“No.”
“Where were you when they left?”
“In our bedroom.”
Her brow arches over her thick, red frames, and they slide down the bridge of her nose.
“Okay, I might’ve been asleep. I worked a double the day before.”
“Do you think maybe she didn’t want to disrupt you?”
“Maybe,” I mumble, sipping the cappuccino. It’s still hot, but it’s so good I can’t stop myself. The steam tickles my nose, and I realize how absurd it is that I am finding great joy in this little drink. It’s mostly milk anyway.
As I’m smiling into my cup, Dr. Belo pulls out her trusty notepad and begins writing. My jaw ticks. She’s definitely making a note I’ll disagree with later.
“Does she?” she asks, eyes fixed on her notes.
“Does she what?”I reply, wary.
“Disrupt you.”
I scoff. The idea of Emma disrupting me is absurd. “Not really.”
“Does she know that?”
“Of course,” I say too quickly, like it should be obvious.
Dr. Belo tilts her head, and I sigh, realizing I don’t believe my answer. “I think she knows?”
“Maybe we can discuss that today,” she says.
“Discuss what?”
My gaze whips to the doorway. Emma stands there, panting slightly, hands cradling her belly from underneath like it’s a package she’s delivering. I leap up to offer my seat, but she shakes her head.
“I need to stand for a bit,” she says, catching her breath. “What are we discussing?” Her eyes shift to Dr. Belo for guidance.
“I think it would be helpful to discuss the assumptions you two make about each other.”
“What do you mean?” I croak as a damp heat crawls up my neck.
“Isn’t assuming bad?” Emma asks, equally uncomfortable. “Wouldn’t it cause more problems?”
“Sometimes,” Dr. Belo says. “But right now, the unspoken is doing more damage. I think it’s time we hear what you’re not saying.”
“Why?” I blurt out sharper than I mean to.
“Because, Mr. Jones, our sessions haven’t been productive. You’re both tiptoeing around the real issues. And if we don’t address them, what are you paying me for?”
My eyes drop to Emma’s belly. The baby,ourbaby. Bringing up stressful things—anxious things—feels wrong. Dangerous.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I whisper.
“No harm will come to the baby,” she says gently. “And if Emma becomes distressed or anxious, we will stop.”
“Are you sure?” Emma’s voice is small, worried.
“Of course. Your and the baby’s well-being is a top priority.” Dr. Belo gives Emma a reassuring smile, one we rarely see. She’s usually very pensive and neutral in her expressions. “But…” she adds. “You both said you wanted to work through this before the baby arrives, correct?” Emma and I both nod as she gestures to the calendar hanging near the door. “We’re running low on time.”
