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“But it’s so dark in there,” I lie. It’s beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows. “Like a cavern. Or jail. Or…something else equally unpleasant where you two are out on the couch fornicating without me and I’m in there all alone forced to concentrate on boring shit. Besides, I prefer spreading out like a parasite. If you don’t like it, you could go to the office.”
The man rolls his eyes at me but doesn’t continue to poke the bear. He’s flipping through a stack of papers, his tablet at his elbow and the stylus tapping on the side of the couch. His thumb drags against the ring on his left-hand ring finger, twirling the silver band round and round and round. I have no idea what he’s looking at. Something to do with leftover paperwork from walking away from Lancaster United, if I had to guess.
A glance at Julia confirms she’s doing the same thing she’s been doing since we discovered she was knocked up last month. Nose deep in a pregnancy book.
I skim the title and grin.
Ah. Nope. Today it’s “Baby Picasso, Art and Your Infant.”
I would judge, but I can’t because I’ve already started a collection for a children’s library in the apartment. Okay, so I may have begun collecting books like—I don’t know—a while ago. Long before this whirlwind.
Don’t look at me like that. I like books, and children’s books with their teeny tiny life lessons are adorable, which is why I’m not snorting in laughter at Julia reading about finger painting with a newborn or whatever.
But inevitably, my eyes drag back to Remi.
That band just goes round and round and round.
I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. I wonder when it became a habit for him to play with his ring like it’s an extension of himself?
My breathing ticks up, and I bite my lip, giving him a deeper examination.
His legs are crossed with an ankle on his knee, and he looks perfectly at ease. Gray joggers that only reach halfway down his calves and a black hoodie. Jules has taken to wearing his soot gray cardigan sweater around the house. She says it’s soft against her boobs, which is a dirty innuendo waiting to happen, but so far, I’ve kept the sarcastic comments to a minimum.
Most of her loungewear consists of whatever Remi or I throw her from our side of the closet.
Meaning not exactly form-fitting. Despite our best efforts, I’ve yet to get her comfortable simply sitting around naked. But with the shorts low on her hips and the top that allows a sliver of skin to peek between its hem and the waistband of her bottoms…
Her new scars are healing nicely. I’m almost giddy with anticipation to watch the stretch marks spread across her tummy, even though Jules has already begun slathering cocoa butter on every night in anticipation of avoiding as many marks as possible.
The doc was right. With or without her appendix, it wouldn’t have been much longer before we all figured it out.
But it’s Remi who keeps drawing my eye.
In a way, nothing is different between a year ago and today. It’s Sunday morning, which means, barring something drastic, he would have already been at our house. He and Julia are on the same couch. Sports Center is on mute on the television.
There are baked goods on the table. Water bottles and two coffee mugs, plus a half-drunk glass of orange juice. Julia’s feet are tucked up underneath her.
It’s how we’ve spent almost every Sunday for years.
The only difference between us then and us today is the baby growing in Julia’s belly and my ring currently twisting on his finger.
So, everything, really.
But, also…nothing.
“Whatcha doing, babe?”
Remi doesn’t lift his eyes from the stack of papers in his lap.
“Looking over the tax forms required for a 503c status.”
Okay. That’s different too. Last January, if I’d had called someone babe, Julia would have answered.
“Is that important?”
Again, without lifting his head, he rolls his eyes in exasperation.
“Do you know the regulations regarding a 503c nonprofit status? Do you know what a 503c nonprofit is?”
