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Scrolling through my contacts, I push on the building super’s information and wait for him to pick up. When he does, his voice full of frustration, I get the feeling it isn’t just me experiencing the issue.
He soon lets me know the whole place is out and someone is on the way to look at it. I appreciate the swiftness of that visit, yet it does me no good. I can bundle up all I want, and I plan on it, but I’m pregnant.
My first concern has to be the baby.
If this can’t be repaired immediately, and I’m doubting it can seeing as it’s a Sunday afternoon, I’ll have to make other plans.
Not that I have many options.
I can go to a hotel, of course, but that will add up fast if it takes a while to fix.
Or contact Walker.
“Call me anytime for anything,” he’d stressed before he left last night, and again when he texted to let me know he’d gotten home.
Well, I’d say this qualifies.
Regardless, he has the right to know because of our circumstances.
Walker picks up so fast, I doubt it even fully rang once. “Hi, Zoe.” Aside from his emotional moment upon seeing my belly and realizing the significance of it, he’s been solid as a rock. Which I’ve appreciated because my emotions are more like pebbles. Tiny fragments scattered over a big area, the vastness of it overwhelming.
“Hi, Walker.”
“What’s wrong?” I pray that he hears it in my voice and isn’t just automatically assuming I’m only phoning because there’s an issue. Or that I’m nothing but a constant one. And this current pebble’s color is blue. Maybe I should name it Eeyore.
I proceed to tell him about the lack of heating, the lack of answers so far, and the possibility it might take time to repair.
“I’m planning on going to a hotel,” I tell him belatedly, though it’s not my first choice, when his silence makes me fear I’ve overstepped.
“I’m on my way. Pack whatever you need for at least a week. You need anything else, I’ll go back and get it for you.”
“I can’t expect you to...”
“You didn’t and you will. While you’re here, you can help me figure out the baby’s room.” Oh, the jerk. Throwing that in there, knowing I won’t be able to resist.
“Give me thirty.”
“I’ll be there in half that and will help you.”
“Arguing will be a waste of time, huh?”
“Look at how much you already know me. This bodes well for our future.”
“Our?” The squeak I ask that with has me silently apologizing to the neighborhood dogs who no doubt heard it at that frequency.
“Yes?’ The hesitancy, and the fact he phrased it as a question, has me thinking he hadn’t meant to say that part out loud.
Good. We’re on equal, and yet somehow still uneven, footing.
Not wanting him to have the last word, and hoping to throw him just as off balance as I am, I saucily reply with, “See you soon, daddy.”
I hear him choking as I hang up.
That has to be at least two points for me.
Possibly three.
At least four.
