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"I'm keeping it," I pronounce.
He raises his arms and lets them fall to his side, "So, great, you're keeping it. I'm still not letting you take a road trip to your own death. Especially not with a baby."
"Especially?"
"Yes! Especially," he snaps.
"Fine," I state. I'm not as reluctant as I portray myself to be.
"Good," he goes back to pacing. "I don't care what anyone thinks, Isabella," he affirms. Of course, there is always the sharp, nagging poke from my little crush through all the turmoil, sadness, frustration, and dread.
"I think you should be more caring of your reputation and your company," I utter, too tired to project. "You might not care if you go down, but you have employees that'll go down with you."
"Yeah? I think people should mind their business, but that's never going to happen. Besides, if they got rid of me, then they'd have to get rid of all their gadgets, too, and they wouldn't dare do that. Trust me," he asserts, flopping down on the couch. He is exhausted, "Goodness, pregnant. You need to see a doctor; we need to tell the police, and… I suppose we should start setting up then."
"Now?" I ask. "Like a nursery? Shouldn't we wait to do that?"
"Wait until when? A week before the baby's due? Of course, we should start now," he responds with a grimace.
"O-okay," curse my nervous stuttering.
Evan lets the moment pass, blowing out the stress through his lips. "Have you eaten?"
I shake my head.
Immediately, he pushed himself off of the couch, "That needs to stop too. You can't be starving yourself anymore."
"I'm not starving myself; I'm…not hungry."
"You're about to be, and when you're 'not hungry,' I need you to eat anyway. Doesn't matter how much, eat something." He turns his head towards me, eyes dark and severe. "Understood?"
"Mhm." I could feel it. The cold touch of anticipation. This is going to be more complicated than I thought.
"Contrary to popular belief, exercise is crucial during pregnancy. You can't be sitting all day. I have a treadmill in my room; you can use it for twenty-minute walks. When the baby begins to get heavier, and it's too much pressure on your legs, you can do cardio on your back."
"I-in your room?" He said that was the least important thing, but I couldn't help mentioning it. The new clearance I gained felt more noteworthy to me than it probably was. He never said I couldn't go in his room, but I assumed it was an unspoken rule, and now that I am verbally allowed in, I—
"Yes, in my room. Don't clean; I do it myself all the time. I don't need you inhaling any chemicals." Evan glosses over it and continues spouting advice. I appreciate it, but damn.
"Evan, please. This is a lot of information," I pronounce, returning to the couch for stability. He checks over his shoulder as he prepares to cook and sighs.
"Sorry, I understand you're still processing everything. I'll leave you a list tomorrow," he expresses.
That list is going to resemble a book, for sure. Maybe he's thinking the baby could be his.
Chapter fourteen
Anticipations and Affections
Ifeelterrible.Morningsickness is becoming increasingly horrible as it uses my esophagus as a vomit pump and my head to practice dizzy spells. Evan has taken off the rest of the week to attend to me. I'm not showing yet, and he is treating me like I am about to go into labor at any moment. There is no way he's not missing out on important work, whatever it is he does. I would be lying if I said I didn't like it. I'd also be lying to say it isn't annoying sometimes.
Physically, I am a lazy girl. I hate exercise, whether running a mile or walking to the bathroom on sleepy mornings. Evan is quite strict on his rules about keeping active during pregnancy.
"Come on, it's not that bad," he rolls his eyes as he leans against the back of the treadmill's button panel. I'm dripping sweat, trying to grip the slippery handles so I wouldn't let the machine drag and throw me off.
"Clearly…it's bad…for me," I huff between my words. It would be wiser for me to shut up instead of wasting my minimal energy on idle conversation, but I enjoy his bright smile and chuckle too much to stop trying to make him laugh.
"It's only twenty minutes, and you're almost done," he remarks.
