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In addition to the one room framed out next to the bathroom I just used, it appears there are two more rooms that have been finished on the other side of the living room. How is that possible? It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been here, has it? Doesn’t construction take longer than that?
He returns with a full glass of ice water and I take a long sip, grateful for the refreshment.
“You’re under construction?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “I, uh… I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, it is.”
“Right,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I wanted to wait until it was done. It’s supposed to be done next week.”
It’s clear that he had plans that he wasn’t going to include me in if he wasn’t going to tell me anything until it was done and over with. The thought rings hollow in my chest, and I take another quick sip of water.
“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping my tone light, inquisitive.
“Do you want to see?” he asks.
I nod, and he reaches for my glass, setting it down on a coaster on the table. There’s something about seeing him use a coaster that surprises me. It feels very grown-up, very un-bachelor. He holds out his hand. His eyebrows lift, and I realize his hand is shaking. If he was nervous in the elevator, he’s terrified right now. I place my hand in his, and he lets out a quiet sigh. Then he tugs me gently toward the hallway.
He stops in front of a closed door, the first new room. He pauses and looks up at me.
“Just know, this can be whatever you want it to be. We can change things, or, if you prefer, not use it at all. Just… whatever it is that you want. That’s all I want.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I say, suddenly feeling very nervous.
He nods as if he understands. And then he releases my hand and opens the door.
Beyond the doorway, there’s a mid-sized room, full of windows with floor-to-ceiling taupe velvet blackout curtains pushed back on either side. And in the center of the room is the most beautiful crib I’ve ever seen. It’s oval, made of dark walnut wood, and sits beneath a sweet mobile hung from the twenty-foot ceiling made of what looks like paper cranes.
“It’s a nursery?” I ask, feeling hot, conflicted emotion pulse up my throat.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice behind me. “If you want it to be.”
I swallow hard around the thick emotion in my throat and take in the rest of the room. A matching dresser sits against the far wall, a beautiful navy-blue velvet rocker sits in the opposite corner.
“You built me a nursery? In your loft?” The reality of what I’m looking at is staggering. He’s changed his space—his world—for this baby.
“Yes,” he says. “But if you don’t want the nursery to be here, I’ll move the furniture for you. To your room or your new space upstairs at the house. Wherever you want. But you should know that the crib was a gift from my dad and the rocking chair a gift from my mom. They’d both love to meet you before the baby comes—but it’s completely up to you.”
He told his parents. Without knowing where we stood as a couple, he told his parents about our baby. And they bought me gifts. Just as it’s starting to wash over me, he keeps talking.
“I know I didn’t talk to you about this first, and if you don’t want any of this to be here, that’s okay. But also, if you do, if you want to give this thing between us a go…”
He takes my hand and tugs me back toward the hall. I don’t want to leave the nursery. It’s beautiful and soothing and everything I could have ever dreamed of. But I let him pull me back down the hall to where another door stands closed. He doesn’t wait this time before opening it and pulling me through.
The room is large, with two walls in the corner full of windows facing the Fremont Bridge and giving a surprisingly clear view of Mount St. Helens. A new king-size bed with a tall, emerald-velvet-upholstered headboard sits in the center of the room. On it is a new memory foam mattress, not yet made up with linens. The door to the bathroom is missing, and he pulls me over to look inside. The shower has been ripped out entirely.
“I wanted you to feel like you had your own space if you wanted to stay here,” he says. He’s speaking more quickly than usual, and I can feel the anxiousness pouring off him. “So, this is your room. If you want it.”
I stare at him.
“My room?”
“Yes, but only if you want it. If you wanted to stay here, for the baby to have his own nursery. I wasn’t assuming we’d be together, even though that’s what I want. And I wasn’t assuming you would be here—if you want to live here—for any reason other than the baby. I wanted you to have the option to have your own space.”
My heart swells, and I blink quickly. I look away from him and back at the bathroom and frown.
“I know,” he says, shaking his head. “This is the part that’s been holding it up. I realized that a baby needs a bathtub. So the shower is getting replaced. But it’s taking longer for it to arrive than they thought.”
