Baby, I'm Home

by Tami Lund

  At seven he texted again. I’m working, she replied.

  At seven thirty, he texted Dinner’s ruined, just minutes before she walked in the door, looking like she was about to collapse from exhaustion. Her eyes widened at the display on the table, and then she dug her phone out of her purse as the text alert sounded. She glanced at the screen and then up at him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did,” he snapped.

  She waved her phone at him. “You asked when I’d be home.”

  “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t make you dinner? And why the hell are you working so many hours right now anyway? You look like you’re about to pass out on your feet.”

  “Thanks a lot.” She dropped her computer bag and purse on the floor near the door and toed off her shoes. Her feet looked huge. Swollen.

  “Go sit on the couch and put your feet up.” He pointed in that direction.

  “I’m hungry,” she protested.

  “I’ll warm it up and bring it to you. Not that it will be all that great.”

  He swiped one of the plates off the table and stomped into the kitchen. When he stepped back into the living room, she was indeed lying on the couch, a pillow tucked behind her back and another under her feet. Her eyes were closed, too, but she opened them when he placed the plate on the coffee table.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think. I’m not used to someone waiting for me anymore.”

  He sighed and shifted her legs slightly so he could sit on the edge of the couch. “I can’t believe your doctor thinks it’s okay for you to work this much. Everything in moderation, I thought.”

  A small smiled played at her lips. “Every time I see her, she lectures me about it. Especially recently. She says the swelling is a sign I’m working too hard.”

  “She’s right. There’s no reason for it.”

  “There’s plenty of reason. I get six weeks’ maternity leave. If I’m going to take any more than that, I need to have money banked to pay my bills.”

  “I’m your bank.”

  “That’s not—”

  He shook his head, cutting off whatever she intended to say. “I’m serious. You’re not only risking your own health, you’re risking that baby’s health. For Christ’s sake, you can pay me back, if that’s what it takes. But I will take care of you while you’re on maternity leave.”

  She opened her mouth, probably to argue, and he pointed at her plate. With a glare for him, she picked it up and took the first bite of now over-cooked, soggy scallops.

  “Oh my God. This is utterly divine.”

  He gave the plate a dubious look.

  “Seriously, Chad. Wow. I can’t get over what a great cook you are.” She took a bite of filet, which was also far too done now that he’d let it sit for an hour and a half and then warmed it in the microwave. “I may have to keep you around just for your cooking,” she teased and then took another bite. “And maybe I do need to start leaving the office earlier, if this is what I get to come home to every night.”

  Another small victory.

  “Don’t get too used to these fancy dishes. I’m just trying to impress you right now. We still have eight months of hot sex to make up, and not a lot of time to do it.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

  He chuckled. “Because when this little guy comes out, you’re off limits for like six or eight weeks.” He cupped her belly, something that thrilled him each and every time he did it. Especially when that baby in there decided to deliver his hand a kick, which happened on a pretty frequent basis.

  “Oh,” she said. “For a minute there, I thought…”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I thought you were, I don’t know…planning to leave at some point.”

  “I haven’t left yet. You need to give me a chance, Jenna.”

  “I know. It’s just…I told my mom you were back.”

  He figured as much, but she’d been distracted by the bassinet when she returned from lunch yesterday and hadn’t brought it up, and Chad had been taught at an early age not to ask too many questions. It was a habit he definitely needed to work on breaking.

  “And?”

  “She…she thinks we should get married.”

  His eyebrows shot up so high, it’s a wonder they hadn’t flown right off his forehead. “She does?”

  She nodded and dropped her gaze. “Apparently she’s more traditional than I thought.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, I have a feeling that my parents are going to say the same thing.”

  She canted her head. “I’m not going to pressure you to do something you don’t want to do.”

  He glanced at her. Was she serious? He’d marry her in a heartbeat. He’d assumed that’s where they would end up, one day. But she always seemed like she was waiting for him to change, and to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he expected of her. It seemed easier to maintain status quo than to shake up their relationship with the big M word.

  But now, with a baby on the way, well, maybe it was time to figure it out, make that decision.

  “You’re the one who’s always put all these stipulations on our relationship, Jenna. Have you changed your mind now?”

