"Why not?"
Because normal people don't do that. Because that's exactly the kind of solution that proves once again how different we are. Because?—
His hand continues its gentle path across my belly, and I lose my train of thought. At sixteen weeks, I'm definitely showing. Not dramatically—I can still hide it under loose clothing—but here, lying on Grant's sofa in leggings and one of his t-shirts, the small swell is unmistakable.
"You're doing it again," Grant says softly.
"Doing what?"
"Overthinking." He sets the tablet aside and shifts to face me fully, his hand still resting on my stomach. "We were having fun looking at baby gear, and then I saw you disappear into your head. What happened?"
I could deflect. Make a joke. But we promised to be honest with each other, even when it's uncomfortable.
"You said 'why not' like buying too many cribs is a completely normal thing," I say. "And for you, maybe it is. But Grant, I've been saving for eighteen months just to afford the supplies I need for my next batch of perfume. The idea of casually buying more than two of everything because we can't decide—it's so far outside my reality that it makes my head spin."
He's quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You're right. I'm sorry. I forget sometimes that what feels normal to me might feel?—"
"Excessive? Wasteful? Like you're trying to solve a problem by throwing money at it?"
"Ouch." But there's no heat in his voice. "Fair. Though in my defense, I genuinely didn't think about the cost. I was just trying to avoid the decision-making."
Despite myself, I smile. "That's even worse. You know that, right?"
"Sorry, I’m a slow learner." His hand moves to my hip, pulling me closer. "So. Back to cribs. What if we look at options that aren't either space stations or held together with artisanal twine? There has to be a middle ground."
"There is. I'm just being difficult."
"Oh, I've noticed." He says it with total affection but I still have to give him a dirty look.
This is what the past few weeks have been like. Easy. Comfortable. The kind of domestic normalcy I didn't know I was capable of having with someone.
After the disaster with Samantha and Victoria's calculated ambush, I half-expected everything to fall apart. For Grant to realize that all this was too much work, too complicated.
Instead, he's been... patient. Present. When I push back against his instinct to fix things, he listens. When I need space, he gives it. And when I show up at his place after a long day at the restaurant or at my workbench, exhausted and craving connection, he's there.
We haven't told my father yet. That shadow still looms, heavy and threatening. But for now, in this stolen stretch of time, we're just enjoying each other and watching my stomach grow a little bit every day.
I’ve talked to my parents on the phone several times but luckily they haven’t asked to see me and I certainly don’t want to bring it up until I’m ready… as if I’m ever really going to be ready.
"What are you thinking about?" Grant asks.
"How surprisingly good this is." I gesture vaguely between us. I leave out the part about worries over my parents reactions. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"What if it doesn't?"
"Then I'll be pleasantly surprised." I shift, propping myself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "But Grant, you have to admit, the odds aren't exactly in our favor. Your ex-wife hates me. Your daughter thinks I'm just with you for your money. My father is going to lose his mind when he finds out. And we're having twins in—" I do the mental math. "Twenty-four weeks. That's barely enough time to figure out how to be a couple, let alone parents."
"You're catastrophizing again."
"I'm being realistic."
"You're borrowing trouble." His hand slides up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "I know there are battles ahead, baby. I know Victoria isn't going to be easy to deal with, and Samantha isn't going to magically accept us overnight, and your father is going to be—well, David. But right now, in this moment, we're okay. Can't that be enough?"
I want to argue. Want to point out all the ways this fragile peace could shatter. But lying here with his hand warm against my skin, his eyes steady on mine, I find myself nodding instead.
"Okay," I whisper. "Right now is enough."
He kisses me, slow and sweet, and I let myself sink into it. Into him. Into the dangerous hope that maybe we can actually make this work.
