“Of course, I do.” She eased Lydia away from her breast. “Let me put her down for a nap and then we’ll have lunch. I made a shrimp salad. And lemon meringue pie.”
As they ate, they tacitly agreed to let the subject drop. Instead, he told her about work, neighbors, friends.
“Did I tell you Frank Brisco is brewing beer now? He says microbreweries are popping up everywhere, and why shouldn’t he make a go of one?”
“How’s it taste?”
“Not bad.”
Laurel already knew that Megan had ditched her latest boyfriend, the successor to the computer nerd.
Her father shook her head. “Says he spends more on clothes than she does.”
In tandem, they both said, “Which is saying a lot,” then laughed.
He left at two, hoping to beat the traffic. Lydia had just awakened, so he got to kiss her goodbye. “I haven’t seen any new pictures lately,” he said, as he was getting into his car.
“Oh, Caleb’s been taking them. I’ll remind him to e-mail some to you.”
“He’s a good man, Caleb. He’s taken responsibility.”
There was that old-fashioned attitude again.
“Dad, he didn’t knock me up. He donated sperm because I asked.”
He raised his brows. “What’s the difference?”
In exasperation, Laurel said, “Sex, Dad. That’s the difference. He didn’t get anything out of it.”
“He got a daughter, didn’t he?”
Her father was hopeless. If she’d used an anonymous sperm donor, would he have railed about the irresponsibility of a man just letting his sperm be frozen and implanted anywhere? Probably.
“Your granddaddy is a stick-in-the-mud,” she told Lydia, going back in the house.
Laurel had put dinner on later and laid Lydia down for yet another nap when she heard Caleb’s car outside, then the front door opening and closing.
Smiling, she went downstairs to meet him.
Once in a blue moon, he felt compelled to dress up for a business meeting. Today had been one of those days. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him this morning, so now she looked him up and down. “Nice.”
He grimaced and stripped his tie from around his neck.
Why was a well-cut suit so sexy on a man? Laurel had no idea, but this one sure was. Dark, charcoal-gray, the coat fit his wide shoulders and hung in the way only incredibly expensive fabric could. It was open to reveal the slacks, pleated below a narrow black leather belt. His throat and face were tanned above a white shirt. He’d probably loosened the tie and unbuttoned the collar the minute he got in his car, Laurel thought with fond amusement.
“Lydia down?” he asked.
“Ate like a pig, conked out. I put dinner on. We might get to sit down alone tonight.”
It had become a private joke. They never sat down at the table without her squalling.
“Counting on it,” he said, straight-faced. “Hey. Come here.”
When she took a step forward, he grabbed her by the waist and bent to kiss her. Laurel stood on tiptoe to meet him halfway. Already, it felt natural. They kissed hello, goodbye and six dozen times in between. She liked kissing, she’d remembered. Liked it even more with Caleb than she had with her previous boyfriends.
Knowing they couldn’t go beyond kisses for three more weeks—two now—had freed Laurel to explore these new/old feelings without anxiety building like a thunderstorm in her chest the minute he touched her. And he’d kept his promise about taking it slow. Once in a while, she’d sense raw need, the scrape of teeth, the tightening of his grip, but he always pulled back before she panicked.
What would happen when these weeks were up…? Well, she wasn’t letting herself think about it. Right now, she could make out with a guy. She hadn’t believed she could do even that. She suspected she still couldn’t with anyone but Caleb.
Actually, she couldn’t imagine wanting to make out with anyone but him. She thought back to her couple of boyfriends in college and wondered why she’d bothered. Even then, she knew she’d rather spend time with Caleb given a choice. She just hadn’t ever let herself admit to what that meant. And, of course, she’d denied feeling anything but friendship to everyone including Nadia, in whom she confided just about everything else.
Well, you couldn’t confide what you didn’t know, could you?
But she knew now. She was in love with him. Always had been, always would be. Whether that would be enough… No. Laurel stopped herself from even going there. Two more weeks to savor what she could only call his courtship. Then she would worry.