  She placed her plate on the coffee table and shifted, probably trying to get comfortable. “That’s not fair. You have to admit, you weren’t ready to grow up before you left for Scotland.”

  He stood and headed into the kitchen to grab a brew from the six-pack he’d picked up while shopping for today’s dinner.

  “I don’t have to admit any such thing,” he said when he returned to the living room. “I was doing just fine before I left. We were, at least until that morning.”

  “How can you say that? We never would have gotten into such a huge fight if we were just fine.” She used her fingers to create air quotes.

  He pointed at her with his beer bottle. “You started that fight.”

  She punched the couch cushion. “Because we weren’t just fine!”

  “What the hell was so wrong that you had to tell me you never wanted to see me again as I was leaving the country to go to my dying grandfather’s side?”

  “Don’t you dare throw that in my face.”

  “Don’t fucking tell me to grow up.”

  “Why not? You needed to. And apparently you still do.”

  “Maybe you should look in the mirror and say that.”

  She gasped and stared at him for a few silent seconds. And then she pointed at the door. “Get out.”

  “No.”

  “Get the hell out of my apartment, Chad. I don’t want to be around you. Leave!”

  “I’m not fucking running away,” he ground out.

  “No, I’m telling you to leave.”

  “I’m not listening. Apparently that’s what happens when someone grows up.”

  “Get out,” she screamed, red-faced, her voice so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors downstairs heard her.

  What was the right course of action here? If he left, she’d accuse him of running away from their problems. Again. If he stayed, the argument would only escalate. It was the same fucking debate he had every single time they fought. And the thing was, every time he left and came back several hours, or maybe days, later, it was always okay. They both had cooler heads, and they were able to talk—even if they never actually talked about their issues—and then they made up.

  If they had a bigger place, he could just slip away to another room or the basement or garage. But this was a one-bedroom, seven hundred-square-foot piece of living space. There was literally nowhere to go. His dad was right; at the moment, they were getting in each other’s way.

  “Go away,” she snapped again.

  Fuck it. He’d tried enough for one day.

  Chapter Eight

  The cramps started the next morning when she was in the shower. So strong,
she doubled over for a minute and had to breathe through them. Shit, was she going into labor?

  Then they subsided, and she finished her shower without issue, other than a persistent backache. But that had been going on for weeks now, so she dismissed it as yet one more pregnancy ailment. Man, it was hard work bringing a kid into the world.

  Even harder when you weren’t on the same page as your significant other. Was that what she and Chad were? Significant others? Holy smokes, when she’d tossed the marriage idea into the conversation, things had gone south quickly.

  Problem was, she wasn’t convinced he was the reason. Which was scary as hell, because when the problem was the other person, it was easy to see, easy to say, “You need to fix XYZ.” But when she was the problem—?

  She had no earthly idea how to fix herself.

  Chad had grown up while he was in Scotland. But what had she done? She’d spent a lot of time wallowing in self-pity, and the rest of the time trying to figure out how to make her way through this pregnancy, alone, with the possibility of raising the kid solo staring her in the face. She hadn’t considered why she’d been thinking in those terms.

  She should have told him. She shouldn’t have been so damn stubborn. Or scared. Yeah, he would have had to make a difficult choice, but at least it would have been his own. And look at him now: he was clearly on board with being a dad. For all she knew, he would have been all-in from the moment she took the first pregnancy test.

  Instead, she took all of that from him.

  Damn. She was beginning to wonder what the hell he even saw in her.

  * * *

  Another cramp hit her while she was in the middle of meeting with her first client of the day. She tried to hide it, but tears sprang to her eyes and she dropped the pen she’d been using so that she could clutch her stomach, trying to squeeze the pain away.

  “Holy crap, are you in labor?” her client asked, leaping up from his chair and pulling out his phone. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

  Shaking her head, Jenna closed her eyes and breathed through the cramp. “I’m not due yet.”

  “You look like you’re going to pop any minute.”

  The next person to say that to her was getting a pencil in the eye.

  “I’m due three weeks from tomorrow,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “My wife had all three of our children at thirty-six weeks. I think you should at least go see your doctor.”

