“C’mon,” he says, like he’s dealing with a grumpy toddler.
We head inside, the warm smell of sugar and espresso wrapping around us. Without asking, he orders a KitKat waffle for me, my ultimate, all-consuming craving these days and a Nutella one for himself. Two coffees, too.
I find us a small table by the window, and he joins me a few minutes later, sliding into the seat across from mine. I dig into my desert like I haven't eaten all day.
“So,” he says finally, breaking the silence. “Do you like the reception?”
I swallow my bite and grin. “I love it.”
His smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing a little.
“So now,” I tease, leaning back in my chair, “will you tell your mother?”
He swallows, even though he hasn’t taken a bite. “She’s still on that cruise.”
I laugh, picturing it. “I wonder if she knew that when she came back from her six-month cruise, she’d have a daughter-in-law and a grandchild on the way.”
“She’ll love you,” he says, reaching across the table and taking my hand. His thumb traces slow, gentle circles against my skin, and his eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache.
I smile back, but there’s a nervous flutter beneath it. I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but I want to ask.What are we?Are we just friends who happen to be having a baby? Are we lovers? Are we focusing only on the baby, or is there something more here?
Should I ask?Howdo I even ask?Are we together?Of course, we are, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Basen now.Do you love me?He’s already said he does.
Alright. I go with something safer.
“Do you… want more kids?” I blurt out suddenly.
He blinks, then laughs, caught off guard. “What?”
“I mean,” I say, heat creeping up my neck, “after this one.”
He’s still smiling when he answers. “Yeah… but let’s have this one first.”
“Right,” I laugh, twisting the napkin between my fingers. “Uh… my sister said she wanted to be here, but Zeke’s back and she didn’t want to leave the kids.”
“How’s that going?” Matthew asks carefully.
I shrug. “He might take her to court.”
Matthew gives me a look, and I know he’s about to say something I won’t like.
“I love your sister,” he starts, then trails off, probably too scared to piss me off.
“What?” I snap, already on edge.
He shrugs. “Zeke’s the kids’ father. He should be able to see them.”
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “And when he falls off the wagon again, what happens then?”
“Look,” he says, keeping his voice calm, “I’m not taking sides. But it’s like you’ve already decided he’s going to fail.”
“Heis!” I yell before I can stop myself.
The café goes silent. Around us, people try not to stare, but they are, glancing over their cups, peeking over menus, pretending they’re not watching thefat pregnant womanlose her shit in public.
I lean forward, my voice low but shaking. “So, ifIgot addicted to drugs? Or alcohol? Are you saying you’d still let me near our kid, just because IclaimedI’d changed?”
Matthew doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Because you’d be their mom.”
