My eyes widen in horror. “No! Not at all, that’s not it?—”
“Hold on. Let me finish,” she says calmly. “I told you in the very beginning that I didn’t need anything from you. Certainly not money. I can do this on my own if I have to.”
My heart starts to crack in half.
“But,” she continues, “I don’t want to do it alone. I want to do it with you. It doesn’t matter how much money you make, or what I make, or what kinds of strollers and cribs we can buy for our child. It only matters that we love them as much as we possibly can, and that we keep them safe. Can you do that?”
I nod emphatically.
“Good. Can you believe me when I say all we need right now is each other? And we’ll figure out the rest together?”
Once again, I nod. My shoulders drop as the tension recedes from them. The weight that’s been pressing down on me loosens. Her reassurances might be about money, but they also strike a deeper chord within me. I’m not doing this alone. We’re in it together.
“Let’s go inside. I need to pee again,” she says sheepishly. And finally, I let loose a real laugh.
Inside the apartment, Sage hustles to the bathroom while I take the bag with what we purchased into the spare bedroom, which will eventually become the nursery. I’ve started to move a few things out of here and emptied the dresser that was in Barrett’s room back in Manitoba. And I have plans to move the furniture around so the bed goes against one wall, leaving room for a crib.
Sage finds me a few minutes later, studying the space. She lifts one of my arms, and lays it across hershoulders, snuggling into my side. “Whatcha thinking about?”
I pull her back to my front, so I can lower my arms and cup her belly, taking some of the pressure off her. “Just figuring out the layout. I think we can get the crib on that wall by the window if we move the bed to the other side.”
Her head falls back against my shoulder. “I like that idea. Can we paint the walls?”
“Bywe, you mean me, right? Because you’re not inhaling paint fumes, little mama.”
She giggles, then steps out of my arms, picking up the bag from the baby store.
“Wait.” I snatch the bag from her, then reach inside and lift out the giraffe toy I managed to sneak past her.
She takes it, staring down at the plush animal for a second. “When did you get this?” she finally asks, holding the giraffe tightly to her chest.
“It seemed like you really wanted it, so,” I shrug. “With the towels you loved, I thought maybe we could lean into a safari theme.”
“Not baseball?” she teases, her eyes sparkling with emotion.
“Baseball-playing safari animals?” I reply before pulling her into my arms.
“Perfect,” she says, resting her cheek on my chest. We stay like that for a minute or two, and the feel of her heartbeat steady against mine settles me in a way nothing else does.
The mental load of worrying about how to afford everything, how to juggle it all, and be enough foreveryone who depends on me is still there. But tonight, that load feels a whole lot lighter. Tonight, I know I’m not alone.
“It’s starting to feel real, isn’t it?” Sage says softly, still holding the giraffe between us.
“It is. Really amazing.”
30
SAGE
“Isthis where all the WAGs sit, or are we just special because you’re carrying the next generation of Thunder players?” Fiona says loudly as we take our seats in the fifth row, partway down the first-base line.
“Keep your voice down,” I say, glancing around to see if anyone is staring. “I don’t know if he wants this to be public knowledge or not.”
Once she’s in her seat, Fiona turns and stares at me. “Are you serious? It’s not like you can hide all that,” she says, waving at my giant belly. I grimace, shifting to try and get comfortable.
“I know, I know. But I’m not sure I’d want to be with the WAGs, if that even is a thing here, which I don’t think it is. From what Brady says, most of the guys are single.”
Fiona’s face perks up in interest. “Really? You’re just telling me this now? Some best friend you are.”
