It's the first time since I told him I was pregnant that our time together feels like a business transaction. My stomach dips, and I fight the sting of disappointment that he’s not in the mood for this.
Maybe it’s the jolt I need. I've been letting myself daydream into thinking we’re turning into something more like a couple. But when this is the vibe he brings to a few hours at a baby store, I need to set myself straight.
“Okay, well, let's get going then, I guess. I have a list.”
“Great,” he says. Again, he doesn’t look at me. He seems preoccupied.
Inside, the store is full of couples and women with their moms. A lot of rounded bellies and baby bumps, a few wide-eyed, terrified parents-to-be, and a lot of happy, thrilled couples.
I want to look like the happy group. I want this day to be a memory I’ll look back on, but instead I’m here with a guy who seems like he wants to get it over with.
“Jesus, it’s pastel everywhere I look. Who knew a baby needed all of this shit?” he asks.
“Relax. We don't need to get all of it. Just a few necessities. And whatever we get, let’s double up so we're not having to cart things back and forth up the coast.” I keep my tone calm, even though the quantity of baby gear in the store is making me hyperventilate too. But he’s in worse shape, and someone needs to calm this guy the heck down.
“Okay, fine. Sure. What's on the list?” He's emotionless and all business. I've never seen this side of him. I remind myself I still don’t know him that well outside of fantasy dates that have little to do with reality. Maybe this is who he is when he’s not on a horse.
Fitz takes the list from my hand and starts scanning it. “Okay, so strollers, let's get those. Um, where are they?” he asks.
“Fitz.” I hold up a hand. “I can't do this with you like this. I don't know what's going on, but you can either talk to me, or we can leave and do this another day.”
“I drove all the way down here,” he says, aggravation lines striping his forehead. “We're doing this now.”
“Okay, but let’s be clear—I’m letting you off the hook if there are other things that need your attention today. I can go through this list myself and send you pictures before I make the final decision. It's not a big deal. It doesn’t need to be so stressful.”
“Did I ever say it was stressful?” His edgy tone is the epitome of stress, and I start to worry that he’s having second thoughts about co-parenting with me. Maybe all this baby gear is making it real, and he wants out.
“Can we just walk outside for a minute?” I ask, keeping my tone as even as possible, even though I'm getting frustrated.
“Fine, whatever you want.”
He follows me to the exit. For the first time since I've known him, Fitz doesn't pull the door open for me.
Yeah, something's definitely wrong.
I push the door open and walk through, holding it until he grabs it, seeming to realize at that moment that he wasn't the gentleman he always is.
“Sorry. I should have gotten that for you. Fuck.” He closes his eyes, defeated. Or even tortured over the omission, and I see a glimmer of the man I know, the one who goes out of his way to be there for me.
“It's okay. Come. On the next block, there's a smoothie place, and they have some pretty good caffeine-free drinks.”
“Yeah. Okay. I probably don't need any more caffeine.”
“Well, you need something,” I snap.
He looks at me, helpless and confused now, instead of irritable. “I do?”
My patience dissolves. “Um, yes. An attitude adjustment. This is supposed to be exciting, or at least a little bit fun, but you’re being a jerk. I’m not going to raise two babies, and I’m not going to let you ruin something joyful. So if you’re having a bad day, you have two options. You can let me in, and I’m here to listen. But I’m not going to be your emotional punching bag, so if you can’t pull it together, you should go home and we’ll do this another time.”
He grits his teeth, and a muscle in his jaw jumps like a snapped rubber band. I almost expect him to walk away, until his shoulders finally drop and he shakes his head. “I’m an asshole. I’m so sorry, Tessa. You don’t deserve that.”
The anger seeps from me, replaced by sadness. “Will you please talk to me?”
He nods. “I’m shitty at that.”
“Be better.”
I escort him up the street past a dry cleaner and a gelato place to the smoothie shop, which has a small patio in the back. I order a strawberry banana smoothie, and he orders a green juice.
