by Rissa Brahm
Jamie’s miscarriage…she’s probably right.
He rubbed the top of his head, back and forth, back and forth.
“Hey, you.”
He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, then worked to find his smile before facing Preeya. No doubt she’ll know something’s wrong. That he was upset.
A snap decision made, he’d keep the whole Gigi conversation—hell, call it what it was, an irrational and inflamed bout—to himself. Protecting Preeya from unnecessary stress was top priority. He’d put his foot down and that was that. And if Gigi dared push him, he’d work around her—he’d faced Ebola in West Africa, he could handle Gigi Donlow.
He sighed and shifted, throwing his chin up for the best mask of all good and happy he could muster. “Come here.” He reached out his arm to Preeya. “You sleep good?”
“Mmm, yes.” Preeya nuzzled her face in his chest. “I was surprised you didn’t sleep in, my perfect body pillow.”
He snorted and squeezed her tighter to him. “I, uh, felt like getting an early start, grab some coffee, and catch up on work before we run out to find the crib.”
“Wow, you remembered.”
“Of course I did.” He kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled good, like her jasmine and vanilla shampoo.
“Oh, hey.” Her words were slightly muffled, spoken into his robe. “I invited Gigi along. If she finds a crib she likes, I thought we, meaning you”—she giggled and looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes, then buried her face back into his chest—“could help get it up to her apartment?”
On second thought, maybe he should tell Preeya about the blowout phone call. He sighed and shook his head. Preeya’s cheek still pressed against him so she missed his raw expression of angst and anger mixed with sheer annoyance. “Of course, babe. I can help…your friend with the crib.”
“Thank you.” She reached up, slid her hands around his neck, and kissed him.
Anything, Preeya. Anything.
“She needs me, us, right now. And I owe it to her. Gigi is like a sister to me. She’s your”—she pushed away from him to meet his eyes—“your soon-to-be sister-in-law!” She chuckled and lifted her brows, thoroughly entertained by her own witty discovery.
Right. “Yeah, I guess that’s what she is.” He found a thin grin to mask the rush of pure spite filling his chest. “I’m just thankful that your soon-to-be actual sister-in-law has two kids along with the experience and grounding to be our baby’s godparent. God forbid anything were to happen to us, Stacy would raise the baby our way, with the right priorities, direction, means, structure, and selfless love.”
When he stopped talking, he realized his hand on Preeya’s back hadn’t lifted and fallen with her deep, relaxed breaths for some moments now.
Preeya lifted her head off his chest and stood back. Her eyes narrowed, face tilted. “I told Gigi already…that she’d be the baby’s godparent. Before you even knew I was pregnant. It wasn’t even a question in my mind.”
Ben’s mouth went dry, making it near impossible to swallow the thick knot in his throat. Gigi’d said it on the phone. He remembered now. My godbaby.
Fuck that and over his dead body.
Relax, Ben.
How? He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t think in order to initiate his next breath—essential brain freeze.
In and out breath, Ben. In and out.
Oxygen and calm entered his system.
Now he just needed a few moments to formulate a careful, well-thought-out response to this without starting a fight. The last thing Preeya needed. But this is their child they’re talking about—his and hers.
He’d been married before, knew about the gives and takes, the compromises necessary—money, careers, home, friends, travel, family—just infinite levels of necessary compromise. But the uncharted waters of joint life decisions for their baby—now that threw him and his thoughts to the cosmic wind.
And no one has to deal with a meddling…whatever the hell Gigi is. Fucking Gigi.
He sighed. Gigi aside, he had to remember that Preeya hadn’t ever been in a real relationship, at least not one that lasted more than a few months.
But either way, how could she take it upon herself to make such a call? About their child’s guardian. “Without a question in her mind,” like she’d said.
As his thoughts whirled, he watched her chest heave with anxiety while her nostrils flared. He willed himself to say something to buy him time…so he wouldn’t explode and upset her. But he was floored, absolutely fucking floored, his heartbeat ramming his rib cage. Just do not explode, Ben. He rubbed his head while trying his best to slow his breath, then opened his mouth to speak, still unsure of what the hell to say.
