She can hear the sappy smile in his voice, imagine him looking ridiculously pleased with his own over-the-top, gushing affirmations. At least she doesn’t have to mask the sour pull of her mouth since he can’t see her face.
“Love you too.”Just not so much at this moment.
She wants to be annoyed at how he organizes things without telling her, how he arranges her neatly into boxes that suit his idea of what a young pregnant woman should be doing, as if she is his doll left too long alone in his dollhouse.
But isn’t this what it is to be cared for? She has been rescued from her parents’ silence, from the way they looked through her, walked past her when she cried, drew back if she stepped closer. Until Bren, no one thought about her.
Now she is thought of all the time.
Downtown Farrows is a quaint,boxy place, filled with old cottages and vintage shop fronts and shingle roofs. Ivy crawls over brick churches and flower boxes of perennials blossom in all the windows. It is a picturesque, close-knit community with not a stain on its name.
Come to Farrows. Raise your family here. Nothing has ever gone wrong.
Elodie walks into the little café with her cheeks flushed from the thistle-sharp chill of the Friday afternoon. She has showered, tamed her hair into a loose bun, slid on her wedding ring, and fastened the silver necklace Bren gave her around her neck. She knows she must look severe like this, black coat, tall boots, expensive dark jeans, two curls framing her cheekbones. She always feels like a sliver of moon and midnight against the pastels of the January family.
Ava sits in a secluded corner of the café with her toddler, both of them a matched set in lavender and lemon yellow. Where Bren has excitable, fervent energy and chapped, ruddy hands from woodworking, his sister is all delicate petals and pearls, her blond hair loose to her shoulders and her smile demure and sweet. She’s older by six years and took on a mother role for Bren after their parents died when he was ten. This is why he worships her, why she dotes on him. They were all each other had for so long, and though he doesn’t talk about it much, she knows what happened to his parents is like a gunshot wound blown right out of his chest and he will never stop bleeding.
Ava has dressed two-year-old Poppy in a smocked romper with lacy socks and white Mary Janes, and there isn’t so much as a crumb or marker stain on her hand-embroidered collar.
Elodie tries to imagine placing her sharp-edged baby in Ava’s arms, with its hair an oil slick and eyes like black buttons. There is no way this baby will look anything like the golden Januarys. Jude is a shattered mirror, each sliver reflecting his mother’s face, and the new baby will be the same.
“Oh, Elodie, you’re glowing.” Ava stands, her arms outstretched to clasp Elodie in an airy hug. “Are you cold? Being pregnant made me cold all the time too.”
Elodie tries for a smile, but she feels like a long-legged stork beforethis beautiful slip of a woman. “Oh, the coat is just because I’m from Queensland.”
Ava’s polite but slightly puzzled smile reminds Elodie most people here have no context of Australia outside of the clichés: the Sydney Opera House, poisonous snakes, eternal summers. She should say less about her country anyway, keep stifling her accent. She wants to blend in.
“Come sit down!” Ava says quickly to avoid any awkward lulls. “I’ve got an extra teacup for you. I assume you’re skipping caffeine for the baby.”
Elodie would die without coffee. Outright die. “Of course,” she says. “For the baby.”
The café has a cutesy farm theme: chairs white wicker, baskets of floppy flowers, country music crooning in the background, milk jugs shaped like cows and spoons topped with silver carrots. Ava sips from a rose teacup and splits a tiny morsel of lemon cake to share with Poppy.
“Are these cakes all right for you? Brendan mentioned you don’t get morning sickness.” Ava’s smile is so genuine and lovely it makes Elodie’s teeth hurt as if she bit into something too sweet. “I was so sick with Poppy, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’m still trying for another, but, well… no luck so far.” She puts an absent hand on her flat stomach.
Elodie wants to say,If I fuck a man for two minutes, I’ll get pregnant, but she needs Ava to like her. She has kept Jude tucked away as much as she could during these last four months, but the invitations keep coming: family barbecues and birthday parties, a housewarming, an anniversary. Now Thanksgiving is around the corner with Christmas soon after. Her excuses to stay home will evaporate and she will have to let Bren’s aunts and grandparents and sister truly see her son. And see her.
“I just have easy pregnancies,” she says. “Luck and genetics.”
“Don’t let Brendan wear you out with that house.” Ava sets down her cup and chews her lip. “I told him he needs it to be ready before the baby.”
Elodie gives a small laugh. “That’ll be a miracle. It’s a mess.”
“He has the nursery done, at least.”
“That’s Jude’s room.” Elodie bites into a cake, and it takes a moment to realize another awkward pause has caught between them.
“You don’t want the baby in there?” Ava says, tentative. “Brendan told me he restored this incredible woodland crib.”
Jude’s little bed must convert into a crib, Elodie realizes, with railings that pack away and a mattress that can be lowered as the child ages. But Bren has said none of this to her, and Jude is obsessed with the room, the bed, those toys. His furious reaction over the baby has left her shaken in ways she doesn’t want to think about, and that will be a hundred times worse if he’s made to give up his things for it. She knows what jealous children are like.
Poppy chooses that moment to ask for more with a baby sign, and Ava fusses over her, proud of her communication, careful to reward and encourage and cuddle.
“Brendan issoexcited to be a father,” Ava goes on. “I know some men get cold feet, but he’s wanted to be a dad since he was twelve. He’s so sweet. He’s really something special.” There’s something emotional about her voice. “This baby has already stolen his heart, and I justknowhe’s going to do everything right.”
All Elodie can think of is herself, alone, devouring him, her teeth sunk into Bren’s raw, throbbing heart, his worship for her never-ending as his blood stains her tongue. The image is eviscerating, thrilling, and she is shocked by it. Shocked by herself. She reaches for her tea, masking her quickened breathing, and shoves the thought away.
“… and I’m here for you too. Anything you need, at any time. Will your family come for the birth?” Ava asks.
