Patrick throws his hands up. “You’re not even gonna think about it?”
“No,” I snap, louder this time. “I don’t have the fucking time, Patrick.”
I’m pacing the bedroom, already out of breath and exhausted.
“There are barely three months left until I have a baby,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “And I’m tired all the time. All the damn time. Work has been the worst it’s ever been. I can’t even be the chaperone for Milo’s class anymore, so now I’m the one stuck bringing snacks, homemade snacks, because apparently every kid has a different allergy.”
I throw my hands up. “And I haven’t even set up the nursery. Not one piece of furniture. Not one drawer organized. I’m supposed to be nesting, and instead I’m floundering.”
Patrick runs a hand over his head. “Lauren offered to throw the baby shower,” he says gently.
I snap before I can stop myself. “You know we can’t have it until Gen gets home.”
He blinks. “And when is that?”
I shrug, already annoyed and on the verge of tears. “Soonish.”
His brows lift. “Soonish? Lore-”
“I don’t know!” I explode. “I don’t know! Everything feels like it’s piling up and I can’t fix any of it and God, I’m so tired.”
I drag both hands through my hair.
“So no,” I say firmly. “I’m not spending the precious few hours I get off putting on a bra and driving to a therapist’s office.”
Patrick lets out a long, defeated breath.
“How about I take over the home front,” he says softly. “I know you wanna organize the nursery, but I’ll take over everything else. Milo, cooking, cleaning, laundry. Everything.”
I shake my head. “You have work.”
“So do you,” he says. “And I should’ve taken over already. I’m so stupid, I hadn’t even realized.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I whisper.
He takes my hand. “I do. And I’m not saying it to make you go to therapy, okay? I’ll cancel it. I’m sorry. I thought… I thought it’d be good for us.”
“Why?” I shoot back.
The second it leaves my mouth, I regret it. It’s stupid. I know exactly why.
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Why? Maybe because I’m sleeping in the guest room… and my wife flinches every time I touch her.”
My chest tightens so hard it knocks the air out of me. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a tiny, broken, “Oh.”
He nods, like he expected that. He drops my hand and turns toward the door.
“Wait,” I say quickly.
He stops. Turns back. There’s this flicker of hope in his eyes that hurts to look at.
I swallow. “Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t cancel.”
His eyebrows lift, cautious but bright. “You’ll come?”
I shake my head. “Maybe you can go.”
He deadpans, “Go alone to our marriage counseling.”
