I glanced down at my belly. “I’m fine. I’m going to head home and take it easy though. What cakes are we getting tomorrow?”
“Lemon muffins. My favourites.” She headed to the door. “If I’m a little distant, it isn’t because of anything you’ve done. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes. I get it.” And I did. Right now, I did.
The pain didn’t come back. I started being careful though, super aware of everything I felt, and the number of cakes I had been eating decreased dramatically to what was just a slightly unhealthy amount. My mum was checking in with me once a day, her excitement almost palpable from over the phone, while my sister-in-law, Ava, kept sending me photos of gorgeous nurseries. I forwarded some of them to Nate, needing someone to be excited for them in the same way as me.
A couple of days after my showdown with Neva, I found myself parking up on Nate’s new driveway, empty handed apart from my handbag, and with a slightly more elevated heart rate than usual due to fear.
This afternoon – or early evening – I was meeting Nate’s daughters for the first time, something a few months ago I had been sure I’d never do.
I still had no intention of becoming their step-mum. Hell, I wasn’t even involved with their father on any level apart from friends who were going to co-parent, so it seemed unlikely that I was going to be involved any more than the woman who was the mother of their half-sibling.
Maternal instincts were not something I’d ever indulged in before. I was feeling them was towards Cupcake, especially now my bump was getting there and I’d spend half a day on Pinterest, looking at crib set ups. I wasn’t hating being pregnant at all, apart from no wine and no coffee – or soft cheese – were anywhere near my kitchen. In fact, I was excited as well as scared about labour and afterwards, and some afternoons when I got home from work, I’d talk to my bump about the day, about their dad and what he was doing – even about the weather, because that was what British people did.
What I didn’t expect was the rush I felt when Zara ran to the door as her father opened it. She was slender, wearing a yellow dress with a sparkly jumper over it, and she was unmistakably Nate’s daughter.
Usually, when I first saw Nate after a few hours, I struggled to take my attention away from him, but right now, I couldn’t even give him an iota of it.
“Are you Amber?” Zara wrapped and arm around Nate’s leg. He’d said something but I had no idea what it was.
“I am. Are you Zara?”
She nodded, half shy, half desperate to talk. “Are you Daddy’s friend?”
Her calling him ‘daddy’ shredded my heart there and then, my eyes filling up with tears that a few months ago would’ve been nowhere near.
“I am. I work at Manchester Athletic as a physio. Do you know what that is?” I crouched lower so we were at the same level.
She shook her head, blonde locks bouncing about her face.
“It means I help when someone has pulled a muscle or hurt their shoulder.” I smiled at her, smitten with her tininess. “Can you point to your shoulder?”
She nodded and pointed to one with the hand that wasn’t clutching Nate.
“Can you point to your knees?”
Zara let go of Nate and pointed to both her knees.
“How about your toes?”
She squatted down to her toes with the ease that only a child has.
“What about your head?”
She started to giggle. It was the prettiest sound. “Shoulders.” She touched them. “Knees - ”
“Toes!” We both said, then the rest of the rhyme came out with me joining in the actions, Nate standing there with his arms folded, all sorts of amused.
We repeated it, getting faster and faster, until Zara was almost out of breath.
“Right, girls. Let’s go in and have a drink. Zara, you need to tidy your bedroom and then you can show it to Amber.” Nate ushered us both through the door, closing it behind us.
Zara looked giddy. “Will you come and see my room if I tidy it?”
I nodded, managing to look serious. “Only if it’s really, really tidy.”
She nodded, matching my serious look. “Promise!’ And then she ran off towards the staircase in the entrance hall, a massive structure that led to a galleried landing.
