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He steps over the tumbled boxes and tissue paper, packing tape, and loose yarn, and places his hands on my hips.
“Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“I just tripped and tweaked something in my back. I was trying to stretch it.”
“Your back? Shit. Where does it hurt?” His voice is low and gentle, close enough to my ear that I can feel his warm breath against my neck. He moves his hands down to where I am clutching at my lower back on the right and rubs his thumbs into the sore spot.
“Right there,” I say with a low moan.
He works at the spot until the muscle relaxes. Then he helps me up and onto the bed where he sits me down. He squats between my legs and places his hands on my thighs.
“Okay, you want to tell me what’s happening in here? Is there a reason your bedroom looks like an obstacle course?”
Something hot and irritated courses through me and I bite my tongue.
“What?” He frowns as if he knows I’m holding back. “What’s going on?”
“Where have you been?” My voice is shaky and I hate that he can hear it.
He leans back on his heels but doesn’t move his hands. “Work has been really busy.”
“If you’d been around, you’d know that I needed to put the stuff for the baby somewhere. And then Midge needed me to move my inventory down here because she’s having some work done on the space upstairs.”
“Please don’t tell me you moved all of this by yourself.”
I shrug. “Who else?”
“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve helped you move it.”
“Really?” My voice shakes even more and I hate that hot tears are already pricking at my eyes. “Really? You would’ve answered the phone for that? How would you have known that’s what I was calling for?”
He flinches. “Things have been really crazy. I’m sorry. Actually, I need to—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I snap.
He blinks. “I’m sorry,” he says, as if he’s only now realizing how hard it hit me that he has been gone for almost two weeks. “I messed up. I’m really sorry.”
“I told you, don’t worry about it.” I get up from the bed and try to push past him to dig into the box of purple yarns to look for the eggplant alpaca wool.
He steps in my way, blocking me with his large frame. My belly bounces off his. His eyes travel down to where my tummy pops out from under my sweater just enough to be seen.
“You’ve popped,” he says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
He steps back, touching the sides of my belly, and stares at it.
“Again, if you’d been here—”
“I said I’m sorry. And I meant it.”
“I need to get some work done.”
“Are we going to talk about this?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to tell me what’s been going on? And don’t just tell me that it’s been crazy at work. I’ve seen Freddy three times in the past two weeks.”
He lets out a sharp exhale, his nostrils flaring. But he doesn’t say anything. I sidestep him and my knee catches on the corner of a box of diapers. I lunge awkwardly, but he catches me.
