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Look, that was my story, and I was sticking to it.
For some reason, I hadn’t equated pregnancy with blood tests. I’d only had a scan for the fertility testing, and I really didn’t know why that connection hadn’t been made inside my brain. Matthew insisted that he’d said it three times while he was researching what would happen at the first appointments, but I was adamant that he hadn’t.
He accused me of having selective hearing.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could argue with that.
His argument was very valid. Not that I had any intention of sharing such a thing with him—letting him think that he could beat me in an argument seemed like a dangerous thing to do, especially in our fledgling romantic relationship.
That was apparently what this was now.
A romantic relationship.
Being woken up by him farting at four a.m. wasn’t what I considered romantic.
If there was anyone out there who did consider it to be romantic, kudos to you. You were a far more understanding woman than I was.
Than I would ever be.
Ffion appeared out of nowhere. She had her knitting tucked under her arm and a sheet mask on her face, meaning she looked somewhat like an alien grandma as she hobbled through the kitchen. “How is my great-grandchild?”
“Zapping the life out of me,” I quipped, rolling my shoulders.
“Yes, children tend to do that.” Ffion carried on walking until she’d passed right through the kitchen and disappeared from view again.
Seriously.
I was tired.
And kind of wanted one of those masks for myself.
Eleanor sighed. “She’s been rummaging in my bathroom again.”
“When does she ever stay out of anyone’s bathroom?” Matthew asked.
“When you put locks on their doors.” I poured the orange juice right to the rim of the glass, bent forward, and slurped it up.
“What are you doing?” Amusement twisted his lips into a smile, and he stared at me as I slowly straightened my back again.
“I poured too much in and didn’t want to spill it.”
“You poured it deliberately.”
“So I’m thirsty. Shut up.” I put the carton back in the door and closed the fridge.
“I would listen to her,” Eleanor said. “And what’s this about locks on bathroom doors?”
“He put one on mine after she went on her pregnancy tirade and rifled through my bin,” I told her, sitting on a stool. I almost groaned with pleasure—who knew going to the doctor in a car was so tiring? I was going to need a nap soon. “The more I think about that, the more I think about how lucky she was that I wasn’t on my period in the end.”
Mind you, that would have served her right for looking, wouldn’t it? As gross as the notion was.
Matthew fought back a laugh. “There are some more locks in one of the storage barns, Mum. I’ll put one on later for you.”
“You’re going to do it yourself? Now isn’t that something new,” I teased him, picking up my glass. “I’ve never seen you to do any form of D.I.Y.”
“He is actually good at it,” Eleanor said, slipping a bookmark between the pages of her book as she got up. “He just chooses not to do it.”
That was interesting.
“So if I wanted… say… a shelf putting up to store my brushes, you could do that?”
Matthew glanced between us. “Yes.”
“Build a cupboard?”
“Yes.”
“How about put together a—”
“Yes,” he said, cutting me off. “Dad used to make me do it whether I liked it or not.”
Eleanor laughed softly, pouring tea from the teapot into her mug. “Just as Grandad did to him. I remember being pregnant with you and building some storage for the things that were in your nursery beforehand, and your grandfather sat there for an hour ordering your father around.”
I rested my elbow on the island counter, propped my chin on my hand, and smiled. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” She came back around and sat down, gently placing her mug on a coaster. “As long as he was alive, he made sure someone helped with basic things like that.”
Matthew smiled. “Every time we visited, there would be something for me to do. When the shop was overhauled, he spent the entire Christmas break putting things together, and me and Dad had to help him. Back then, I thought it was the worst Christmas ever. Now I wouldn’t be mad at all.”
I turned my face towards him, still smiling. “I get that. I miss my grandpa, too.”
“He didn’t pass that long ago, did he?” Eleanor asked, tilting her head.
I shook mine. “No. It’s been almost a year. I didn’t see him that often because we lived so far apart, but it was always fun when we did.”
“I bet he didn’t make you spend your Christmas break building display shelves, did he?” Matthew asked, raising his eyebrows.
“He did not. Then again, he was old fashioned and believed it was a woman’s job to marry up, societally speaking, so he likely would have had a fit if he saw a woman with a screwdriver.”
