Beginning With Their Baby

by Tracy Wolff

  Sarah rolled her eyes as she poked her husband in the stomach. “I blame you for this.”

  “For what?” Reece asked with mock innocence.

  “For getting them the submarine in the first place. Whoever heard of a remote control sub in the bathtub, for God’s sake?”

  “That’s what you get for picking out such a big tub,” he said.

  “You’ve never complained before,” she shot back as she started up the stairs after her sons. “I’ll be ready for Rosie in about twenty minutes—will you bring her up then?”

  “You bet.”

  “And keep an eye on Jake?”

  “Well, I was considering feeding him to the neighbor hood dogs, but if you insist….”

  “Aren’t you the comedian?”

  Reece watched his wife climb the stairs, then turned to Matt with a grin. “So, what’s Camille done to get you so up in arms?”

  “I’m not ‘up in arms’!” Matt answered, offended by the description. “I just needed a little break.”

  “Aww, come on.” For a minute Reece sounded just like one of the twins. “This is me, buddy. I know you better than just about anybody.”

  “And?”

  “And you’ve got your boxers twisted up so tightly it’s amazing you can still walk.” He paused. “So come on, spill. Did she leave her shoes out? Drop paint on the carpet? Forget to do the dishes?”

  “You make it sound like I’m totally OCD.”

  “Not OCD. Just…particular.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “So she didn’t do any of that stuff? Nothing? I think I’m disappointed. I expected better from your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl. And yes, she did all of that stuff—except the paint on the carpet. She got it on the poker table instead.”

  “Wow. And she’s still alive?”

  “Shut up.”

  Reece laughed. “You’ve got to loosen up a little, buddy. Once the baby comes, nothing will be sacred. You’ve seen Justin and Johnny in action enough to know that.”

  Matt sighed, gave up the fight. “That wasn’t even what set me off. I mean, sure, it pissed me off that she’s basically turned my house into chaos central, but I’m dealing with that.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes! I am,” he insisted when Reece looked skeptical. “But then she comes in the kitchen and picks a fight with me for no reason at all and somehow I’m the bad guy in all this.”

  “Get used to that, man. Pregnancy hormones are killers.”

  “How would you know? Sarah’s the sweetest woman on the planet.”

  “That’s because you haven’t seen her seven months pregnant and jonesing for chocolate. It isn’t pretty.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “I’m serious, man. She becomes a fire-breathing dragon. Ask the boys—for a while it was every man for himself around here.”

  “Yeah, she looks real dangerous.”

  “Neither does Camille. But here you are.”

  “Yeah, but that’s different. She’s driving me crazy. And then she decides she’s not going to take this blood test that Rick thinks she should have. I tried to talk to her, to voice my opinion on the subject, and she completely shot me down. Like I shouldn’t even get a vote. Then suddenly we’re fighting not just about the test, but about everything.”

  He paused for a minute and then blurted out what had sent him over the edge. “I’m doing my best to be helpful and supportive, trying to do the right thing, and she accuses me of trying to run her life, saying that I just barged in and took over like some kind of tank on a mission.”

  “Aah.”

  “What does that mean? Aah, what?”

  Reece cleared his throat. “You can be kind of controlling. In the best way, of course, but still—”

  “Controlling?” Matt was beginning to feel like a damn parrot, but he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t try to control her.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So I found her an obstetrician? Why shouldn’t I, when Rick’s right here in town? It’s not like she has medical insurance and she won’t let me pay for anything, so what’s wrong with taking her to a friend who won’t charge her for the visits? Especially when he’s a damn good doctor?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Exactly. And she didn’t have to move in with me if she didn’t want to. It was just the most expedient solution for the time being.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “And so what if I make sure there’s a bunch of fruits and vegetables in the house? All the baby books stress how important nutrition is and it’s not like Camille can live on ice cream alone, no matter how much she might want to.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Reece choked out.

  “And God forbid I try to pay for something every once in a while. You’d think a movie ticket was a frickin’ diamond ring the way she—” He broke off as a suspicious sound came from his best friend. “You’re laughing at me!”

  “I’m not.”

  “Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “What would you call it? Rhythmic convulsions?”

  Reece gave up the ghost and busted out with a huge bellow of laughter, one that went on so long that Matt could actually feel his back teeth grinding together.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Almost?” Reece howled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “You know what, I don’t need this shit. You’re the one who invited me in.”

  “And you’re the one who showed up at my doorstep at eight o’clock at night. You think that’s a coincidence?”

  Matt didn’t bother trying to pretend that he hadn’t set out for Reece’s deliberately. His friend knew him well enough to know when he was lying. “So, you want to give me that ride home now?”

  “Sure. Just let me run Rosie upstairs.” He snagged his keys off the counter, tossed them to Matt. “I’ll meet you in the garage.”

  They spent the ride home talking about guy stuff—baseball, cars, the new building set to begin construction in Tokyo—for which Matt was grateful. He really didn’t need any more touchy-feely crap, especially if all it did was give Reece a great laugh at his expense.

