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I just need to pry him out of the picture in my mind when it comes to this baby.
My baby.
Our baby.
When one of the women starts talking about all the things she got for her baby shower, the color drains from Ana’s face.
She won’t have a shower. It’s too late to plan anything, and will only put Ana and the baby under a brighter spotlight we don’t need.
I brought her to Seattle under the cover of night, and never even expected she’d open up to the women here. I only wanted her to get some birthing classes under her belt so she’s not blindsided by the painful experience.
Ana doesn’t mention anything about her non-existent shower to the women, but her eyes linger to me. I smile and nod, only so no one takes pity on Ana.
I’ll give her the world. Shower her with love and anything else she wants.
Thinking fast, I consider what I have in the attic from Sophie’s infancy. I can afford all new furniture. Heck, I can buy another house on the block fully furnished, but I’m trying to raise my daughter to have values.
A new baby isn’t a time to be frugal when the mom is denied a baby shower. I want to show Ana she’s special. She and the baby. Sophie’s furniture and accessories are for girls. Ana is having a son, and I think of all the little boy things I passed up in the store the first time around. Who cares if I’ll have two sets of cribs, changing tables, and bassinets collecting dust in the attic.
There’s plenty of space up there even with the panic room I built over the garage. When I first bought the house, I resisted building one, but when I started getting calls from my brothers back home because their delicate peace unraveled, I had one built.
For my daughter’s sake, I call it a safe room. She thinks it’s a place to go if there’s a big storm coming and the house is likely to flood. How do you tell a seven-year-old to hide because someone is coming to kill her? Or her father?
I gave her a code. Code Black. She’s to get there with no questions asked. But we haven’t done a drill in more than a year.
I shake all that away and drag my mind back to what Ana and I need to buy for the baby. I’d head to a store right now, but I want Sophie to shop with us, so she feels more bonded to the baby.
That aching question rears into my brain again. How the hell am I going to tell Sophie who Ana really is? Who that baby really is to her? And who the hell do I ask something like this? Maybe a teacher. Maybe a counselor at school.
Usually, a person asks their parents advice on child-rearing. I’m stunted on two fronts there.
One: My mother is very sick, and this is the last thing I want to burden her about, even though it means she’ll have another grandchild. Great for a woman who’s full of life and ready to spoil her grandkids, the way a typical grandma fusses over babies. Not a woman who’s counting her last months on this earth.
Two: My father had eight kids. That’s enough to give someone pause asking for advice, since in any household that size, there’s no attention paid to things like feelings. There’s no talking or sharing, there’re just announcements made at the dinner table.
If we’d gone around the table talking about our day or how we felt about it, we’d be there until breakfast.
Ana’s father had less kids, including sons who were killed, something that would change any man, scar him for life, but Alexei and my father are both ruthless gangsters.
Being straightforward with Sophie is probably best. The more we wait, there’s more of a chance she’ll be angry.
All these thoughts dance in my head, even on the drive home from yoga. I’m knocked back to the here and now when Ana’s hand slips into mine. My ears perk up more to notice she’s singing to a song on the radio with a face absent of stress.
Christ, I can fall in love with her. I better love her, even if love in our world is rare. Mafia families arrange marriages and couples walk down the aisle out of duty.
I think about Kieran and Isabella, who did just that. Now they’re in love from what I saw with my own eyes this summer. I hadn’t met the woman Riordan married, but when he woke up in the hospital bed last summer and was told she died, the wail of pain in his voice shattered my soul.
Which only makes me wonder how the hell Lachlan is dealing with love. I suspect he only loved murdering our enemies.
Ana and I pick up Sophie from bowling. Instead of running right to me, my heart patters as my daughter skips to Ana and hugs her belly.
At home, I consider if we should tell Sophie the full truth, but then she yawns. Clearly, it’s not the right time. Plus, what if something horrible happens?
I think of the panic room again and realize, I need to let Ana know it’s there. She’s going to be alone in the house during the day. She and Sophie will be alone.
With my daughter in bed, Ana tiptoes to my room. But before we go crazy on each other, I take her hand and bring her to the far edge of the hallway.
I open the skinny door, I rarely think about, but my wandering mind from before means now I can’t ever un-see it. Beyond it, is a set of narrow carpeted stairs to the attic.
