“You're going to be a great mom.” The words slip out, surprising me. I've always felt it, and I'm pretty sure I've said it before, but there's something about seeing her rock back andforth, stroking her belly, that makes me even more confident in the assumption.
“I hope so,” she says before looking toward the door. “Though if he inherits Mike’s sense of direction, we’re all screwed.”
I laugh, but as the noise fades, my chest tightens. Here she is, completely calm while she develops an entire human in her body, meanwhile I'm nervous about a plane ride and a dorm room.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
“Of what? The birth?” She blows out a breath. “I mean, it's scary thinking about things that could go wrong, but I'm hoping I'm low risk enough that it will be okay. Besides, knowing I'm going to meet my baby boy at the end makes it all worth it.” Her eyes are bright, and she's holding back tears. “Ugh. I'm sorry. I don't mean to get emotional. These pregnancy hormones have me going all over the place.”
“It's okay,” I say quietly, looking down at my painter’s pants, suddenly feeling inadequate again. It happens a lot, and Dr. Reeves said it will come back in waves.
Instead of pushing the thought away, I ride it out for a second, acknowledging it.
I'm not inadequate. I'm just at a different stage of my life. I'll get to where I need to be soon.
And tomorrow is me going in the right direction.
“The wallpaper looks so good.” Olivia gestures behind me. I turn to look at it, proud that I managed to do it, and that I could at least help them with something while I've been here. The rest of the room is still half-assembled with boxes stacked in the corner and flat-pack furniture waiting to be built, but the wall is done, and Olivia is right. It's perfect. Seam and all.
“You're right. It looks great,” I finally admit before pulling out my phone and taking a picture of the wall.
“Please don't tell me you're getting a close-up of the bad seam?” Olivia asks.
“No. I'm taking a picture of the finished wall.”
“And who are you sending it to?” she asks teasingly.
I roll my eyes even though she can't see me. “You know exactly who I'm texting.”
Zach.
He messaged me this morning, jokingly asking if it would be appropriate for a QB rookie to request a transfer two weeks into training. I laughed it off, but I can tell this is the first time he's actually struggling with the game he loves so much. For the first time in his career, a coach hates him. I honestly never thought I'd see the day. Zach is just good at everything.
After taking the photo, I attach it and write out the message:
Honey:For the record, Olivia needed even more help to match the lines than you did.
“I'm going to get us a couple of drinks,” Olivia says, placing both of her hands on the sides of the rocking chair.
“Don't get up, I can—”
She raises one of her hands. “Please. Let me do it. I need to move my legs. Let me get the soda while you relax and text your situationship.”
“He's not my situationship,” I say even though she's already halfway out of the room.
She flicks her hand over her shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah.”
When she's out of the room, I look down at my phone and frown. Zach's already responded. Shouldn't he be with his teammates right now instead of messaging me?
I click open the message.
Zach:I'm choosing to believe that's a lie told by someone who can't admit I was an excellent wallpapering partner.
Honey:You hung the first panel upside down.
Zach:Intentionally. It was all a ploy to get you to come and visit me.
A sad smile pulls at my lips as the memory comes back.
