Remy patted his belly. “That wasn’t my fault, little one. It was your father’s friend whose writing was more like chicken scratch.”
“Hey, this is my story. You get to tell your version later.”
I kissed my mate’s bump. “Now where was I? Right, when I finally got hold of Daddy, he really sounded as though he wanted to meet me.”
“Careful.” Remy sniggered. “This is our child you’re talking to. Not everything has to be spoken of in great detail.”
“Anyway, Daddy keeps interrupting me. He really liked me, and I liked him even though we’d never met, so he came looking for me.”
“And for our first dinner together, your father didn’t take me out, but we ate in his shop, a place you’ll get to know very well.”
He’d never told me he didn’t like eating in the showroom. “Was that a terrible idea?” My heart sank that he’d thought me cheap or it was silly.
“Oh, love, no. It was so you and very different. No one else would have come up with that.”
One of the reasons was that most people didn’t own a furniture business.
“But Daddy was worried I wouldn’t like his koala.” The baby kicked. “Oh, look at that. Our little one knows the word koala. They probably have their own koala.”
The baby kicked again. They and their koala were letting us know they heard us. Such a clever baby and beast.
Remy put down his tea and snuggled under the covers. “Okay, talking is over. This daddy and baby need sleepy time.”
“Can this dad have sleepy time too?”
“Mmmm, but only if you wrap your arms around me.”
I could do that.
22
REMY
Something was wrong. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I could feel it.
I got up from my seat and waddled into the kitchen to get a glass of water. My belly had officially hit the “enter the room before I do” stage. Unlike some pregnant omegas I knew, I didn’t mind it. If anything, I loved the visual reminder of our little one we were going to meet soon. Very soon. The midwife said he’d probably be born in the next week or so. I could hardly wait to meet them.
Unsure what I should do about this off feeling, I ran through the checklist my midwife had given me, the one designed to tell me when I should call her.
I didn’t have a fever. I didn’t have a headache. Nothing hurt outside the normal discomfort that came with my third trimester. The baby had been moving. One by one, I looked at each and every symptom, and despite no red flags requiring me to see the midwife, my gut said something was wrong.
Unwilling to take any risks with our baby, I called the midwife. I figured it was best to call her first instead of calling my mate whowould tell me to call her. I was beginning to think it was a case of prenatal anxiety.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what it is,” I blurted out.
“Describe what you mean to me.”
“That’s it. There’s nothing to describe past that. I went through the list about hydration and food and my heart rate, my temperature, and the color of the line on my belly—all of it. So I guess I’m calling just to have you tell me not to worry about it and give me some affirmation.”
“I can do that, but I believe my patients.” Her tone was suddenly very neutral, which was unlike her. She had a tendency to be overly happy and friendly. “If you say something is wrong, that’s probably your koala instinct. Why don’t you meet me at my office?”
That was the last thing I expected to hear, but I instantly agreed. If it was nothing, I’d waste a couple hours in the car. If it was something and I ignored it, I’d never be able to live with myself.
I called my mate and let him know what was happening. Our midwife was nearly an hour away, which hadn’t been ideal, but because they specialized in shifter pregnancies, it felt like the safest way to go. The past few visits had been at our place because we planned a home birth. Being asked to travel there only made my anxiety soar. Why did we need to go to the office? What were they worried about?
My mate was home in ten minutes and drove, telling me the entire way that he was sure everything was fine and that it was normal for us to be nervous, but that didn’t mean wehad anything to be nervous about. He was attempting to calm himself as much as he was attempting to calm me, his hands shaking as they held the wheel.
