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His expression softens. “I know you did. And I understand why you feel like you have to do that. But I don’t want to hide us. I’m tired of it. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and we’re having a baby.” His hand cups my jaw, his other still holding mine. “I’m not saying we announce this to the world. It’s still very early. But I want to tell my boss, so it doesn’t appear as though I’m trying to hide anything. And with that, when you get your fellowship, I will take time off and stay home with the baby until we’re all ready to put them in hospital daycare.”
“You will?” I choke out as more tears start to fall. Stupid pregnancy hormones.
“Yes. And if you have to move for it, Katy baby, we’ll move together. All my roads, no matter how perilous or winding, have always led me to you, and they always will.”
“What about your mom?”
“If she can’t or doesn’t want to come with us, I’ll buy a fucking plane and come in once a week to see her.”
Jesus. This man. He means it.
My heart swells. I don’t know if it’s dumb luck or some magical, twisted form of fate that brought us back together, but I don’t care. I’ll thank whatever it is until my dying breath.
“I’m getting this fellowship,” I tell him sternly. “Boston is my home. My heart.”
“I have no doubt you’ll get it. You’re the best applicant. But you have to take care of yourself and our little one while you’re growing it. I can’t risk your health or theirs. You got me?”
I nod shakily. “Yeah. I got you. Even if they want to try me on a pump again, I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”
He smiles and stands to kiss me as he moves our joined hands and presses them against my belly. “Whatever it takes.”
That night, I have the best slumber party ever with Owen and Rory. The three of us eat too much pizza—Owen gets me cauliflower crust because it has fewer carbs, which means less ingested sugar—and Owen makes s’mores. Insulin resistance can be a problem for type 1 diabetics when they’re pregnant, so I don’t tempt the fates with the s’mores. I promised Bennett—and this baby—that I was going to take good care of us, and I intend to. Instead, I munch on a couple of sugar-free Oreos he keeps here for me along with plenty of popcorn.
Paula slept most of the afternoon and night, and when she did wake up, she was so miserably sick that Bennett eventually gave her a bag of IV fluids into her PICC line. He’s exhausted and has an early shift, but since it’s my day off, I decided to make him something special now that I’ve figured out how to properly work his appliances.
Only, as usual with my cooking, nothing goes to plan. My chicken pot pie comes out tasting like paste, and no amount of Jesus could resurrect this from the dead. I end up ordering from his favorite Mexican place because they have the most amazing burritos and use handmade corn tortillas, which are better for me than flour. The only bummer is not having a margarita to go with it, but I’ll get over it.
“How’s she feeling?” I ask Bennett as I finish setting the table. He went to check on his mom before heading home.
“Better,” he says in my ear. “Well, if you count her kicking me out and sending me home to you better, then I guess that’s what she is.”
“If she’s feisty, she’s better,” I tell him as I dance around the kitchen to music from the Alexa in my fuzzy socks. Fall weather has finally set in, and it’s perfectly cold outside with multicolored leaves scattered across the backyard.
“That’s what I figure.” The buzzer for the door sounds. “What’s that?”
“Um. Well…”
He chuckles. “You burned dinner again, didn’t you?”
“No!” I protest indignantly as I turn off the music and head for the door. “I didn’t burn it. It was just a bit inedible.” I swing open the door and freeze, staring in a stunned pause at the person lingering on the stoop. I’d think she was here for me if the equally shocked expression didn’t immediately tell me I was wrong. “Oh, shit.”
“What are you doing here?” Cricket Peterson snaps at me.
“Who is that?” Bennett barks in my ear, only I can tell by his voice he already knows but is hoping I’ll prove him wrong. He growls in dismay. “What the hell is she doing there?”
“I feel a great reckoning is upon us,” is my only reply to him. “See you soon.” I hang up on Bennett and slip my phone into my back pocket. “I think that might be my question for you,” I say to her. “What are you doing at my boyfriend’s house?”
She blinks at me, nonplussed. “Boyfriend?”
I could have lied, but considering I opened the door in my joggers and his sweatshirt, I doubt I would have sold anything. But more importantly, why is she showing up at Bennett’s front door if not to try something? No way I’m letting that go down. Plus, Bennett said he’s tired of hiding us and I guess I am too, so it’s game show time, folks. Let’s spin the wheel and see where it lands.
“Yes. Bennett and I are together.” I lean my hip against the doorjamb and fold my arms casually over my chest. “Though I guess calling him my boyfriend is prosaic for a man like him. But manfriend sounds creepy, right?”
She sputters. “What? What are you… you’re really with him? How long has that been going on?”
Cricket stomps her foot like a child demanding answers, and I step outside, shutting the door behind me and wrapping my arms tighter around my chest. Why is it freaking forty-five degrees at the beginning of October?
“Have a seat.” I sit my butt down on the stone step and pat the space beside me. Cricket looks like she’s about to blow a gasket, but she does as I ask. Probably because she’s too overwrought to fight me for once. “Let me ask you again because I think my question will kill two birds with one stone. What are you doing at my boyfriend’s house?”