But Preeya beat him to the punch. “God, Ben…Stacy lives in Mexico. That isn’t where I’d want my baby to grow up, to live, to be educated.”
“The” baby to “My” baby?
It’s ours, damn it. Our child.
More blood-pumping fury took hold of Ben’s throat. He couldn’t utter a grunt at this point.
“Ben, listen. Gigi is just…pure love. Don’t get me wrong…I like Stacy, God, so much. And her kids are great, so smart and sweet…but honestly, if Stacy lived in the States, close by even, well, I’d still choose Gigi. Her energy, her intuitive and nurturing ways…that’s what’s best for the baby.”
Again—the baby?
Our baby. Our life, our love, our child.
Calm, Ben. “Preeya.” He caught her eyes, held them for a stern instant then shot his focus to the ceiling. God, what the hell is going on? What in the fuck had he missed? His heart sank; his stomach floated. How separate, how different, how drastically polar were their perspectives, their experiences? Their stages in life?
He closed his eyes, sighed, then nodded, more to himself than to her. He understood and it scared him frozen.
Don’t make this into something it’s not, Ben. You are meant to be.
Are we?
We. What a joke.
Was Gigi right? They’d known each other for only a matter of days, really—lustful, electric, and life-inspiring days—before…before Seattle and Prana and the news of their baby. His heart murmured a low moan. Yes, they’d clicked and, hell, seemed to even balance each other, but fuck, how well did they really fit? His practicality versus…her vibes and gut feelings and…fucking Gigi raising her kid? Not theirs, hers. He gritted his teeth. Here he thought, breathed, lived, and planned for them, while she just couldn’t…comprehend it…the idea, the concept of a shared existence—it just flew right over her head.
Granted, she’d never known a model of a healthy partnership, not with her screwed-up parents’ example. And again, he’d lived over a decade in a loving marriage. And it hadn’t been easy with Jamie. Each day, every day, had been maddening yet glorious work. But Preeya, her being, her charisma and vibrancy and positive outlook made him want to do that work again, with her, for her, for them. But how can such a learning curve be ignored? Preeya was brilliant, but so damn clueless.
No, he couldn’t blame her.
But how could he do this with her? How could they get married and raise a child together if Preeya couldn’t grasp what together meant?
“Ben, are you hearing me?”
“Sorry, Preeya.” He looked at his coffee mug—lukewarm, half-empty, bitter by now. “Got this raging headache all of a sudden. I, uh, think I’ll go lie down again.” He sidestepped to the other side of the kitchen and stopped at the open doorway. “You were probably right; I should have stayed in bed this morning.”
And not answered the pre-dawn call.
Perhaps, not jumped into…fuck it.
He left Preeya in the kitchen probably hurt and confused and possibly fuming. He headed to their, or rather his bedroom. His name was on the goddamn lease, wasn’t it? Damn it, to even think that way made him ill, or more ill.
He crashed to the mattress and warded off all thoughts, all worries—all decisions—for another time. Just es
cape to sleep, escape. Like old times, Ben. Escapist Ben.
*
Preeya felt short of breath, heartbeat thumping in her ears, all alone there in the kitchen. For the first time in months, that old panic crept up her body’s central column, clutching her heart in her chest. She rubbed her belly, hoping the baby would kick, but nothing.
So, count and breathe? Or call Gigi?
No. No Gigi.
No crutch. She had this.
And she had Ben. Just upstairs.
Ben. God, he’d tried to hide it, but it had been written all over his face, the surprise, the hurt. And how removed and walled-off he’d become the next instant. How upset he was that Preeya didn’t want Stacy to be the baby’s godparent. She’d chosen Gigi…
That she’d chosen Gigi.
Shit. It seemed that not one, but two issues had set him off.
Her thoughts began to war.
Ben is the father.
But I’m the baby’s mother.
He didn’t trust her instincts?
She didn’t trust her instincts.
You should trust your damn instincts, Preeya.
And her choice in guardian—no question, no doubt—was Gigi. The only soul she could ever picture caring for her child. Her child and Gigi’s would be like siblings, family. Like Preeya and Gigi were family.
