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Kiersten
Thoughts of nursery designs occupy my mind on my drive home from work. My co-worker Lauren pulled up a trendy do-it-yourself site on her phone during a lull and planted the seed. One might think waiting until seven months pregnant to design a nursery is procrastinating, but I call it not rushing. Regardless of what color paint covers the walls, my baby will have two warm, safe homes to live in once he’s born. There are too many kids in this world who don’t even have one.
Besides, I’ve heard kids are colorblind for a while, so it’ll all look like shades of gray to him in the beginning.
Paused at our single stoplight in town, I absently drum my fingers on the wheel. A glance down notices the gas gauge on empty. Transferring my attention out the front window solidifies my desire to get straight home. Snow falls in gusty swirls, and the roads already feel slick—mental note to fill up in the morning before work. By then, the plows will have been out, or I can ask Nathan or Cami to drive me into work with them.
Thinking of Nathan … he should be on his way back from Calypso’s with dinner for the two of us. Ever since the night at the light show, we’ve maintained a get-together once or twice a week for a meal in addition to late-night phone conversations and texts. At the beginning of this wild ride, the awkwardness of our situation formed a barrier to our friendship and long periods of time passed without speaking.
The light changes, and I depress the gas pedal pointed toward home.
He’s been a staple in my adult life as much as Cami and tequila. Scratch that. Tequila entered my life at twenty-one, but I didn’t enjoy its consumption nearly as much before I had my best friends to share it with.
Musing on our stretches of silence ignites the same frustrations all over again. I don’t ever want to return to thinking our friendship was ruined all because of a little sex.
A lot of sex.
A lot of great, fantastic sex.
Crap. The sex train is leaving the station, full steam ahead, and Nathan is on his way to my house. Think of something else. Chunky, soggy old bits of food floating in dirty dishwater!
Appetite ruined. I want to throw up.
I pull into my driveway moments later to Nathan’s truck parked near my garage. The doublewide driveway proves useful for the first time since I bought this place. Without it, I’d be forced to block his ass in and tempt him to stay the night.
Something I might do anyway. I wonder how he feels about a pregnant woman striptease?
As I exit the car, my front door opens. Nathan hops down the steps to reach me. He relieves me of my purse and offers his elbow.
“You’ve got to stop pretending I’m some frail old lady. Also, I didn’t say you could enter my house.”
He slams my car door shut as I clear it, and we walk inside. The snow pelts my cheeks, and even though I won’t admit it after my sassy remark, the sidewalk is slick and I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness.
“I’ve known where your spare key is forever. If you didn’t want me to have access, you’d have moved it months ago. And I’m not touching that frail comment.”
Smart man.
“You’re only forgiven because you brought food.”
The moment we clear the door, he releases me and heads to the kitchen. Something else different since the night of the light show is that Nathan no longer touches me freely. I don’t know if he’s put up his own wall or does it to give me space. Maybe a little of both. He’ll help me, like just now, and if I ask him for a back rub, he’s right there ready to assist. But the hand-holding, hair brushes, soft touches, and random kisses have come to an abrupt halt.
Is it wrong that I sort of hate it?
Complaining isn’t right in this situation. I can’t have the best of everything. The affection and warmth of someone by my side while I refuse a relationship. All in or all out, Kiersten. Nathan deserves better than that.
I deserve better than to allow myself that half-assed place of comfort.
“You have a lot to choose from, so I hope you’re hungry.” He interrupts my thoughts, and my stomach rumbles in agreement.
“Holy shit, was that you?” His brown eyes flash with amusement.
“Apparently. I’m super hungry.”
“Well, get over here, babe, so I can feed you.”
Shwoop.
I suppress that unnamed feeling and heft myself onto a high-back stool at my kitchen island. They’re difficult to climb on with a belly the size of a beachball. Once settled, Nathan slides a brimming plate in front of me.
