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Must be Thomas. I grab my purse and hurry to the front door. Instead of letting him in, I press the buzzer and tell him that I’m on the way down. If I were a singer, I’d sing as I ride the elevator down. My singing voice is horrible, and so I content myself with dancing my way down. For no particular reason, I feel happy. As if everything in my world is as it should be, which makes no sense. The stuff with my mom and Ian is not resolved. Adeline calls me almost every day with a new complaint or worry. I still get morning sickness but thank God that is petering off. I’ve taken on one of my classes, but I’m still not feeling energetic enough to take on a full workload. Riley is still on bed rest, but the doctor said she could start moving around a little in the house. In other words, nothing much has changed in my life, but I feel optimistic and excited about the future.
“You look beautiful,” Thomas says when I step out the main door. He slips his hand around my waist and kisses me on the mouth.
“Thank you.”
He keeps his hand in mine as we walk to the car. It’s a nice evening with a soft breeze that blows my dress, making it wrap around my thighs.
“I’m looking forward to your mom’s cooking,” I tell Thomas.
I miss my mom’s cooking. I remember the days of the table being full of a variety of mouth-watering dishes. These days she doesn’t have time for any of that in-between coming to the gym and being at the bar. It seems so long ago that she used to invite us for dinner at her place and yet it isn’t. Things change in a very short time.
“She loves cooking, and when there’s an extra guest, she goes all out,” Thomas says.
I’ll probably be that kind of a mother. I’ll love having my son or daughters’ partners and friends come over for dinner. I let out a sigh. It sounds like the perfect life. I even visualize the scene at the dining table, but when I zoom in on the head of the family table, I see Thomas’s face.
That jerks me out of my fantasy. Thomas has different dreams for his life, and they do not include a family.
We arrive at his parents’ home and find Fran and Martin’s car parked out front. Thomas kisses me deeply on the mouth before we get out of the car, leaving me breathless and longing for more.
He knocks on the door once and then pushes it open. I remember when I did that at my mother’s house. Not these days. Not when there’s a risk of walking into Ian half-naked or even naked. He seems like the kind of person who is comfortable walking around naked in the house. It also doesn’t feel like the home my siblings and I grew up in. Mom has made a lot of changes recently, including the furniture, and she’s having a contractor over to give the kitchen a makeover.
“Is that you, Thomas and Cora?” his mom asks, making me feel like a part of a well-functioning family. It’s a good feeling.
“No, Mom, it’s a burglar,” Thomas quips.
She meets us at the entrance of the living room. “Very funny,” she tells Thomas as she hugs him.
“Cora,” Mrs. Clarkson says warmly. She draws me into her arms and hugs me tightly.
“Hi, Mrs. Clarkson.” I hug her back.
“Please call me Christine,” she says.
Pleasure flows through me. I hope that an invitation to call her by her first name means that I’ve passed a test.
Thomas’s father, Martin, and sister, Fran, are relaxing with glasses of wine and water. A flurry of hugs later, and Thomas and I join them.
“Cora, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but the baby bump has really grown,” Christine says. “You carry pregnancy very well.”
I giggle a little at that. “That’s the first compliment I’ve received on how well I carry a pregnancy. I like it.”
“Yes, you’ve become a whole lot bigger,” Fran says.
“I’m not going to catch up with you, though,” I tease, eyeing her big belly. I can’t wait until my baby bump is that big.
“Is the baby kicking a lot?” she asks.
“Not so much, and it never happens when Thomas is there.”
Thomas has explained that some babies are just too comfortable in their mother’s bellies and couldn’t be bothered to move much. I liked that thought. That I’ve created such a warm environment that my baby just wants to snuggle in.
“You are so lucky,” Fran exclaims. “Mine causes such a racket that you’d think there’s a soccer match going on in my belly.”
We all laugh. Conversation flows easily, and even Mr. Clarkson is drawn to it, regaling us with stories of how Fran and Thomas cried a lot as babies.