Not an aunt just because of blood ties.
She looked at the hand-painted rooster wall tile above the stove. “I mean, Gigi’s been my life, my only constant since I was seven. Seven years old.” The vibrant backsplash tile didn’t answer. Only the ice maker in the freezer rumbled a cryptic reply.
She sighed then rubbed her hard, tight belly. “And your aunt Stacy is great, don’t get me wrong,” she whispered to the baby, “but she’s so introverted, reserved, closed off.” The woman was kind to Preeya, sweet in her own way. “But she’s a writer, in her own head all the time. You’ll see what I mean, sweet pea.” The night Preeya had dinner at Stacy’s, those kids had been starved for attention, craving contact and conversation. Just picturing her child in that environment, it made Preeya gasp for an extra breath to satisfy her lungs.
And isn’t it the mother’s choice anyway? To decide who’d care for the child if…if she weren’t around? She? It’s “if they weren’t around,” Pree. She shook her head, confused by her own logic, her own feelings, her own threatened sense of control.
But no, I am clear on this.
And anyway, Ben wouldn’t have known about the baby if she hadn’t tracked him down. She invited him to be a part of her and her baby’s world.
Whoa.
Jesus, Preeya, you’re in love with the man. Marrying him in a few weeks.
The father of her child.
She had hoped, prayed, for his safety, his forgiveness over their blowout in Vallarta. She’d prayed that he’d reciprocate her feelings for him. Before you even told him you were pregnant.
And he had passed the test.
He declared and committed and supported and reciprocated—you stupid idiot.
But, God, zooming-in to this one issue, there wasn’t a chance she’d give in—she couldn’t be comfortable with the baby being with anyone but Gigi.
And what is the likelihood of you and Ben both…you know…seriously?
Seriously? Ben’s young wife died. Prana died. Her mother, she might as well have died. Who knows, maybe she did die. Yeah, maybe her mother’s dead? People die. And so this was a huge deal. Preparing for her child. In case.
And if they couldn’t agree on this…then what of everything else? So the tie goes to me. When it comes to this child, the tie goes to me.
Because, again, the mother knows, she’s most connected—she has the spiritually fused bond. The mom’s instinct trumps all.
How the hell would you know that, Preeya?
Her heart fell to the floor.
She wouldn’t know.
Shit, she wouldn’t have a clue about the connection between a mother and a child.
What does your heart say, Pree? Follow that.
Follow her heart? Her heart told her that…Ben is wonderful. A wonderful man, friend, partner. He’d be a wonderful father.
He was everything she’d ever wanted, without even knowing it. And thank God she had his love. It made her happy, whole, better, purposed, sated. His love—their love—was different than any she’d experienced before, with any person before. Ben had jumped in with two feet, ecstatic about getting married, growing their love, sharing their lives together—
Sharing their lives together…
*
Oh, no.
She ran up the stairs and down the hallway—and stubbed her toe on the doorjamb upon entering the bedroom.
The empty bedroom.
Winded, she sat on the edge of the bed.
She heard the shower running.
She swallowed hard and went to the bathroom door. She moved her hand up to knock but stopped herself. In a whisper, “Ben.” Tears welled but dried up before one could hit her cheek. “I understand.”
Her head shook side to side with relentless fury. She backed away from the door and when the backs of her knees hit the bed frame, she surrendered to the mattress, letting her body fall back, sprawl out—exhausted. She reached for her pillow and stuffed it underneath her head. “I do understand, Ben,” she whispered. “I get us.”
She stared at the door, listened to the spray of the shower and the clinking of the pipes from the hot water heater’s effort. She’d wait for him to come out of the bathroom. She’d tell him. Her heart still pounded in her ears and now in her temples, too. Yeah, she needed to clear the air. Her thoughts revolved around and around, anxious for the chance to make things right with Ben. And as her mind whirled, her eyelids sank under her heart’s weight. So heavy. And though she fought it, sleep overtook her.
CHAPTER 52
The doorbell rang in rapid-fire succession, as if it were a final attempt.
