“Come with me next time.” His body froze for a few seconds at my offer. And then things got worse. He stepped out of my arms, vehemently shaking his head back and forth.
Fuck.
“I have a job.” His hands formed little fists at his hips. “I worked hard to get here, and I am making something of this place. I can’t just up and leave because my baby daddy has to work.”
Baby daddy. Those two little words were a sucker punch to my middle.
“Baby daddy?” I whispered. “Is that all I am?”
“No. No. No. Of course not.” His tone changed, his fists no longer at his hips, his eyes softer. Bad choice of wording I could live with. Thinking I was nothing more than a sperm depositor, that was too much.
“I just..I have a job.” He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t just go random places is all. I wish you could work here.” That was something I wished too. And not just because of Stan and our baby, although they were my reason for wanting to grow roots here. I loved this stupid little town. It was quirky and fun and slow and real. City life had nothing on this place, even with the art and fine dining and theater. I’d gladly give that up for a cobblestone street and people waving hello as you walked by.
“I can—I want to stay. I’ve got three months until I need to start taping again. I told Glenn no more travelling, and when it is time, I'd only do necessary travel. No add-ons.”
“You’d do that for me?” His other hand went to his belly. “For us?”
“Of course I would.” I brought his hand up to my lips. “If I could do my show from Café Om exclusively, I would.”
“That would get boring,” he scoffed, a slight smile crossing his face. “We’ll figure this out. Say we will.”
“I swear it.”
He brought our hands down to his cock. “Even when I’m mad at you...” He pressed my hand against his erection.
“Are you still mad?” He shook his head. “Then should we go take care of this?” I leaned into him, loving the needy little sound that escaped his lips.
Twenty-Five
Stan
Here we go again.
The packing, dreading the moment we have to say goodbye, being miserable and not sleeping. Waking up early or staying up late to chat depending on what time zone he was in.
The little one kicked, and I grunted. Space was getting tight in there, and I rubbed my bump. You don’t want him to go either, do you, sweetheart?
Chet’s phone beeped. Fuck that driver. Can’t he run out of gas or forget to charge his phone like normal people? Talk about déjà vu or Groundhog Day or maybe we were caught in a time warp. Whatever it was, I wanted it to stop.
He dumped the bag at his feet, and I walked into his arms.
“I hate to tell you this but something’s come between us.”
I grinned despite feeling like crap, and we both inspected my bump. “Look after your daddy, little one.” Chet kissed my belly before I draped my arms around him, memorizing the warmth of his body, his scent, his breath, and the beating of his heart.
At our last ultrasound I’d asked Chet to record the baby’s heartbeat. We both had the thump thump thump on our phones and were going to fall asleep listening to it while we were separated.
With one final scan of the room, Chet gave me a quick peck on the lips and he was out the door. I raced into the bedroom and watched as he got in the car, but before closing the door, he glanced up at me. He put a hand over his heart and then blew me a kiss. I have his heart. And he has mine.
Work days stretched out, and I longed for the time when we closed the doors and I could crawl into bed. But if I thought the days were long, nights were a combination of me tossing and turning, throwing off the covers, getting up to pee, and remaking the bed because the fitted sheet had pulled away from the corners.
3 a.m. 4 a.m. 5 a.m. I’d shake the phone thinking that couldn’t be the right time, and then just before six when the alarm went off, I’d fall into a deep sleep, only to be woken five minutes later.
I couldn’t go on this way. But I had to work. There was no one supporting me financially. And I didn’t want to tell Chet how bad things were. He was exhausted too with traveling and working nights and weekends. Sleeping on planes. Neither of us had a healthy lifestyle.
If I can do this until I start paternity leave, we have to have the talk. This isn’t how I wanted to live my life. And how hard would it be after the baby arrived?
The phone beeped and brought me back to the present. I groaned and went to hit snooze. It’s Monday. My day off. In the first few months after opening the café, I didn’t take a break. But once the business was running smoothly, I took a half day, and eventually that became one whole day off. Now with the baby, I often took Monday and Tuesday off. So, this was my weekend.
I slept until lunch time and then took a walk along the main street. It was nice not working when everyone else was. Being in a small town meant stopping every few seconds while people asked about the baby and when I was due.
And then there was what I called small-town familiarity. Everyone felt the bump. Some people asked permission and others just went for it. The first time it happened, I stumbled back and protected it with both hands. But now with my belly leading the way as I toddled along, my attitude was “Come on. Let’s get this done. All hands on deck!”
After finishing my errands and eating a takeout BLT in the park, I popped into the library. Like the café, it was also housed in an older building. Doris, the librarian on duty, was a regular Café Om customer, and she waved as I wandered in and headed for the magazines.
While I’d searched online for ideas on decorating a baby’s room, there was something satisfying in flicking through glossy pages of brightly colored photos.
“That’s nice,” said a voice over my shoulder.
A pregnant omega in his late 30s sat beside me and pointed at the nursery with three light gray walls and the fourth a sort of greenish color. It wasn’t cluttered, but there were huge shelves displaying kids books, a colorful rug, and a comfortable armchair, as well as the crib and other baby paraphernalia.
“Mmmm, I agree.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I’m Dave.”
“Stan.”
“Your first?” he asked, giving my bump a nod.
“Yeah. And you?”
“Second.”
We discussed nursery color schemes, child care options, and buying paternity clothes online. “Maybe we could grab a coffee some time,” he suggested.
I must have hesitated, and Dave rushed on, “Oh right. You’re the Café Om manager. You probably want anything but coffee when you go out.” He laughed. “Or you could join our fathers-to-be group. We take turns hosting at one another’s place.”
For the first time since Chet had left, I was content. Not deliriously happy about him being away. Missing him was my constant companion, it went everywhere with me—even into the bathroom. And that wasn’t healthy. But apart from the staff, Dave was the first friend possibility. “I’d like that.”
Dave hoisted himself up. “I’d better go as everyone’s coming to me tomorrow and I have to bake cookies.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s become a competition as to who cooks the most delicious food. If you’d like to come, give me your phone number and I’ll text you the address.