With pleasure. I don’t say this. Instead I say, “I appreciate your help, Nathan.” When I go to place my hand on his to get my thanks across, he pulls away abruptly almost like I’ve burned him before I even have a chance to touch him.
“And don’t touch my hands. Ever. Is that understood?”
I blink in astonishment. “Loud and clear.”
“Good.”
What an arsehole. It’s hard to think he and Caleb were related. They’re both extremely different.
“Anything else?” I enquire, wanting to know all of the rules now so I don’t get chastised again in the future.
“No. Eat what’s available when you want. I have a cleaner come in every morning, not including the weekends, so try to be out of your room by eleven. As for luxuries, anything you need, just speak to the cleaner or ask me if I’m home. If I’m not available, call me.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Thanks.”
“How long have you got left?”
“Nineteen weeks.” I rub my belly once more whilst staring at the bump.
“You look further along than that.”
“So I’ve been told.” Which sucks.
He keeps his eyes forward but his body seems relaxed. “I’ll book you in with an appropriate doctor when we arrive.”
Well that’s one thing I can cross off my list of things to worry about.
“Now please, I’d appreciate quiet,” he says firmly, so I plug my headphones in and listen to music on my phone instead.
After an hour my stomach is churning even more than before. I’m so hungry I could eat a raw carrot and I hate raw carrot. Suddenly I’m craving raw carrot. We pass another service stop but we don’t pull in.
I’m also desperate for a wee. My bladder is fit to burst.
I hold it and hold it, but now I’m just putting myself at risk of infection. That and I may pee myself.
Carefully pulling my headphones off, I glance at Nathan and contemplate whether or not I should speak. Fuck it. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Hold it.” He orders, not even glancing my way.
“I’m pregnant, I can’t hold it anymore. I’ve been holding it.” I try to say it calmly, not wanting to piss him off. “Please? I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”
He sighs and checks the signs for another service station. “There’s another in fifty miles, give or take. We can be there in about forty minutes. How’s that?”
“Brilliant,” I sigh with relief and sink into my seat. “Can we get food while we’re there?” My stomach agrees loudly.
“We don’t have time.” His jaw is set and his demeanour says, ‘don’t mess with me.’
“Please?” I beg. “I’ll grab something to go.”
“No food in the car.” Yet another ridiculous rule.
I scowl at him. “I get that we have to be quick, but look at it this way: I have low blood pressure. If I don’t eat, I’ll faint and that’ll be a long trip to the hospital that you really do not want.”
“Fine,” he bites out, finally seeing reason. “We’ll stop for food.”
******
Ah, sweet bladder releasing bliss. That feels good. It also has to be the longest one I’ve ever had in my life.
After washing my hands, I head back out to the food court and look around for my brother in law. I don’t see him immediately, mostly because I don’t think to check the salad bar where nobody usually frequents. My first thought is to check the fast food joints.
Sigh. Another salad. I need red meat and junk and burgers. This is the only time in my life where I can eat what I want (within reason) and not feel guilty about it.
“Hey.” I announce my presence and watch him fill two salad tubs. The selection isn’t so bad. They have boiled eggs and slices of nice looking ham and a decent selection of dressings. “So, how long until we arrive?”
“Just under two hours after we leave here and that’s if the traffic’s good,” he says, being careful to watch what he’s doing.
“Which one’s mine?”
He nods at the top one. Brilliant. I add a whole lot of ham to it and three boiled eggs.
“Eggs aren’t something you’ll be eating in my company and neither are processed meats. This ham has about as much real meat in it as this lettuce does.” Why does he have to argue with everything?
“I want the eggs and I want the ham.” I’m putting my foot down. “It’s my body.”
“And it’s my brother’s baby…”
“It’s my baby too,” I hiss, being mindful of the people nearby. “And your brother let me eat whatever and whenever I wanted. If I craved something we didn’t have, he’d go out in the middle of the night just to get it for me and he didn’t care if I had fallen asleep by the time he got back. Which happened more often than not.”
“You’re not having the ham.”
Should I cry? I feel like I should cry to make him feel bad.
I don’t. If I start crying again, I won’t stop.
“Fine, but just a bowl full of lettuce isn’t going to fill me up.”
“It’ll be fine until we get home,” he bites out and slams the lids shut on the salads. “Now, hurry up. I don’t have all day.”
I shake my head, my stomach disappointed that it’s being treated like a rabbit. Making my way to the newsagents, I pick out a couple of magazines, shocked when Nathan doesn’t protest and even buys them for me. I guess he’s not all bad.
“Thank you,” I say softly, keeping my head down and walking along beside him.
“You’re welcome,” he responds, his voice also soft. It doesn’t match his handsome yet stern face. “Quickly.”
And the soft voice has left the building.
“When we get back, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you for an uncertain amount of time,” he explains and, with a hand to my elbow and another to my back, he helps me into his car. He barely pays attention to his gentlemanly ways and I wonder if he even notices he’s doing it.
“Do you mean like an uncertain amount of hours, days or weeks?”
He doesn’t answer until he’s in the driver’s seat. “Days.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No.” He states. “I like my privacy.”
“Okey dokey.” I clear my throat and take the salad pot eagerly. Even though this is closer to rabbit food than it is to human food, I eat as much as I can manage, which is the whole pot. “What’s going to happen to my car?”
“I’ll have someone collect it and store it. It’s too low for you to be driving in your condition and I’m shocked my brother would allow you to do so.” His hands tighten on the wheel. I see now he’s wearing black leather gloves. I don’t remember him wearing them earlier but, if memory recalls, he was wearing them while dishing out the salad.
“He didn’t have a choice.”
“May I ask what happened to his trust fund?”
I shrug. “Your parents took it all from him when he moved.”