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Alec: Fair enough. I have a confession to make. Last week, I got my accountant to set up an account for you and our baby. I’ve deposited a lump sum into it, and every month, I’ll deposit funds into it. I want you to feel safe, whether we are together or not.
I drop my phone on the bed and bawl like a baby. He did this last week. It has nothing to do with my present circumstances, which means that it’s not a gesture of pity. I cry so hard but muffle it with a pillow. The last thing I need is for Peter to hear me crying.
My phone vibrates with a message. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and read the message.
Alec: Say something, sweetheart.
The simple statement brings a fresh wave of tears, and it’s another minute before I can respond.
Me: Thank you.
Alec: You’re welcome. I wish I were there to comfort you.
I’m tempted to ask him to come, but I promised my sister I’d go for dinner at her place. I haven’t seen my nephews in so long, and I’m afraid they’ll forget me.
Me: Me too. We’re seeing the obstetrician tomorrow.
Alec: Don’t forget the lunch date before that. I can’t wait.
Me: :)
I call my mom next and tell her about the publisher dropping me. Like Alec, she assures me that I’ll get another publisher. She asks after the baby and makes me promise to let her know when I need her.
“I’ll be there on the next flight,” she says, making me teary.
“Thanks, Mom.” I’m a lucky woman to be surrounded by so much love and support. Things will work out. I feel it in my heart.
30
Alec
“Every man in this restaurant is looking at me and envying me,” I tell Ivy when we settle down at our table.
She looks around and laughs. “Hardly. But I’ll flow with it.”
I grow solemn. “You really don’t know how beautiful you are, do you?”
Her cheeks redden, which delights me because it’s nearly impossible to make Ivy blush.
“Thank you,” she finally says.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Ivy has stripped off my barriers and made me long for things I thought I’d come to terms with. Like a family. Love. I want that with her. Something I’ve never wanted with any other woman.
The server brings the menus and then returns after a few minutes to take our order.
“I don’t feel as though I have space for food. This baby is hogging all the space in my belly now,” Ivy says, and I laugh. “I think I’ll just do a salad.”
I ordered more food for myself, determined to coax her to eat more.
“How was your morning?” she says when we’re alone again.
“Busy. I had two patients in the OR.”
Ivy unconsciously leans forward. “What were the surgeries for?”
For the next twenty minutes, we discuss the details of the two surgeries I performed in the morning. The server brings our drinks and then our food, which is the only interruption to our discussion.
I feed Ivy my chicken, unconcerned that people might be staring. Who would have thought how satisfying it was to feed the woman you love?
