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“She is not having his last name. If you want to do Dixon-Whitley, I’ll consider it. Anything else is out. Non-negotiable.” He stabbed at what he was cooking aggressively.
“Dixon-Whitley would be okay.”
He tossed me an incredulous look over his shoulder before all I had was his back again.
“Holidays—”
“We spend all of them together.”
I shifted in my seat at his firm tone. “Schooling.”
“She and Blake will have the best.”
“We’re not talking about him.”
“He’ll have the best,” he reiterated, leaving no room for argument.
I wanted to tell him something fierce that I’d decide what was best for my son, but chose to let that go for another day.
We’d been operating as a family unit while away and Blake had loved having 24/7 access to Patrick. Something he’d miss when we went back to reality. But I couldn’t let him get too attached, because although I applauded Patrick’s easy acceptance of the baby I was carrying, he was still so angry about Jack. I didn’t want Blake to mourn if Patrick decided the full-time care of a child wasn’t all fun and games. If he left us too. If he decided he’d had enough.
“Communication.”
“Everyday. Multiple times,” he shot back.
“Do I even get a say in this?”
He dropped a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. “What were you going to suggest?”
“We need to speak every day.”
He handed me a fork. I dumped syrup all over my breakfast and dug in.
“We don’t move in together until the third trimester,” I said once I’d swallowed. “We’ll continue that arrangement for two months after she’s born. Unless there are complications.”
“Complications?”
“With her health. With our living situation.”
“Is something wrong?”
His concern, fear, made my chest constrict.
“Everything’s fine. I-I wasn’t trying to worry you.” But I’d lost a baby before.
It felt like a spear stabbed in my chest. What if I lost Gummy too?
He picked up his own fork, but didn’t eat. “It doesn’t have to be strained between us. I’d rather it wasn’t.”
“Me too.” Surprise flickered across his features after I spoke. “This will be a lot easier if it’s not.” I hated being at odds with people. Hated the fighting. Hated the loneliness it brought.
When he was finishedwith half his plate, he pushed it toward me. “Want the rest?”
Without hesitation, I pulled it closer, dumped more syrup on the pancakes, and shoveled them into my mouth.
“Little dude still sleeping?”
“Mmm. Hmm.”