  But when they were almost to his house, Reece glanced over at him and said, “You know, things are going to work out. You just need to give it a little time.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you? Because I figure you’re freaking out about the little stuff—and so is she, by the way, because neither of you know what the future holds.”

  “It holds a baby, Reece. I’m not an idiot.”

  “I’m not talking about the baby. I think that’s probably the least confusing part of this whole mess.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Matt stared straight out the window, even as he focused completely on what Reece was saying.

  “Yes, you do. Adjusting to a new baby, especially an unexpected one, is difficult, sure. But not overly complicated. Your problem is you still have feelings for Camille.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to here. I’ve known you since you were a pimply faced eighteen-year-old kid away from home for the first time.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  “Yes, you could. Which is why I know how conflicted you are about Camille. I saw you last winter—you were crazy about her, in a way you’ve never been about a woman in the eighteen years I’ve known you. That kind of loss of control wouldn’t have sat easy with you in the best of circumstances. Add in the fact that she walked out on you? How can it be anything but complicated?”

  “I’m not the one complicating things. She is. It all started because I wanted her to take a simple blood test—”

  “You want my advice? Don’t fight her on it.”

  Matt did turn to stare at him then, completely flummoxed. “How can you say that? What if the baby has Down’s syndrome?”

  “What if it does? What
if it doesn’t? Is knowing going to change anything?”

  “That’s what Camille said.”

  “She’s a smart woman—maybe you should start listening to her for a change.”

  As Matt climbed out of the car, he couldn’t help wondering if Reece was right. But how could he listen to Camille when she so rarely confided in him?

  CAMILLE PACED THE FAMILY ROOM for what had to be the twentieth time since Matt had walked out, cursing herself from one wall to the other.

  So what if he was mad? So what if he hadn’t liked what she’d had to say? So what if he ended up asking her to leave? It wasn’t the first time she’d been on her own and it wouldn’t be the last. She was a big girl and it was ridiculous that she was sitting here, wringing her hands and worrying about the fact that she’d had a fight with Matt.He wasn’t her husband, wasn’t her boyfriend. Wasn’t anything but the father of her baby, and she’d do well to remember that. Besides, since when was she the kind of woman to sit around waiting for a man to come back?

  Since she’d been the one to hurt him for no reason.

  As she finally acknowledged the truth, Camille tripped over her favorite pair of Birkenstock sandals for what had to be the tenth time. With a muffled oath, she picked them up, then crossed to the entry hall, deposited them in the front coat closet and did her damnedest to convince herself that the reason she was staring out the front window had absolutely nothing to do with Matt.

  It turned out she was no better at lying to herself than she was at keeping house. She glanced around the entryway as the things Matt had said during the fight continued to circle in her brain. The house was a mess and she was responsible for it. Yet Matt, who had a place for everything, hadn’t said a word to her about it until she’d basically told him his opinion didn’t matter to her.

  He was right. She did have a nerve. Oh, he hadn’t said those exact words, but he’d implied the hell out of them in his parting shot.

  She hadn’t deliberately set out to keep the blood test from him. But she knew herself, knew she couldn’t survive the rest of the pregnancy knowing there was something wrong with her child and that she couldn’t do anything about it. And Matt was such a control freak, she figured he’d go insane if the test came back positive—even false positive. It had seemed better all the way around to just wait and let things play out the way they were supposed to.

  Maybe she’d been wrong. No, she sighed as she scooped up the piles of paper and mail from the entryway table and carried them into the kitchen, where she sorted through them, tossing everything she didn’t want and stacking anything Matt might need in one neat pile. There was no “maybe” about it. She had been wrong. Maybe if she’d told him her point of view instead of getting her back up, they could have talked about things like rational adults instead of having a pissing contest that had gotten them absolutely nowhere.

  After she finished with the mail, she moved into the family room and did the same thing with her art supplies, carrying them up to her studio.

  She had a bad moment or ten when she realized her tube of red paint had leaked on his poker table, then remembered that she was using water-based paints because the fumes from the oil were bad for the baby. A few hard scrubs and the table was back to normal—as long as she didn’t look too closely. She was hoping the residual stain would fade out as the felt dried.

  Why had she been so cruel to Matt at the end? she wondered furiously as she swept through the rest of the house, cleaning up various and sundry messes as she went. Because he’d cared enough about her and the baby to worry about what was best for them?

  Sure, she was dead-on when she said he was a bit overbearing and a little too domineering, but effort had to count for something. He’d never complained about the baby, never demanded that she get an abortion. He’d just buckled down and gotten straight to work, making her life as easy as possible.

  Maybe that’s what was bothering her, Camille acknowledged as she finished cleaning up the dishes in the sink. Matt had everything together—he had a job he loved, a family he adored, good friends, a nice house. He had the whole enchilada, and what did she have, except for a few canvasses, a bunch of paint-stained clothes and a stomach that seemed to be growing bigger every second?

