Speaking of Gwen, I’d lost track of her about half an hour ago somewhere in the back of the moving van. We’d roped her and Tom into helping us unload and get somewhat set up. Truthfully, I neededhim for the muscle and her for the logistics. Lola was camped on the living room floor, quietly colouring pictures to stick on the new fridge.
I was about to go look for Gwen when her voice rang through the open back door.
“Jesus, how much tennis shit does one man need?”
I laughed. Turns out, quite a lot.
She came in carrying a heavy-looking box markedSPARE STRINGS / TAPES / GOD KNOWS,shaking her head at me.
“I still can’t believe we’re practically going to be neighbours.”
It was true. Gwen and Tom lived less than ten minutes away. Which, again, may not have been entirely accidental on my part. My soon-to-be husband would be away for half the year, and I was about to have a newborn in the middle of tennis season. I was going to need all the help I could get.
We’d just started unpacking mugs, far too many mugs, when there was an almighty, “Fuck’s sake!” from upstairs, followed by a heavy thud.
We froze, then burst into laughter.
Jordan had been up there for over an hour, swearing and sweating, refusing help while he tried to build the crib. Tom had offered help, but Jordan had waved him off with a stubborn, “I can handle a few bits of wood.”
Curious and slightly concerned, Gwen and I padded upstairs and nudged open the nursery door.
There he was, kneeling in a sea of cardboard, polystyrene, and unassembled wood. Hammer in one hand. Tiny Allen key in the other. Screws scattered like confetti.
He looked up at me, sweaty, scowling, and still irritatingly gorgeous even surrounded by chaos.
“Don’t say it,” he warned, pointing the Allen key at me.
I raised my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“These instructions are literally just photos. No words.”
I tilted my head, eyeing one of the half-built sections. “You sure that bit’s meant to stick out like that?”
“Babe, I don’t fucking know. I think I read the instructions upside down,” he replied exasperated.
I snorted. “Oh, Jord, maybe just stick to tennis and looking pretty.” I slid my arms around his waist and kissed the tip of his nose.
Before he could bite back a response, Tom appeared in the doorway. “Jesus, this looks like a war zone…and I’ve actually been in one.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “You gonna stand there, soldier boy, or you actually gonna help?”
“I’ll leave you lads to it.” I grinned, retreating.
In our new bedroom, I sorted through the boxes of baby clothes I’d been collecting for months. I still remembered the very first one I bought, pulling it out of the bag every five minutes just to look at it. I still did.
Gwen walked in just as I was lost in a daydream, holding up a tiny white baby grow.
“I can’t believe I’ll be holding him in this in a few months,” I said, my eyes glassy.
“Who, Jordan?” Gwen teased.
I laughed. “Shut up, don’t ruin my moment.”
“I’m just teasing you. I still can’t believe how happy you are. You both are.”
I smiled. “I know. It’s still scary, though.”
“The baby or the birth?”
