Not the only thing I know he can drill.
Dammit, Hannah—pervert. Shit.
“I’ll paint walls, change lightbulbs, help with landscaping. I’d learn how to cut your hair if you asked me to.”
I could clearly see myself sitting on a stool in the kitchen, Barry’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration while he trimmed my hair. He’d probably learn the curly girl method, even. He’d cut my hair first and then our daughter’s, little orange curls scattered on the tile.
I drilled the other screw into the wall.
“Why?”
“I wanna be helpful to you,” he said simply. “Want you to know I’m a good teammate.”
He handed me the shelf from where I’d propped it against the wall and I hung it on the two screws, satisfied with the placement.
“I already know you’re a good teammate. It’s your full-time job.” I sidestepped his wide frame and went to the junk drawer in the kitchen, pulling it open and immediately retrieving what I was looking for.
“Sure, but I can be a good teammate in other aspects of my life, too. A partner, even.”
“I have no doubt that you’re a great partner.” It was just me that couldn’t be. Barry was never the problem.
I didn’t look at him as I retreated to the workshop room for one of the tiny frames I’d just finished. I came back with it, both items secured and placed them on the shelf Barry was still standing by. We both looked at them, and I smiled. First, the teeny Statue of Liberty figure I picked up in New York. Next to it, a little golden frame, the last ultrasound inside.
There was still a lot of room on the shelf, but it was a start.
I looked up at Barry and he grinned down at me, dimples for fucking days.
It was a quick visit for Barry’s parents before they left back to Canada, the lovely freaking people. After the game we went to, Jeremy sent me a video of the broadcast that showed a replay of Barry’s goal, his pointing to the crowd, and then a view of me and his parents jumping for him. The color commentator, Tyler, speculated that I was a friend of Barry’s.
“Good for him, he needs a friend,” the play-by-play commentator remarked. “We love having him in Utah, so I hope he’s felt welcome here.”
I watched the video more times than I would admit to anyone—it was just that with his grin and pointing toward us in the arena, he looked so happy and so handsome, like a fucking hockey superstar. I couldn’t believe he was living in my house, accidentally leaving some facial hair in my sink, cooking meals for me, scooping my cat’s litter box, father to my unborn baby.
Tuesday was a game day for Barry, but he still insisted on taking me to work. I told him he couldn’t keep helping me clean unless I was especially uncomfortable, and he begrudgingly agreed. Today he dropped me off, slept in the lounge for a couple hours, then checked out a yoga studio nearby. When we got back to the house after my shift, I unbuttoned my overalls and held them up at my waist before I plopped down next to him on the couch, both of us using his air mattress as a makeshift ottoman.
“She got the bassinet?” I asked, incredulous. Gen and Stuart had been doing some shopping from the baby registry Kate and I put together last month. “But she’s bought so many things already.”
“She couldn’t help herself. It’ll be here Tuesday.”
“And the rocking chair?”
“My siblings went in on that one.”
Very generous of them, they learned from their mother, no doubt. It was even a nicer chair than the one I’d listed since Barry’s sister-in-law called to advise Barry that he not cut corners on a good rocking chair.Nonnegotiable, she’d told him, and sent a few options of ones that I’d like better. I picked a dark brown one and pretended the price tag didn’t make me blanch.
“She also picked out ten outfits because she couldn’t help herself.” Barry sunk lower on the couch until his head was level with mine resting on the back of the couch. I rolled my neck to look at him and was too sleepy to feel embarrassed about our faces being so close together. Close enough that one of us would only need to scoot a little to kiss—not that I was thinking about kissing Barry Wright.
“I fall victim to the clothes, too,” I muttered.
The problem was that baby clothes are very cute, and there is probably something in human DNA to make us melt imagining our progeny wearing it. Kate, Dad, Mom, and even Barry showed up with at least one article of baby clothing per week. Her wardrobe was going to be infinitely more comprehensive and stylish than mine.
“Now we just need a car seat and a stroller,” he said, and I groaned. There were so many options, and each one had hundreds of decisive reviews about why they were the best one. We’d already spent hours consulting the sites. I was about ready to just take his sister-in-law’s recommendation and call it good, but I could tell that Barry was trying to be thoughtful about the research, which made me want to be discerning as well.
“Never had to make so many decisions in my life.” I looked up to find Barry staring intently at my lips, as I often caught him doing these days. My heart rate increased immediately, and his lips parting made me feel unsteady. I coughed and leaned back, chest hot.
These little moments were growing more frequent—lingering glances, easy smiles, the all-around essence of him seeping into my walls. It was overwhelming and confusing.
“I think we shouldn’t be roommates anymore,” I said, but there was no decision behind it.