Lifting his mouth from hers now, he smiled down at her. “Brought you something.”
“You shouldn’t do that everytime you go anywhere.”
Flowers, chocolates, a hair scrunchie made of fabric woven in Guatemala, a picture frame. Little things, but sweet. Especially the chocolates—she’d really enjoyed those.
“I miss you.” He reached in the pocket of his jacket and, like a magician, pulled out a scarf. Gossamer fine, scarlet and sparkling with gold, it kept coming and coming.
“Ohh,” she breathed with delight. “It’s beautiful!”
“Even mommies need to remember they’re sensuous women.”
Her gaze caught his. “You remind me of that every time I see you.”
A light flared in his eyes, but he banked it, only smiling lazily. “A service I perform with pleasure.”
She punched him, then took the scarf. It was unbelievably lightweight, like holding a spiderweb spun with scarlet and gold. Laurel draped it around her shoulders and spun.
“Or maybe around my hips.” She tried that, knotting it on one side.
“You know, instead of step aerobics you could try belly dancing,” Caleb suggested.
“You wish.”
He succeeded in sounding woebegone. “Don’t my wishes count for anything?”
Laurel kissed him on the cheek. “Of course they do. Just…” She hesitated.
“Not yet. And that’s okay.” He covered her mouth with a quick, hard kiss, then let her go. “I need to change.”
“I’ll put the noodles on.” Reluctantly, she untied the scarf, held it briefly to her cheek then folded it and set it on the hall table as he started up the stairs.
Somehow, she wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when he came back down ten minutes later with Lydia against his shoulder.
“Guess who woke up?”
“That was hardly a nap,” Laurel said indignantly, turning from the stove. “She was pretending to sleep. Setting me up for disappointment. Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She kissed Lydia’s plump cheek. “See, she’s not even hungry. She’d be crying.”
“Nope. She wants to dine with Mommy and Daddy.” He hoisted her so that father and daughter were nose to nose. “Daddy understands all, Lydia. Never forget it.”
Lydia’s arms flapped. He grinned at her.
“Will Daddy understand when his little girl sneaks out her bedroom window to meet her boyfriend?” Laurel asked.
He looked momentarily appalled, which she thought was cute.
“My Lydia will never do that. Will you, kiddo?”
Laurel laughed and dumped the noodles into the colander, gave it a shake, then poured them into a bowl. “Dinner is ready.”
Still carrying Lydia, he crowded Laurel as he peered into the second serving bowl. “Stroganoff. Smells great.”
While they ate, Lydia once more in her plastic carrier on the table, Caleb told Laurel about his meeting.
“Guy owns a bunch of import stores in the Midwest. Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City. More upscale than, say, Pier 1. Sells mainly stuff from Asia. He’s interested in adding products from Latin America, but it takes time to develop the sources for high-quality art and textiles. He’d like to buy from me.”
“Make you a middleman.” She mulled it over. “You’d either have to pay the artists less, or shave your profit.”
“Shave my profit, of course. But think of th
e payoff. Some of the co-ops I work with could expand.” He spoke faster, leaning forward in his enthusiasm. “Maybe double production. It would be good for the artists, for the villages where they live.”
She listened as he talked about delegating more buying and organization. He’d hired a PLU graduate two years before and had let him start negotiating and working with existing cooperatives this past year. Now he was thinking about adding another buyer or two. “Especially since I’ll want to travel less,” he added, squeezing Lydia’s toes.
She kicked, her gaze staying on his face. She was getting really good at tracking interesting sights, and faces were her favorites.
“You know, I’d swear her hair is getting curly,” he said, easily distracted.
“I noticed. She didn’t get it from me.”
“Mine does have some waves.” He tugged at it. “A nuisance.”
“But pretty on a girl.”
They both smiled at their daughter, besotted parents.
“It’s growing, too,” Caleb said.
“Hair does that.”
“Doesn’t babies’ hair sometimes fall out? I read that somewhere.”
