“I’m going to Connecticut. To see my mom.”
“That’s nice.”
I take a breath. Just say it. “She really wants to meet you.”
Natalie’s whole body goes still. Not tense—just awake now. She lifts her head, hair sliding across my chest, and those dark eyes lock onto mine.
“You told your mom about me?”
“Of course I told my mom. She’s gonna be a grandmother.”
“Right. Yeah.” She sits up slightly, the sheet slipping to her waist. “That’s sweet, Jake. Really. But I already promised my dad I’d have dinner there.”
The disappointment hits harder than it should. “Oh. Okay.”
She must hear something in my voice because she reaches out and touches my arm, thumb brushing my skin like she’s trying to soften the blow. “Thank you for asking. That was really thoughtful.”
“My mom’s excited to meet you eventually,” I admit. She’s been asking about Natalie every time we talk, wanting to know how she’s feeling, if she needs anything, when she’ll get to meet the mother of her grandchild.
“Maybe over the holidays,” she says, but it’snoncommittal, a safe placeholder. “There’s a lot happening between now and then.”
“Right. The holidays.”
Silence settles, and I push down the urge to say more. I wanted her to say yes. Wanted to bring her home, show her where I grew up, let her see the house I picture when I think “family.” But she’s not ready. And pushing her now will only make her pull away.
“So tomorrow,” I say, shifting us back to safer ground. “Two o’clock, right? We find out the sex?”
“You don’t have to go if you’re busy.”
“Of course I’m going. It’s been on my calendar since the second we scheduled it.”
She smiles soft and warm in a way that makes my chest ache. “Super Dad strikes again.”
“Ha-ha,” I mutter, pulling her closer. “You nervous? About finding out?”
“A little. You?”
“Yeah. Excited-nervous.” I pause. “Do you have a preference? Boy or girl?”
She goes quiet, tracing mindless shapes on my chest with her fingertips. “I don’t know. I keep trying to picture both and I can’t.”
“Me neither.”
She lifts her head a little. “Did you always want kids?”
“Yeah.” I answer without hesitation. “Always. Even when I was a kid myself, I knew I wanted to be a dad someday. My dad worked a lot. I barely saw him when I was young, and I promised myself I’d never be like that. If I everhad kids, they’d never have to wonder where I was or whether they mattered.”
She listens quietly, her fingers pausing on my chest.
“What about you?” I ask.
“Honestly? No. Not really.” She shifts again. “I never saw myself as a mom. I was focused on my career, on getting a seat in a writers’ room, proving myself. Kids felt like something that would derail everything I was working toward.”
“And now?”
“I’m terrified,” she says softly. “But I want this. The baby. I want to be a good mom.”
The vulnerability in her voice does something to me. I can’t help myself. I reach up and cup her jaw gently, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re gonna be amazing, Nat. I know it.”
