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Once I reach twenty weeks, Enzo blows my mind when he tells me he’s afraid to initiate sex in case I’m too tired or not in the mood. He wants to leave it up to me. I’m sure he’s lost interest, he’s simply looking for an out. Within five head-spinning minutes he destroys that theory, but he’s adamant I’m to initiate from now on. At first I’m hesitant, then I get a little greedy; he confides he loves knowing how much I want him. I had no idea men needed an ego boost too.
Only a few days later I’m surprised to find men in the study, where I had put the piano. I was hoping to make it a library. I remember the last of my books, desk, and shelf from the small office I had in the two flat were supposed to be delivered today. Why in the world are there three men putting together shelves and unboxing—holy crap—nine boxes of books?
“Damn, you got home before they were done.” Enzo catches me around the waist, pulling my back against the front of him.
“What are they doing?”
“Giving you the library you wanted. Bethany helped me pick out the shelves, they’ll line those two walls. Your desk will go against that wall. Do you want a new desk? I was thinking we needed to go shopping for more cozy furniture for you to read on than the leather couch you kept. Maybe a new desk too while we’re at it.”
I’m shaking my head in disbelief as I catch sight of one of the boxes. “I can’t believe this, you got The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire and Harry Potter?”
“I cheated. I got into your ereader while you were sleeping. Between that, Russell, Bethany, and a sales person who knew a sucker when he saw one, you have a fully rounded library with space for more. I was sure you couldn’t possibly need any more books. Bethany, however, reassured me you will always need more books.”
I was sure I was done crying. “Hey, I thought this was a good thing. Are you mad I didn’t let you do it?” I shake my head. “Are we going to call these pregnancy hormones, and you can reward me later by being a bad girl and not saying thank you?”
Now I’m laughing. He does that so easily lately: makes me laugh, makes me happy, makes me forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t trust him with my whole heart. “Let’s get you into bed for your nap then. After dinner we can go shopping for furniture. Dominic knows a guy who’s willing to stay open late for us.”
***
Enzo
I never thought I could enjoy shopping. It turns out I simply needed the right incentive, like shopping for Chloe or the baby. This is a trip we planned a few weekends ago that managed to be waylaid by a day spent in bed talking baby names and making love. I’m glad we took the day for us, but Chloe is now at seven months. I don’t like the idea of leaving it to the last minute, especially since I spent a long damn night reading one of those expectant mother books. Up until now all my information has come from Bethany and a book Dante passed along to me. The book talked about the first weeks home, not the actual pregnancy. After I finished the book, I could barely sleep. I’m slightly reassured by all the positive sonograms we have each time we go in. I had to explain a half dozen times that I don’t care how much more the 3-D sonograms cost or that sonograms aren’t covered by insurance every single appointment, I wanted one every time.
I’m good to let Chloe choose to her heart’s content, until once I spot her looking at the price tags. After all these months? “Chloe, angel, no looking at the price tags. If it’s what you want then we get it, the difference of a few dollars doesn’t matter.”
“Enzo, it’s not a few dollars, it’s—” Shaking her head, she sighs. “Alright, Mr. Billionaire Money Bags.”
A woman comes over to help us, and now the buying starts in earnest. Chloe forgets about price tags, only looking to me for approval if I like something or not. She’s an easy read though, so I make sure to pick the things I can tell she likes. I manage to keep her hand in mine the whole time. For the first time we’re doing something for the baby Chloe forgets. What she forgets, I’m not sure, but whatever it is has been popping up like a bad fucking penny over the last few months. One moment she’s happy, content, her body soft against mine; then she remembers and her smile fades, and she’s far away from me even when I’m holding her close.
Frustration seethes through me until I take a deep breath to force it down. Whatever it is, it’s my fault. I have no doubt about it. Which is why I’ve been working so hard to make her happy. I cut back on work, I’m home with her, I’m present, not worried about work or anything but her. With any other woman I would have gone with jewelry, handbags, shoes, but none of that would have impressed Chloe. She wanted my time, she wanted my attention, she wanted me. I’m willing to admit when I offered her that ring, I was prepared to give her everything but what she wanted. I was sure because of the lust, the need we had for each other, she didn’t need anything else beyond the way I could make her feel in bed.
As amazing as it is when we make love, it’s all the other things that come before and after it that make it so good. In my ignorance I believed I was enlightened because I counted listening as foreplay, knowing it wasn’t enough to be a good kisser or gifted at eating pussy. Only my attempts were all surface, I listened but didn’t hear. Now, I understand it begins with the way she’s the only thing I see or hear when she’s talking to me. The way I put her before everything. Before I said it, I went through the motions, only I didn’t mean it. But I get it now: all the money, the nice cars, it doesn’t mean shit because it doesn’t make her happy, it doesn’t put a smile on her face. For some reason only she knows, I do that.
So I’ve done all the things I planned on doing when the baby came. I put my people in play to run as if I weren’t there. I’ve had a few bumps, a person who didn’t meet their potential, I made adjustments. After so many years running at a hundred miles an hour I expected to miss it, to resent Chloe for making me slow down. Instead, in trying to make Chloe happy, I’ve become happier myself. Not just because she’s happy, but because when I’m with her, she just...I don’t even know. All the old angers, the frustrations, the resentment from years ago, they disappeared as if they were never there. The realization came over me one day when we were at Che’s, as he lectured me on making sure I was taking care of Chloe. Any other time I would have sighed, said something sarcastic or rude and walked away from him. This time I understood he was only trying to help, to make sure I didn’t make the same mistakes he did. There was no angst anymore. I felt almost weightless from the loss of it.
I look up; Chloe is asking me something. I shake off my thoughts as I focus on her. Deep breath, I just have to keep showing her. She isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I. As much as I want to tell her whatever it is she needs to hear, I know showing her is what she really needs.
We’re in the nursery, and with the room completely empty it’s easier to see where to put everything. For now we bought the crib, a changing table, and an upholstered chair that rocks, not somehow to be confused with a rocking chair.
I need to put the crib and changing table together. It isn’t hard, they both take less than twenty minutes each. Once I’m done I ask Chloe what she thinks.
“I think you’re so sexy when you get all capable and slightly sweaty. I’m sorry I made you outlaw me from your workout room, but it’s your fault for being so hot when you sweat.” Up on her tiptoes, her arms go around my neck. Damn, it will never stop thrilling me the way she loves my body.
A long time later we are lying on the soft white shag rug we got to soften the hardwoods. “What do you think, yellow or green??
??
“What?”
“Paint for the walls, I can’t decide between a soft yellow or a mint green for the colors.”
“I vote neither. Why aren’t we doing pink? If you don’t want to do all pink, we can just do one wall, then maybe a mural or something on another wall.”
“Enzo, you’re not supposed to do pink or blue anymore. You’re supposed to go neutral so there’s no pressure to be all girly or boyish.”
“That’s bullshit. I’m sick of the whole PC thing. What the fuck does a pink or blue room do to a child? If we weren’t willing to let them change it once they grew up and said they wanted something else, then that’s fucked up. But if we paint it pink now and when she’s older she says she doesn’t want a pink room, she doesn’t have to keep it.”
“What if the next baby is a boy and we’re moving him to a pink room? You don’t think that’s weird?”