“Yes, but they’re usually a little older. Like four months, I think. And I don’t know why hers would. She definitely has your hair.”
“But your nose. And mouth, too, I think.”
“Your eyes. And your dad’s.” Her thoughts segued to the inevitable separation she’d brooded about all day. “I’m so glad your mother offered to take care of her. I really was dreading handing her over to a stranger.”
“Could you have done that?”
Stomach twisting, Laurel pushed her plate away. “Of course I would have.” It came out snappish. “Most parents do. Until you have a baby, you don’t get to know a lot of day-care providers.”
He leaned back in his chair, his tone carefully neutral. “I didn’t mean that as criticism.”
“Didn’t you?” She knew she sounded grouchy and didn’t care. Or maybe she did, but she couldn’t stop herself. That was the thing with her emotions these days: they ebbed and surged, pulled by a stronger force than her.
“I admire your determination to take care of you and Lydia.”
She sniffed. Oh, damn. The teary phase couldn’t be far behind. “But you wish I’d let you take care of us anyway.”
“I want us to be a family. To pool our resources. I can’t nurse her. I can pay the bills.”
Was he talking marriage? Big jump. More than she could think about.
“It’s unequal. You take care of her, too. I had her because I wanted her. She’s my responsibility.”
Anger darkened his eyes. “However it happened, she’s my daughter, too. My responsibility.”
“You sound like my father. Old-fashioned.”
“I should be like Matt Baker? Hand over sperm and say, ‘Best of luck’?”
“Matt has nothing to do with this.”
“But he almost did, didn’t he?”
“I told you why I asked him.”
“But you and I, we had a different deal. I said I wanted to be involved, and I do. Don’t try to tell me Lydia is yours now. She’s ours.”
Laurel’s voice rose. “I never said…”
Lydia, who had been looking from Mommy to Daddy in astonishment, now burst into tears.
“Now look what you did.” Caleb scooped her up and held her against his shoulder.
Laurel burst into tears, too.
“Oh, damn.” He got out of his chair and came to her, bending over to hold her, too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was being a jackass. Don’t listen to me.”
“I’m sorry, too!” she wailed, burrowing her face into his chest next to her daughter’s small body.
Lydia kept crying. Laurel couldn’t seem to stop, either. Was this normal? Would she ever get over being so emotional?
Caleb crouched awkwardly beside the chair and continued to pat her and bounce Lydia, saying over and over, “God, I’m sorry. I know you’re not ready… I’m sorry. So sorry.”
Now he felt bad, too, and she hadn’t meant to upset him. She was just scared, Laurel knew dimly. Scared of losing him because she couldn’t give him what he needed. Scared of being on her own, of life never getting any better. Scared she wouldn’t be an adequate mother.
She wept harder.
It was the escalation of Lydia’s screams that eventually penetrated. She was the one upsetting her baby, who couldn’t begin to understand why Mommy was crying, too. It was time she acted like a mommy, not the terrified, damaged woman she knew herself to be inside. Cry when Lydia was asleep if she had to, but not in front of her.
And not in front of Caleb. She’d just reinforce his belief in her emotional fragility.
Somehow, somewhere, she found the strength to silence her sobs, gulp, then give a watery laugh. “Oh, dear.” She sat up, away from Caleb, and rubbed her face. “I’m a mess. It’s these damn hormones! I’m sorry, Caleb. Let me go wash my face.”
She fled, and was horrified at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her face was puffy, red, wet, snotty. With a moan she turned on the tap and splashed cold water on herself, over and over, until the red patches faded and the puffiness subsided enough that her eyes weren’t squinty raisins.
Lydia had quit crying by the time Laurel returned, but she and Caleb looked at Laurel with identical expressions of wariness.
“I’m sorry!” she said again, the minute she saw them. She held out her arms to Lydia. “Come here, sweetheart. Mommy won’t cry, I promise.” She took her, nuzzling her head.
“I was a jerk,” Caleb said.
