Every volume presumed single motherhood. Every title reinforced a premise I found fundamentally unacceptable.
I gathered the books—all five of them—and carried them downstairs. The large trash bin stood beside the kitchen island. I lifted the lid, then I dumped them.
Back upstairs, I retrieved my phone and opened my preferred bookstore application. If Dede were going to research parenting, she’d do it with accurate materials.
I started searching, and the results populated. I began adding to the cart:
The New Parents’ Guide to Marriage: Keeping Your Relationship Strong While Raising Children
Added to cart.
Baby Makes Three: The Six-Step Plan for Preserving Marital Intimacy and Rekindling Romance After Baby Arrives
That one was important, given my goal to share her bed permanently. Added to cart.
The First Year of Marriage with Multiples: A Survival Guide for New Parents
Perfect. Added to cart.
Sex After Baby: Maintaining Romance and Partnership
Essential reading, considering the pregnancy had only heightened my awareness of her fuller breasts, the way she moved with new languor, and the glow emanating from her skin. Added to cart.
Marriage Before Maternity: The Time-Tested Formula
I paused on that one. The cover showed a couple with their hands forming a heart over a pregnant belly. Saccharine, but the reviews were solid.
My cart now contained five books. The same number I’d thrown away.
I entered her address and chose express delivery. The replacements would arrive the next morning.
With that taken care of, I gathered my toiletries bag and proceeded to the bathroom across the hall. The space was small but efficient, decorated in the same understated style as the rest of the house.
I showered using my products before shaving. I dressed in dark, tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt. I applied a small amount of styling product to my hair, and then returned to the bedroom, made the bed, and organized my belongings.
At 6:30, I descended the stairs, following the sound of Dede’s voice. She sat at the kitchen island, laptop open, and phone pressed to her ear.
“No, Chauncey, the demographic analysis shows—” She paused, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Yes, I have the data. I’ll email it within the hour.”
Dede glanced up as I entered, acknowledging me with a small smile before returning her attention to the call. Even at five months pregnant, she was impossible to ignore.
She’d pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail and wore a burgundy robe that complemented her skin. Her professional competence was attractive, but it was the way she absently stroked her belly while talking and the breathlessness in her voice making my hands itch to touch her.
I moved toward the coffee maker on the counter. It was a compact machine with an array of buttons and settings, but I figured it out.
While the coffee brewed, I took in the kitchen properly. The cabinets were painted a soft gray-blue. There were no servants’ call buttons, no separate prep kitchen, no professional-grade appliances.
This was a space designed for family life rather than for entertaining. It suited her.
Photographs covered the refrigerator, held by an array of magnets. Dede and Tia—at various ages. Birthday parties. Graduations. Tia and Chrysanthos on their wedding day two weeks ago.
Dede ended her call and closed her laptop. “I have a doctor’s appointment this morning. You’re welcome to come if you’re not busy.”
“I will be there, yes.”
“Okay then. We’ll leave in an hour.”
We entered the health center ten minutes before her scheduled appointment. The space was decorated with cream walls, pale wood accents, and watercolor prints of botanical illustrations.
