Page 166 of Healing Eleanor

“Oh—wait,” Nik calls, making her pause mid-step. “Do you think, in your expert opinion, that Eleanor should go on maternity leave?”

I whip my head toward him, mouth wide in shock. Betrayed twice in the span of minutes.

“You haven’t gone on maternity leave yet?” Scarlett asks, equally shocked.

My gaze drifts to hers. “No,” I answer carefully.

“But I told you to last week,” she exclaims, exasperated.

Nik hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry, she told you last week?”

I groan and huff. “What do you want from me?”

Nik’s gaze softens but stays firm. “To listen to the doctor’s orders, Eleanor.”

“Well, you two have fun bickering over that. See you later,” Scarlett says, laughing as she walks out the door.

“Eleanor,” Nik says, drawing my attention back to him. “Why haven’t you really taken maternity leave yet, especially since Scarlett already told you to?”

I look at him, sighing. “I told you already.”

Nik’s smile falters. “I’m not convinced that’s the only reason, baby.”

I rest my head against his shoulder. “Because if I stop working, then it makes it all more real.” I look up and find him staring at me. “I don’t know how to be a good mom, Nik. What if I screw it all up?”

Nik’s expression softens, becoming serious. “You—we’re—both going to mess up, Eleanor. Babies don’t come with manuals. We’ll be figuring it out together. But we just need to lean on God…and each other.” He brushes a stray hair from my face. “You don’t need to worry about things that haven’t happened yet.”

I nod against his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll go on maternity leave. I can barely move anyway.”

Nik grins, kissing me softly. “Good.” He stands, helping me to my feet. “I have to go back to work. You stay here, and I’ll tell your boss you’re taking your time off.”

I dip my chin, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. “I’ll text Lily.”

“Yeah, do that.” He grabs his keys. “Are her, Gabriel, and Dillon still coming over for dinner?”

I shrug. “I know Lily and Gabriel are. Dillon says he’s busy and isn’t sure if he will.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you later,” he says, waving as he slips out the door.

I slowly climb the stairs, each ache and twinge in my hips sending sharp reminders that I’m definitely in the final stretch. At this point, a stair lift sounds like heaven.

Once in bed, I curl against my pregnancy pillow and send Lily a message, letting her know she’ll have to take over for me, along with all the work I preplanned months in advance.

I sink into the plush bed, Louie snuggling against my cheek, and drift into a long, peaceful nap while the quiet of the house wraps around me like a blanket.

The smoke alarm screams, black smoke curling from the oven like a warning I should have heeded. I wave my hands at it, silently begging it to stop, but of course, it has zero interest in listening.

No one tells you, when you’re eight months pregnant, that cooking is a high-risk sport. Not only am I slower than a tractor on the highway, but bending over to retrieve a dish from the oven is apparently impossible. I was barely able to get in there to begin with, so why am I surprised this is happening?

“Knock knock!” Lily’s voice booms from the front door.

I rub my face with both hands. Can this day get any worse? “In here,” I call weakly, defeat dripping from every word.

“Hey, Eleanor—woah, what’s going on in here?” Gabriel asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“I tried cooking on my own,” I admit, cheeks flaming. “I can’t get the casserole dish out of the oven, and this stupid alarm won’t stop mocking me!”

Gabriel slips on a pair of oven mitts, plucks the charred dish from the oven, and sets it on the stovetop. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” he says, grinning at my frazzled expression.