  Not for the first time she wished she had someone to talk to. But her way of life didn’t exactly lend itself to long, deep friendships. The few friends she had were more like acquaintances. Party pals.

  And unlike Matt, she didn’t have a big family to turn to. For fifteen years it had been just her and she’d always liked it that way—no responsibilities, no ties. But now, as she sat here racking her brain about Matt and their future, it sure would be nice to have someone to talk to. How sick was it that the only person in her life she could really count on was the same one who was currently giving her fits?

  It’s not that she begrudged Matt what he had—he deserved all the good fortune in the world. But at the same time, she wished she had more. More friends, a better family, a job that paid more than recycling cans.

  For the first time in her life, she wasn’t happy with who she was and the life she led. How was she supposed to measure up to Matt? How was she supposed to meet him on even ground, when he had so much going for him and she had so little? It was like looking at her parents’ marriage, her mother trapped and at her father’s mercy because he was the one with all the power, all the support.

  She’d always sworn that she would never let that happen to her, that she would never get seriously involved with a man who had all the power in the relationship. And she could protest all she wanted, tell herself that she didn’t seriously care about Matt, but it would be a lie. He was the father of her child and the only man in a very long time who could make her heart beat faster with just a look, who could curl her toes with a quick skim of his lips against hers.

  She wasn’t planning for a big happily ever after—didn’t want one if it meant she had to give up her freedom. But it would be nice to feel as though she was on even footing, as though she stood a chance next to Matt and his star-kissed life.

  She heard a car pass by and resisted the urge to run to the front door and check for Matt, yet again. Besides, he was on foot. But he should be back any second now—he’d been gone for nearly two hours. How far could the man walk—

  The sound of a key turning in the front door lock had her springing to her feet like a puppet on a string.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MATT LET THE DOOR CLOSE behind him, went to toss his keys in the bowl on the table, then stopped himself at the last minute. Orange-scented potpourri. Right. Taking over his house and his life, one key bowl at a time.

  But the table was cleared off, the mail sorted into one neat pile the way he liked it, so he dropped his keys on the table and headed farther into the house. The rooms were dark, the only light coming from the small lamp above the stove.He wondered where Camille was, whether she’d gone to sleep already or if she was painting. Wondered briefly if she’d left, then discounted the idea. Reece had dropped him next to her Volkswagen.

  “Matt.”

  He turned toward the family room and Camille’s husky tone. “Camille.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words were stiff, disjointed, and he strained to see her face in the heavy shadows.

  “What for?”

  “What—” She paused, took a deep breath. “Right. I have a lot to apologize for. I’m sorry for picking that stupid fight. For the things I said. For—”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He crossed to her, flipping a side lamp on as he walked. “You were right. I can be difficult and overbearing. Convinced that I’m right, that my way is the only—”

  “No, you were just trying to have a say in what happens to the baby—which is your right. If the test means that much to you I’ll call Rick in the morning and schedule a time to go in. I am—”

  He cut her off with a finger on her lips. They were as soft as he remembered and that spark kindled deep inside him, the one
that had gotten them into this situation to begin with.

  “Is this really necessary? Us tripping over apologies when we can just move on? Do what you think is best in this situation. I’ll support you whether you take the test or not.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, something that was there and gone so fast that he could barely register it, other than to know that it made him nervous. Very, very nervous.

  But when she spoke, her voice was normal. “I appreciate your support.” She stepped back. “Did you eat?”

  “I had an ice cream sundae with my friend Reece and his kids. How about you?”

  “No. I…wasn’t hungry. Plus, I was waiting for you.”

  “Well, let’s go see what we’ve got.” He headed into the kitchen, then stopped himself. “If that’s what you want to do, I mean. If you aren’t—”

  “Oh, stop it, will you?” she demanded as she brushed past. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t hungry. We can’t all have ice cream for dinner, you know. I have it on the best authority that I’m supposed to be eating blueberries and broccoli, not banana splits.”

  And they were back, just that easily, sliding into the familiar give-and-take relationship that he had grown so used to. That, he had realized when he was listening to Reece, he had come to depend on in the weeks Camille had been back in town.

  “So, that’s what you want?” He crossed to the fridge. “Blueberries and broccoli?”

  “You’re joking, but it doesn’t sound all that repulsive to me.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He glanced at the shelves. “Well, we have the chicken I cooked earlier. I assume that burned smell lingering in the air is the vegetable stir-fry I’d started before storming out?”

  “It is.”

  “All right, then. How about—”

  “Fajitas.” She shoved him aside, pulled out a couple of red peppers and an onion. “Cut up the chicken and I’ll get these in the pan. I bought some salsa and tortillas when I was at the store earlier and some great guacamole. I know you’ve got queso blanco in here somewhere…”

  “Are you sure—” He bit his tongue before he could ruin the fragile peace that was slowly building between them.