“In the basement, if you’ll have me.”
I laughed again and rolled my eyes.
“And if you won’t, then maybe your grumpy neighbor will sell his house to me.”
“Maybe,” I said, and used the sleeve of my sweater to wipe under my eyes.
“Your house is going to be perfect.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. When I glanced over my shoulder, Junior was already lying on the couch. He didn’t look happy, but he’d get comfortable here. He’d probably have a blast running through this apartment.
“Let’s get you that nap, yeah?” Barry said.
I nodded.
“Okay. Yeah.”
Barry insisted I stay in the primary bedroom since the bed was the biggest and nicest in there, plus he’d probably start playing bad hockey if I stopped letting him cuddle me and the pregnancy pillow at night. I was too tired to fight him.
“Can I borrow a shirt?”
Barry grinned too wide before he got his face in check and retreated to a big walk-in closet. He returned with a soft Columbus shirt and left me to change into it. I left my clothes in a heap and put on the big shirt that was like a dress on me, even with my belly.
I crawled into the bed with the world’s softest sheets and was asleep no more than five minutes later.
I woke to find Junior asleep with half of his body draped on my legs and the baby wiggling around in my stomach.
Barry had come in at some point, because my phone was plugged into a charger on the nightstand next to a tall glass of water, which I drank down so quickly that I was a little queasy after.
The windows had thick blackout curtains over them, but yellow light filtered in through the crack under the door. I pulled on a pair of sweats, rolled them at the ankles, and then picked up Junior and ventured back into the living space.
The light was from the living room and kitchen, since I could see it was dark out by now through the windows.
Barry was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled delicious, headphones over his ears as he bobbed along to whatever he was listening to. I stood and watched him and scratched under Junior’s neck until Barry turned around and startled to see us standing there.
He took off his headphones and smiled.
“How’d you sleep?”
“I’m firing my two-hundred-dollar mattress,” I said, still groggy, and it was damn dimple central in this kitchen.
“It’s had a good run.”
Junior wriggled out of my grasp and went to rub his body all over Barry’s shins in the kitchen. Barry turned back to the stove where I saw he had two steaks searing in a pan.
“Smells bomb,” I observed.
“Veggies finishing up in the oven. Want to grab some plates and we can dish up?”
I opened cabinets at random until I found a set of plates—the flat stoneware kind that look so chic and modern.
“I got the drinks you like delivered, too,” he said, and sure enough, the fridge had all sorts of my usuals stocked on its shelves. Cozy.
I fed Junior before I slid onto one of the barstools and watched Barry dish the food. That was one fortunate thing about Barry forcing his way into my life; I was never bad at cooking, but I wasn’t very inventive either. I could eat the same meal for lunch for seven days in a row, and tended to cook with two key features in mind: was it economical, and did it provide leftovers? If yes, it was on my rotation.
Where I could rarely stomach food in the first trimester, I wassuddenly hungry constantly, and Barry was all too thrilled to prep meals, snacks, and desserts for me to have on hand at any time. If he didn’t have hockey, maybe he could do something with food. He’d be good at it.
He placed the plate in front of me and sat on the stool next to mine, our thighs pressed together. He didn’t need to be so close, but I wouldn’t tell him so.
