinda girl,” I say with a smile in my voice.
“It’s… complicated,” she says with finality in her tone.
I raise my hands. “I’m sure. Now, what do you need from me?”
Her mouth sets the way Noah’s does when he talks about the Callaway legacy, a mix of sadness and determination. And I hate that for her.
“A baby is happiness and only happiness,” I urge her.
Her hands unconsciously move to her still-flat belly. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby,” she whispers, her eyes welling up. “But it’s all I can think about! It’s like… I’m a different person now. There’s someone growing inside me. Counting on me.” She’s only twenty-two, but she has Noah’s innate sense of responsibility, and in that moment I know she and her baby will be okay.
I move us to more practical questions. “What are you doing about work?” It’s fair to assume that’s why she hasn’t moved to New York.
She looks away. “I already lined up some online writing gigs. I’m hoping to land something more permanent, but… I’d be working from here? If that’s okay. I don’t think I can do it alone.” She seems uncertain and almost ashamed. “I’ll pay rent and stuff.”
I take her hand. In the space of a few months, she seems to have grown five years or more. The post-teenager who argued that this place was as much hers as her brother’s is gone. As much as it’s reassuring, it also makes me a little sad. “That’s a great idea.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know it’s not fair to you guys, seeing as you just got married, but—”
“Oh shut up!” I scoff. “Are you kidding? A baby here is going to be the best thing ever. I can’t wait!” I squeeze her hand harder, laughter bubbling inside me as I imagine midnight bottles and pitter-patters in the hallways.
“I’m scared to tell Noah,” Lane confesses.
My heart clenches. She has no idea how much she’s unconditionally loved in this family. “Oh, honey, Noah will feel the way you feel. If you’re happy, he’ll be happy. If you want him to punch the dad in the face, he will.”
She ignores my attempt to know more about the father. “What should I tell him?” Her face is still scrunched with anxiety.
I let go of her hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear, then give her nape a reassuring stroke. “Let him know you already have a plan. That you need time to figure out what you’re going to do about the dad. That you’re staying here for the time being. Guys aren’t always the best at dealing with something they can’t fix. But ask them to install a nursery or attach a car seat, and all of a sudden they feel more in control, and it helps them.”
