Nick re-enters the kitchen with a handful of basil. ‘He needs a few more minutes,’ he says, referring to Dad.
‘I really wish you’d drop it,’ I say as I slosh a rather large amount of wine into my glass. I tilt my head back, taking a long sip.
‘I suppose there’s no change then,’ retorts Mum under her breath as she takes the basil from Nick, winking at him as she does this.
I exchange a glance with Nick, who reaches for an empty glass and starts pouring wine into it.
The usual, I mouth.
‘Mrs Hutton?’ he says, extending a hand with a full glass of wine.
Mum accepts the glass from him and he pours another for himself. ‘Cheers,’ he says, raising his glass. ‘To future Hutton–Bellbrae babies.’
This is so out of character for Nick that Mum almost chokes on her wine, spluttering discreetly into her hand, while I simply smile into my glass and pretend not to giggle. Nice, I mouth as soon as she turns her back to finish setting the table.
Nick winks at me and I feel a surge of love move through me.
‘And hopefully they come sooner rather than later,’ she says, waving a hand in the air. ‘Don’t think I don’t notice all those cute little gestures between the two of you,’ she says with her back still turned to us.
Nick snakes his arm around me and squeezes. ‘One day,’ he whispers, only there is something different in his voice. Something that makes it sound like he knows something I don’t.
A pang of mixed emotion whirls through me. One day how far away? One day soon? Nick squeezes me harder as if he understands my thoughts. Yes, I’ve been waiting a while. Being a paediatric surgeon is more than a job to Nick – it’s a vocation. And to get there, study and work have had to come before family. But the honest truth is that I hope that one day comes sooner rather than later.
Two
Nick
‘I’ve been thinking about what your mum said,’ I say to Paige one day, which is exactly three days after Evelyn’s Sunday roast. We’re in the light-filled kitchen of our Bayside Melbourne home, an area we settled on because we love the beach. My commute to work takes an hour in peak traffic even though we live less than twenty kilometres from the children’s hospital. Then again, I rarely travel to and from work during peak traffic anyway.
‘Yeah, which part exactly?’ Paige asks, snapping the snow peas in half. She adds a handful of grated carrot to the salad and moves on to chopping the cucumber.
I slide the tray of salmon into the oven and check on the potatoes. ‘Well, we’ve been married a long time now.’ I suppress a smile. Paige has no idea what’s coming, and I can’t wait to see her reaction when I tell her. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that she wants more than what I’m going to surprise her with tonight.
‘I know. Seven years. We’re on the road to becoming old together. I don’t even complain about the fact you leave your T-shirts and socks inside out when you put them in the washing basket. I’ve reached a place of acceptance when it comes to your faults.’
I chuckle and open the fridge. ‘Why is this in here?’ I ask, pulling out a box of cereal.
‘Huh?’ she says, glancing over her shoulder.
I lift up the cold box of Weet-Bix.
‘Oh, I must have had a moment.’
This doesn’t surprise me at all. Paige has been having these kinds of ‘moments’ since the day I met her, and it’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with her.
‘I love your faults, Paige Hutton. You are the quirkiest woman I know.’ I dig my hand into the box and shove a dry Weet-Bix in my mouth, and she reacts exactly as expected, with a giggle and a small shake of her head.
‘You’re worse than a child, you know that?’ She eyes the floor. ‘And you’re making crumbs.’
I slip away into the laundry room and return with the stick vacuum, gliding it over the floor and down the gap between the fridge and the cupboard. Paige loves it when I vacuum without her having to ask me to.
‘Who eats Weet-Bix like that anyway?’ she asks.
‘Your faulty husband,’ I joke, washing the last of my Weet-Bix down with a glass of water.
She smiles into the salad bowl.
‘So, don’t you want to know what I was thinking about?’
‘Let me guess. Mum needs her windows washed and you know someone who can do it,’ she says, resting her hand on her hip. ‘At a good price,’ she adds, waggling a finger at me.
Paige and I have an ongoing joke that if we are ever in need of any kind of service, advice or assistance, I can find a contact able to help. I keep telling her that one of the most interesting parts of my job as a paediatric surgeon is getting to understand the dynamic of a family better. I think I can do a better job if I feel like I know my patients and their parents. Paige, however, is convinced it’s so I can come home and declare things like: ‘I met a guy who travels to seventeen countries a year and is a fountain pen doctor who fixes nibs for a living. He has a four-year-old son who he hardly ever sees.’
‘No, actually,’ I say.
‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense here,’ she says as she drizzles balsamic vinegar over the salad.
I raise a finger in the air. ‘Can you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘That,’ I say, tilting my head.
She tilts her head in response, and it’s nothing short of adorable. ‘Nick, I can’t hear anything.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Okay, what has gotten into you tonight?’ she says, shaking her head.
‘Well, I was thinking that this house is pretty quiet with the two of us, would you agree?’
‘Nick…’
I can tell she’s holding her breath in anticipation of what I’m about to tell her.
‘And I’d really like to share my love of Weet-Bix with a little person. Who knows if genetics will come into play as far as preferences for dry or wet ones go.’
Paige doesn’t move. ‘Hold on a second. What did you say?’
I move closer and envelop her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. ‘I can feel that you know – going all thoughtful on me.’
‘Um, I don’t know what to say.’ She flips around to face me. ‘Are you sure? I mean, is this really something you want – as in now?’
She surveys me, trying to work out whether I’m actually serious. I am, and I couldn’t be more ready for it. We couldn’t be more ready for it. Paige has been more than patient with me about this next step in our life. When we met at Windsor Lakes, the aged-care home she works at, after my grandmother moved in there ten years ago, I was studying. It’s been a long road of hard work and study, and having a baby is something we decided to wait for until I was more established in my career. We are now finally ready.
‘You don’t need to say anything. But there is something we could do.’ I lean forward, pulling her body close to mine, and run my hand behind her neck and kiss her.
‘Paige, would you do me the honour of becoming the most perfect, loving, heart-stoppingly beautiful mother of my children?’
I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. ‘Nick, would you do me the honour of becoming the faulty, ever so smart and often hilarious father of mine?’