She sat up and searched for the time through her sleep-laden eyes. Noon. Her eyes went wide.
“Ben?”
Of course he wasn’t there—he would’ve answered the front door if he were home. And his car keys weren’t on the dresser. He’d let her sleep? So no crib buying today? But he’d gone without a word. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and looked at the screen. No text, either.
The doorbell’s chime filled her ears again. So, not the final attempt then?
She lumbered down the stairs while straightening her ponytail. “Coming!”
She peered through the peephole—Gigi. She flipped the lock then reached for the door handle and drew it open a crack while hiding from the sunlight which threatened a slap to her deserving, unmade face.
“I mean, really!” Gigi rolled her eyes then kissed Preeya’s cheek and slid, or rather maneuvered, past Preeya, their two round, pregnant bellies bumping each other.
Preeya closed the door and followed Gigi to the couch. “How are you feeling, Geej?”
“Feeling? Panicked, thank you very much.” Gigi threw herself onto the sofa like she’d run a marathon. “You didn’t answer my calls or texts. God, Pree, like I need déjà vu from the Josh night. I’m pregnant, too, you know. And it’s not like I have only you to worry about now.” Gigi motioned at Preeya’s midsection. Then her own. “And the doorbell, even your next-door neighbors heard the darn thing.” Gigi glared at Preeya for a moment, expecting something—a reaction, for her to catch on. “Pree—crib shopping? Three hours ago? You were supposed to pick me up. But if not, maybe a heads-up?”
Right, crib shopping…with Gigi. “Sorry, Geej! I was…sleeping.” True, in summary. “Dozed off, didn’t even hear Ben leave.” She flicked her eyes toward her phone. “Speaking of Ben, did you try his phone?”
“Yeah—no. Just short of calling my dad to check the scanners for any car accidents, though. Anyway, I took some deep breaths and decided to drive here instead.”
“Geej, really, I’m sorry. This time…I
kind of, well…Ben and I…” She didn’t want to discuss their not-quite-a-fight fight, especially not with Gigi—the subject of the thing—not until Preeya smoothed things over with Ben. “We needed extra sleep, I guess. I think he got an early phone call that woke him, and I don’t really sleep well when he’s not lying next—” Shit. Preeya grinned and lowered her eyes to the right. Single Gigi—nearly married Preeya. Constant tiptoeing all around.
Gigi sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s cool, Pree. Stop filtering for me—the singlehood stuff. I’m, you know, doing okay with it.” She squeezed Preeya’s wrist. “Hey, I have all the autonomy here—I can make all the calls for this little one. No compromising or negotiating or settling. Yeah, I’m starting to see the silver lining, for sure.”
“That’s awesome, Geej.” Compromise. Her own deeper lesson for the day. And while she liked that Gigi had found the positive in her situation, Preeya wouldn’t trade Ben—and all the required compromise and negotiation—for anything in the world.
Gigi reached over and slapped her hand. “Another perk? Shaving my legs…so out the window. I’ve got no man to say a damn thing about it.” Gigi laughed.
“Too cold to waste the fur, anyway.” Preeya winked then tilted her head with a knowing smile. Gigi was trying so hard. “And also, you don’t have to worry about keeping anyone awake…with all the tossing and turning through the night!”
Gigi winked back then nodded. “Exactly.” Gigi sighed into a genuine yet stoic smile. “Hey, and I’ve got you, the best support system a girl could hope for…except when you stand my wide-ass up.” Gigi pursed her lips. “Still better than some useless swinging dick.”
Preeya smirked. “Totally.” Then she sank into the couch. Her swinging dick, her Ben—angry, hurt…and always so good to her. Staying up late every night massaging her aches, tending her tensions—God, did he tend her tensions. And playing the human pillow so she slept through the night. Her heart splayed thin across her chest.
She wanted to vent to Gigi. But no, not happening. Despite Gigi’s attempt at a positive outlook, Preeya couldn’t. She’d cried to her last week in the car about her fears and worries and blathered on about the marriage license and—no more. Gigi didn’t need to hear any more of any of it, no matter what her friend said about “filtering.”
