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“Hey,” I manage. “Nice…shovel. It’s really…big.”
What the hell did I just say?
Rudy’s eyes twinkle as he shrugs. “Thanks. I get that a lot.”
Now heat is rushing up my neck and over my cheeks too.
Simone, still standing beside me, snorts as her shoulders start shaking. “I’m going to leave you two kids to it,” she finally says. “Jen is giving me a death glare.”
I glance over at the baker who, sure enough, is looking our way with an expectant arch of her eyebrows. Simone calls out and glides across the lot toward her, and I’m left with Rudy and half a brain in my head.
Say something. Say anything.
“You’re building a fence?” I give him a smile and hope I don’t look stupid.
Rudy glances over his shoulder at the row of posts, and I steal a glance at his chest and stomach. He has muscles I didn’t even know existed. His body could be an anatomy textbook. Where’s that tissue Simone was holding?
“Lattice,” Rudy explains. “We’re going to grow a vine over it.”
Before I can answer, Dorothy calls my name. She’s wearing a matching cheetah-print shorts-and-tee combo, with a straw hat that has a decorative band of the same material. “Lily, get your butt over here! You can help us paint.” She glances at Rudy. “And you get back to work, young man. Those post holes aren’t going to dig themselves.”
“Who knew Dorothy was a slave driver?” I say with a smile.
Rudy winks at me, then gives me a fantastic view of the muscles on his back as he makes his way back to his half-dug hole. When I make it to Dorothy’s side, she gives me a long look, then thrusts a paintbrush in my hand and commands me to start working.
We have a fence to paint around the whole garden, pavers to lay between the raised beds, and shade cloth to install over some of the shade-loving plants. Most of the planting won’t happen until the cooler months, but Jen has a list of plants and timing for the garden. Of course she does. Her notes are color-coded and marked up with her usual precision.
Time flies, and I only steal a few glances at Rudy. Okay, more than a few.
Once he finishes the post holes, he helps with the concrete bases, then starts hammering the lattice to the newly installed posts.
“Nothing better than a man with a hammer,” Fiona says with a secret grin on her face.
My cheeks heat as I look away, dipping my paintbrush into the pot, then freeze. Is it even safe to be doing this? I stare at the white paint dripping off my brush as my heart starts pounding. I’ve been standing here for two hours inhaling these fumes. Is that going to hurt the baby? I didn’t even think about that!
I’m so incredibly unprepared for this. I can’t be a mother! I know I’ll be forty next week, but honestly, I feel no different than I did when I was twenty-two. Fine, okay, I’m a little sorer after a workout and hangovers seem to last four days instead of four hours, but I’m still me. I’m not fit to be a parent!
What else have I done to put the baby in danger? I’ve tried to stay away from coffee and soft cheese and processed meat and sushi and, and, and…
My chest is heaving as I drop my paintbrush. Fiona calls out my name and I wave her away, stumbling over an uneven paver as I try to get away from the paint smell. I’m going to throw up. I used to love the smell of paint, but now it makes me feel like I’m endangering my unborn child.
Trina is the one who follows me onto the sidewalk and around the corner. I’m sucking in a breath of fresh air when I feel her hand on my forearm. “What’s wrong? Do you need me to take you to your doctor? Are you in pain?”
“I’ve been inhaling paint fumes for two hours,” I hiss, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one can hear me. “I didn’t even think about it, Trina. I can’t do this. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m going to screw up.”
Instead of answering, Trina just wraps her arms around me and squeezes. Her voice is low, gentle. “We’re outdoors, Lily. You’re fine. I had the same worry when we did Toby’s nursery. My doctor told me that sanding and scraping is a no-go, especially if it’s older, lead-based paint, but most modern paints are fine. You didn’t hurt your baby. If you’re worried, just ask your obstetrician about it next time.” When she pulls away, her eyes are kind. “And we all screw up. It’s just part of being a parent.”
I close my eyes. Trina rubs my back until I take a deep breath and nod. “I’m fine. I just freaked out a bit.”
My sister studies me for a moment. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. After taking a breath, she finally speaks. “Are you going to tell anyone?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Eventually. I mean, it’ll be obvious in a few months anyway.”
“And Rudy?”
Her voice is neutral. Non-judgmental. Still, I wince.
What am I supposed to say? I could tell her that I just wanted to sleep with him last night in order to have one last night of fun before my whole life changes. But if I told her that, I’d probably have to tell her everything I’ve been hiding besides the baby. And if I do that, then it becomes real. It becomes everyone else’s problem too. All this happy, buzzing energy? All the laughter and lightness? I can pretty much kiss all of it goodbye.
