Liam kisses my forehead and puts his phone away. We’re snuggled on the sofa.
Yesterday, a pregnancy book he ordered for us was delivered. I’m flipping through the pages with trepidation. Ready, and not ready at all.
Liam spent the morning answering emails. We’ve been playing house for three days now.
We fell into some semblance of normalcy, not leaving the little bubble we created.
Within our bubble, we don’t talk about the fake marriage, about the actual future, or about the fucked-up past. We don’t talk about Merged.
We talk more about our families. About my fashion choices. About his siblings. Our likes and dislikes. We learn small, insignificant things about each other.
Liam learns I hate peppers. I find out he really can cook. He shakes the revelation off without explanation.
I discover he loves dogs, cars, and doesn’t go to movies unless it’s an opening night gala he must attend for appearances.
He works out religiously. He hates ties. He has inexplicable knowledge about insects, motorcycle clubs, and Greek gods.
He suffered through a few chick flicks with me, and I enjoyed watching a documentary about culinary trips in Europe with him.
These things deepen the intimacy between us. But we don’t talk about that either. It’s like we’re suspended in a vacuum where we choose what comes to the surface.
Nothing is resolved, but perhaps we need this time to adjust to our circumstances.
The road ahead doesn’t look very clear. The baby doesn’t care if I trust their father. If he betrayed me. He or she doesn’t care about our differences. It ties us together.
So, we lean into it, pretending for the moment. Avoiding. Dancing around the elephant in the room. Mastering the game of evading.
He strokes my arm, leaning over me. “Will you be okay for a few hours? I need to go to work.”
His question shatters the fragile domestic peace.
He has a job. I don’t have one. We need to leave this bubble eventually, but his sense of purpose just threw us back into the whirlpool of unsettled issues.
He is becoming a partner. I’m staying on the sidelines. And even if I wanted to get back into the ring and fight for what was supposed to be mine… how would that even work?
Now, when I’m expecting?
My priorities didn’t change overnight, but the playing field shifted for sure.
“Of course. In fact, I think I should just move back to my place. Get out of your hair.” As if that were so simple.
“Thunder,” Liam growls, but I pretend to study the gestation graphic in the book. “You’renotreturning to that place.”
I lift my gaze, scowling. “So we will play happy families here, in your brother’s guest room, forever?”
He flexes his fist and lets out a heavy sigh. “I will get us a place where we can prepare the nursery.”
He ignores my jab. He avoids conflict. He keeps focused on the future. Our future. A future that equals forever, because we’re expecting. We will always be parents to this little boy or girl.
Forever.
The idea scares and elates me at the same time.
“Go to work, and we’ll talk later.” I drop my gaze back to the book.
He hovers for a few beats, but then he leaves with asigh. I snap the book closed and jump up, not even sure what I’m planning to do.
My phone rings before I can decide.
