No, Freya, don’t get all excited. He’s being sincere, but hemeans it in general. About all women. Celebrate bodies. Babies…ingeneral. That’s it.
He’s not making moves.
Funny how some of my mom’s lessons stuck—the ones about grit and working hard—but others, like loving the body I’m in, never fully took root. I’m not unconfident, but I still make self-deprecating comments. I need to cut that shit out before this baby comes.
My mom is a curvy woman and never puts herself down.
Mom.
I should see what Anton thinks of her coming.
He plates the food and sets it in front of me. “I hope you like rosemary. There’s a dash too much on the potatoes…”
I pick up my fork and taste them. I’d pay for these. “Mmmm. So good. They’re perfect.”
He plates up his own food and sits next to me. I love eating meals with him. Not only because he cooks them, and I hate cooking, but because it all feels so wonderfully normal. Like the parts of a relationship I’ve never gotten to.
The comfort part.
Anton isn’t the only man I’ve kept at arm’s length, though it was easier with the others. Not a single one of my ex-boyfriends ever lit me up more than the idea of achievement.
But Anton acts as though I’ve already achieved everything. He’s constantly reassuring.
I flick my gaze over to where he sits next to me and remember what he said at the bar.
Proud of you.
My nerve endings still light up now just thinking about when he said it. Is it pathetic how much his approval means to me or is that normal to want it when you respect someone?
And that circles me back to another person I respect.
“So you said I could invite people up anytime…”
He sips some orange juice. “It’s your place. No permission needed if you’re about to ask.”
“Well, it’s not just that…” I wiggle one of the rosemary potatoes with my fork. “My mom and grandma are coming.”
“Great.” He brushes a fallen curl off my forehead absentmindedly, and I realize he must have reached the comfort stage, too.
He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m glad they’re staying here because shady shit happens at that hotel in town,” he jokes.
I laugh, but it falls quickly. “She wants to come into the anomaly scan. And my grandma, too.”
He considers.
It’s his turn to play with the potatoes.
Is he worried about the scan? Or my mom?
It doesn’t take long before he glances back up. “Sounds great.”
“Okay, great,” I say, happy to put the conversation behind us but not sure his “great” is the same as mine or even that I mean my “great.”
I love my mom and grandma, but the scan—maybe it should be more of an intimate thing with just me and Anton rather than a party. After all, it’s possible there could be bad news. Anton doesn’t know my family, and it would be a lot for him to take that all in with strangers.
I can’t think that way. The baby is fine. I’m pretty sure she kicked yesterday, though it was more of a bubble and flutter.
“These are amazing.” I point to the eggs with my fork. “What’s in them?”
