With three bags full—the two largest in Grant’s insistent hands—we call it quits. There’s certainly more left to buy, but it can wait. On the walk back to the car through the parking garage, I realize that I’m rambling about cribs.
“I’m sorry.” I laugh, tossing my bag into the trunk of Grant’s car. “There’s just so much left to buy. Maybe I need a rocking chair like the one my mom had. Or maybe I just want one. I don’t know.”
“Your mom used to rock you in a rocking chair?” he asks.
I nod, smiling. “Those are some of my earliest memories.” As I say the words, I suddenly feel a little sad, because growing up in foster care, Grant probably doesn’t have any of those early happy memories like I do. But he meets my eyes with a warm look.
“You sound excited,” he says, his eyes flashing with something that looks like victory.
After spending so much time with the sad, weepy version of me, I’m sure this version is a treat. And I’m happy to keep her around as long as possible.
“I think I am.” I sigh happily, watching Grant place his two bags in the trunk.
Together, we reach up and pull the door down, standing close once it locks in place. I smell his cologne, and I’m struck with vivid memories of the two times we slept together. The way his hands felt on my body . . . the way he moaned, deep and guttural, at my touch.
Easy, there. My heart rate picks up speed.
Grant leans against the car, looking at me with soft eyes.
“What?” I ask, curious to know what’s on his mind.
“What if I got a three bedroom?”
“What do you mean?”
“We could keep things as they are. Me in my room, you in yours. And we’d still have room for a nursery. I know there are bigger units on other floors in my building.”
“Grant . . .”
“Just think about it, okay?” He leans in, trying to catch my eyes with his magnetic gaze.
I automatically look at my shoes. I do think about it.
For a moment, I think about the allure of spending more time with Grant. How well he treats me. How wonderful he’d be with a baby. When my thoughts drift to the friendship I’d be jeopardizing, the way I’d feel relying on him for everything. I frown, meeting his eyes.
“I have thought about it, Grant. I need to get my own place before the baby comes.”
He breaks eye contact with me then, staring over my head into the darkness of the garage. I can tell he’s upset, but I don’t know how to comfort him without sacrificing my own needs.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I need to do this for myself. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” he says, but all the buttery warmth in his voice from today is gone.
He says he understands, but I’m not sure that he does. I need to stand on my own two feet. I’m going to be a mother, and taking care of myself seems like a pretty vital first step before I can take care of someone else.
“I’m tired, okay? Can we just go home?” I ask and then grimace, kicking myself for using the word home again. Of course the man is confused. I can’t get my story straight.
“Sure.”
And with that, Grant turns on his heel and walks around the car to the driver’s side. I sigh and head to the other door.
Tension hanging in the air between us, we don’t talk again for the entire ride home.
22
* * *
Baby Steps
Grant
Four months later
Earlier, when I got a text from Owen asking if I could come over and help him set up a bassinet for their new baby who arrived two weeks early, I jumped at the chance.
Things between Ana and me have been tense since she told me she wanted to move out before the baby is born and get her own place. She’s been touring apartments with her friend Georgia in tow, rather than ask for my help. It’s only a matter of time before she’s gone, and even though I lived alone for a long time before Ana, I know this time, it’ll be different. Quiet. And lonely.
When Owen opens the door to their penthouse apartment, he’s dressed in sweatpants and a green Ice Hawks T-shirt. His feet are bare, and his hair is rumpled in like eight different directions. I guess this is the look of new fatherhood. They’ve only been home from the hospital for three days.
“Hey, man. How’s the family?”
He grins. “We’re all doing good. But hey, thanks for coming. I couldn’t handle another night of watching Becca cry when we put Bishop in his crib down the hall.”
“Of course. It’s no trouble.”
I still can’t believe they named their son Bishop after hockey goalie Ben Bishop. But then again, I guess it makes sense. The guy is one of Owen’s personal heroes, and one of the best goaltenders in the league.
When Owen texted me asking for help, he only said they now wanted the baby to sleep in their room in a bassinet. He didn’t mention the reason why. But now as we take the parts out of the box, he fills me in.
Apparently, the baby coming early changed how Becca felt about him sleeping in his crib in the nursery. She’s been unexpectedly emotional and wants him close, sleeping in a bassinet beside their bed—at least while she’s nursing him so frequently in the middle of the night.
I gather all of this from the few minutes of conversation Owen and I exchange before getting to work. I remove all the nuts and bolts from their packaging while he sets out the larger pieces of the bassinet—the cradle and the curved wooden legs it glides on. I wonder if Ana will change her mind on things after the baby comes. Things like wanting me closer? It’s probably a long shot.
We work in relative silence for a while, making occasional small talk about the team.
An hour later, we’re finished, and the final product looks pretty damn cute. I wonder if Ana will want one of these things to have the baby close to her at night.
“Well, that does it. Thanks, man. You want a beer or something?” Owen asks, setting the toolbox aside.
“I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“What about dinner? You want to stay over? I’m sure we’ll just order in, but you’re more than welcome to stay.”
I know what he’s trying to do. Take pity on the old single guy.
I shake my head. “Nah. Not tonight. Thanks, though.”
Owen hesitates as if he has something else he wants to say. “Hey, so I know Ana’s been living with you for a while now, and . . .”
I give him a blank look. “And?”
He swallows. “And I just want to make sure you’re not in over your head with her. That you’re not being taken advantage of.”
I give him a stern look. “I’m not.”
“I hate to say this, but are you really going to keep letting her live there rent-free once she has a kid? What about your own life?”
I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. My teammates have no idea the way I feel about Ana. They have no idea the things that have transpired between us over the past several months.
“I’m only going to say this once, because I trust you. Can you keep this to yourself?”