She had no doubt she’d be able to sell tickets to the delivery to pay for all the nursery furniture, certain that wagers would be placed. Whether she’d be able to push on her own, whether the baby would split her in two, whether her episiotomy incision would be from her navel to the crack of her ass.Could probably pay off the mortgage if you got a cut of the action.
She had enough on her mind as it was. Diet tips from her mother were hardly new or useful, and she had far less tolerance for the bullshit these days.
“Plus, too much citrus gives me heartburn. I don’t need to worry about dieting right now. I need to worry about eating enough for two.”
“Well, no one said anything aboutdieting, Lurielle.” Her mother’s tone was peevish. “Only that bloat is going to make you feel terrible. But I’m sure your doctors are doing everything right, dear. Just make sure you’re actually listening to what they tell you.”
“I am,” she assured, if only to end the call a little faster.
“I just wanted to check in,” her mother continued, ignoring the cue. “Make sure you’re resting. You know how important it is to take care of yourself now.”
There was that word again.Now.Now that you’re worth thinking about. Now that you’re worth mentioning. Now that you’re worth loving.
“Well, I’d be resting more if I could sleep until my alarm. I need to get ready for work.”
“Oh, well . . .”
Lurielle could hear the soft cluck of disapproval through the receiver. She closed her eyes, stretching her back until it popped. She was starving.
“You shouldn’t be running yourself ragged, darling. You have different priorities now.”
She sighed. No one even pretended it was a suggestion. Khash’s sisters had done the same thing. It was a foregone conclusion that she’d be staying home with the baby, for at least a few years.
Never mind that she’d had to fight her way up the STEM ladder inch by inch, always one of the only women in the room, always talked down to, always underestimated — until she had proved her worth, over and over again.But that doesn’t matter anymore, evidently. She was a senior engineer, and everyone from the cashier at the Food Gryphon to her clutch of sisters-in-law simply assumed she’d be walking away from it all once she’d traded in her work lanyard for the coveted role of motherhood. Meanwhile, she’d already looked up the company policy on hybrid work, hoping to be included in the team meetings as quickly as she could.
“I should get going, Mom. I’m going to be running a bit behind now.”
“Of course, darling,” her mother said quickly. “I don’t want to stress you. We’ll talk later. I love you.”
Her breath caught, heat rushing across her face, the threat of tears right beneath the surface. “I love you too.”
She was slow to pull herself from bed. Her mother didn’t need to know that technically she wasn’t behind at all. After several unending weeks of projectile vomiting, she was easing back into the office, coming in at 11 a.m. Her supervisor had been the one to suggest the delayed start her first day back, as if her morning sickness was something she could put on a schedule, getting it out of the way before she came in. It wasn’t, but Lurielle had readily agreed.
She was halfway there.
Six months in, six months to go. Three months left at work, the past two weeks notwithstanding. She wasn’t looking forward to the bed rest her doctor had all but promised was coming, but she was looking forward to this being done. She’d spent too many years being uncomfortable in her own skin to relish all these rapid changes now. She’d only just arrived at a place of being happy with the sight of the elf in the mirror in these last few years, and now . . . now there was a stranger looking back. A stranger with her face, with her freckles, her eyes . . . but a stranger with a body that didn’t belong to her anymore.
And now her mother.
Up until last year, Lurielle had been able to count on one hand how many times her mother had called her out of the blue, because she wasthinking of her.
Her back hurt. Her jaw ached. She had a headache and she was exhausted, andallof those were the status quo when one was gestating a new life . . . but a tiny corner of her brain wondered if this was because she had tentatively opened the door to let her mother back in, her trauma responding from all the corners of her body in which it lived.That’d be fucking typical.And now you really do need to get up before you eat the phone.
Padding down the hallway, once she’d used the restroom and slipped on the threadbare robe she refused to get rid of, Lurielle paused in the doorway of the kitchen.
There was already a plate on the table.
He had placed it atop one of the mug warmers, just enough heat to seep through the plate without being a fire hazard, covered with the splatter guard from the microwave.
Lurielle grinned. She had no doubt that her breakfast would soon be served on a plate with its own warming feature, covered with a dome worthy of the finest upscale dining room.He’s probably sitting in rush hour gridlock, ordering it right now.
The English muffin was toasted exactly the way she liked, buttered on one side. A light smear of avocado on the other, a pile of delicate green sprouts pillowed beneath the perfectly poached egg.
Lurielle knew what this breakfast had cost him.
She had married a fellow perfectionist, and the amount of eggs Khash went through in his quest to perfect the poaching process had been substantial, prompting her at one point to wonder if they should get a chicken. He had only glowered through the steam pouring off the rolling bubble from his pot of water.
He'd watched videos, read tutorials, followed step-by-step instructions, eventually purchasing a little floating contraption that told him exactly how well-done her egg was by how deeply it sank beneath the water. The day he'd got it perfect, Khash acted like it was the crowning achievement of his lifetime thus far.
