She’ll pretend it doen’t rattle her.
She didn’t fool me for a second.
Now, I sit in the chair by the couch with my e-reader open, ten minutes deep into choosing betweenPregnancy for Today’s ParentandWhat Not to Expect While You’re Pregos.Yes, not the best title but it had 4.5 star reviews.That’s good, right?
Listen, neither screamsthrilling, but I’m desperate enough to read a manual on paint drying if it means I can help her.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
Not technically.
This isn’t my baby.
Except that’s a lie, isn’t it?
Because she’s always been mine in some way, long before she knew it.Long before I admitted it.Long before I tried to be noble and give her space.
I sigh and tap the screen.The book opens.
Week 8: The Early Stages.
Your baby is now about the size of a kidney bean.
I pause and glance at Vesper.
A kidney bean.
A whole-ass bean.
Inside her.The thought of her growing a life is still mind-blowing.I shake my head and keep reading.
At this stage, many mothers experience nausea, exhaustion, and heightened sensitivity to smell.
That explains the food truck.
Vesper loves cupcakes in a way that’s borderline religious.Today we walked past one and she went a little green, then sped up like if she moved fast enough she could outrun her own stomach.
And I hate that because she’s trying not to occupy more space than she believes she deserves.Not sure if I can make her understand that she fills my entire existence.Probably Monty’s too.
“What are you doing?”Monty asks, voice low.
He’s just stepped out of his room, hair damp and curling at the ends, a towel draped low around his neck like he doesn’t realize how fuckable he looks.That black shirt clings across his chest, damp at the edges.His skin gleams, darker from the heat, the flush of steam rising up his throat like it means something.Like maybe he touched himself in the shower.Or maybe he thought about me doing it for him.
My brain’s already stripping him down again—remembering the slope of his back, the way water beaded along the ridge of his spine before I bent him over the counter that last summer.I want to drop to my knees and taste the sweat still clinging to his skin.I want to push my fingers past the elastic of his waistband and find out just how hard he gets from tension he likes to ignore.I want to fuck him until he lets himself fall apart without shame.
Of course, I don’t.I clear my throat and whisper, “Reading.”Pointing at Ves who’s sleeping and hoping he keeps his voice low.“Pregnancy for Today’s Parent.Do you know that ‘foods that were once favorites may become intolerable, and certain smells can trigger strong nausea?’”
Monty’s gaze flicks to the screen, then to Vesper.“You’re reading because of her.”
“Obviously.”I roll my eyes like I’m not sitting here like a man trying to learn how to keep a woman from breaking apart.
He watches her for a moment, then nods, as if understanding what’s happening.“Maybe that’s why Benji’s dinner ended up being ...”He searches for the word like it offends him.
“Meh,” I supply.
Monty’s mouth tightens.“Yeah.That.”
“She picked at the pasta,” I say quietly, remembering.“Ate the plainest bites.Avoided anything with too much sauce like it was trying to murder her.”I glance back at the e-reader.“Maybe there’s something useful in here.”