She shook her head. “No. It was me. My emotions are all over the map. I don’t even know what I was crying about. Everything that’s ever made me sad in my life. Who knows? It’s the postbirth form of morning sickness. Trust me to get a bad case.”
He let it slide, leaving her to nurse while he cleaned off the table. Then they had pieces of the pie she’d baked for her father’s visit.
Conversation was stilted, both of them trying really hard not to say a word about anything important.
She ventured, “Your parents open presents on Christmas morning, right? What if we go to Dad’s on Christmas Eve, then your parents’ Christmas Day?”
“Works for me. Are we going to get a tree?”
For what might be her one and only Christmas in his house. Fighting a wave of melancholy, Laurel nodded. “Of course we are! It’s Lydia’s first Christmas.”
“Then let’s go get one tomorrow.” Caleb ate his last bite. “Laurel, I’ve been pressuring you. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to lose this.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Having you two here.”
“I know.” She sniffed, mad that her eyes instantly filled with tears again. “I don’t, either. But I’m all mixed up still. I think I need to prove to myself that I can take care of us. Of Lydia and me.”
“And I need to suck it up and let you.”
She saw on his face that he was grieving already, and realized she shouldn’t have agreed to let him father her child. She shouldn’t have asked Matt, either. She’d been selfish, not thinking about the consequences to either one of them. And staying here like this, pretending they could be a normal family when she wasn’t sure whether they could be…that had been selfish, too. Giving him a taste of being a regular dad, of being able to kiss his little girl goodbye when he went to work, change her diaper and play “This Little Piggy” with her toes, put her to bed. And then she was going to scoop Lydia up and go home, leaving him to his empty house.
That wasn’t love, she thought, appalled. It was… She didn’t know. Self-centeredness to the nth degree. Her striving through motherhood to make her life satisfying, never mind the casualties.
Even the kisses. Wasn’t she being selfish indulging in them, too? Being a tease, when she didn’t know if she could ever give herself fully? She didn’t even know if she could try. But she was having fun, so never mind how much she frustrated Cale
b.
Right at that moment, she despised herself. Had she ever really thought about another person since she awakened in the hospital? Or was everything about her suffering, her damage, her needs?
Caleb was talking. She didn’t even hear what he was saying. She sat stunned, seeing herself clearly for the first time in years.
She’d rejected her friends because she couldn’t bear to see the contrast between them and her. If they got hurt…well, that hadn’t occurred to her. She’d taken her father’s and sister’s support and worry for granted. Caleb’s, too. She’d had a baby because she was lonely.
Mothers were supposed to be unselfish! Giving, teaching, loving and, in the end, opening their hands and letting their children go as they hid their tears. Given her recent record, would she be able to do that?
“Laurel?” Caleb’s voice was hard, urgent. He leaned toward her. “Are you all right?”
She wanted to cry again, but self-disgust washed over her. Poor me. I’m so sad. What about him? What about Lydia?
“I just…” Her voice faltered and she stared down at her half-eaten pie. “I’m just having an unwelcome revelation. Somehow I never let myself realize you were going to get hurt. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into coming home with you like this. No matter how good friends we are.”
“Is this your way of letting me down?” His voice sounded almost…detached. “Sorry, Caleb? Not interested in anything long-term?”
“No. But I said I’d never be with a man, and I’ve let you think I can.”
“You haven’t even tried.”
“But you’re counting on it. On me…” She couldn’t even say it. Submitting? Lying beneath him as he pounded into her? Her throat closed and she shrank away from him without thinking.
Caleb swore, his face twisting. “You’re still afraid of me. Nothing I do is going to change that, is it?”
“I’m not afraid of you. It’s me. How I’ll react.”
There she went again. Me, me, me.
“You’re right.” He shoved back his chair. “I have been deluding myself. My fault, not yours. I wouldn’t listen when you tried to tell me you’d changed.” He shook his head, as if disgusted. “I’ll clean the kitchen if you want to go to bed.”
First Comes Baby Page 18