  “I have an appointment at one.” And she’d forgotten to tell Chad. He’d said that he wanted to go, but after telling him to leave yesterday, she wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

  “Good.” Her client nodded and began stuffing his papers back into his briefcase. “I’m going to go ahead and talk to your admin about assigning me to another accountant, since you’re about to go on maternity leave.”

  “I’m not… Never mind. Can I ask you something?”

  He adjusted the strap of his briefcase on his shoulder. “Sure.”

  “I…my, er, boyfriend. Um, we got into a fight yesterday.” Was she really telling this to her client? He was a relatively new one, too. “And I sort of kicked him out.”

  He smiled. “My wife got mad at me pretty much daily toward the end of each of her pregnancies. By the third one, I told her I bet she went into labor within the week. And she did.”

  “Huh. That’s weirdly comforting. Anyway, should I text him and let him know about the appointment today?”

  “I think you should text him and tell him to pick you up and take you. You shouldn’t be driving in this condition. Good luck, Jenna.” With that, he scurried out the door, closing it behind him.

  She sank back in her chair and blew out a gust of air. Digging her phone out of her purse, she lit up the screen.

  No texts or phone calls from Chad. Not that she expected as much. She really had been a raving bitch yesterday. It was probably going to take him a few days to get over it, unless she extended the olive branch first. Asking him to come to her doctor’s appointment was an olive branch, right?

  Velma, the elderly admin who scheduled appointments for all the accountants on this floor, knocked twice and then stepped into her office. “Mr. Carmichael said I should check on you, see if you needed any water or food or a ride to the hospital.”

  “Water,” Jenna said, deliberately ignoring the bottle perched at her elbow. That was probably it anyway. She was dehydrated. She’d heard stories of women who swore they were in labor only to go to the hospital and be told they needed to drink more water. “Please.”

  Velma cocked her head. “Are you sure, honey?”

  She could feel another cramp building. Sweat beaded on her brow. She gritted her teeth and hoped it looked like she was smiling. “Yes. Please.”

  “Okay.” Velma—thank God—turned away and hurried down the hall, presumably to get her a Dasani from the cafeteria.

  Jenna let out a breath and growled through the pain. No, no, no, I’m not ready. This can’t be labor. I have too much to do, too many decisions to make.

  Velma returned and handed her the water. “You really do look like you’re going to pop, Jenna.”

  She screamed.

  Chapter Nine

  Chad was sitting on his boat in his rented slip at the marina on Lake St. Clair, his legs dangling off the side while he stared at pretty much nothing, when his phone vibrated. He glanced at the text. Jenna. Huh. She was never the first one to make a move when they fought like this.

  I need you.

  What the hell?

  He swiped the screen so that the full text popped up.

  I need you. I need to go to the doctor. Will you take me? Please?

  Scrambling to his feet, he dialed her number as he hurried across the deck toward the dock. “What’s wrong?” he said by way of greeting when she picked up.

  “Everything.”

  “Jenna, calm down. Stop crying. Talk to me, baby.” He waved at the guard as he jogged toward the parking lot and his waiting truck. The same truck he’d used to take his bassinet and dresser over to her apartment this past weekend. Coming here last night had only reminded him of their first date, and yet he’d stayed, wallowing in his own misery, unclear what to do, where else to go, how the hell to convince Jenna to stop pushing him away.

  “I can’t,” she said on a hiccup.

  “You can’t stop crying?” He climbed into his truck and cranked the engine. His phone flipped to Bluetooth, and he tossed it onto the passenger seat.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Okay, well, what happened this time? A kitten video?” Jokes were good, right? She couldn’t get mad at him cracking a joke, right?

  “Oh God.” He heard a sound like a groan, a painful noise, and then there was all this rubbing and scraping like maybe she dropped the phone on carpet. And then there was another sound, like a scream that ended on a sob.

  “Jenna? Jenna! What the hell is going on?” He pressed on the gas, flying way too fast down a residential road, but he didn’t give a hot damn. Something was wrong, and he assumed she was at work, which meant he was a solid forty minutes away.

  “Hello? Is this Chad?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Velma. Jenna’s admin. I think she’s in labor, dear. Are you on your way here?”

  Labor? Labor? Holy shit! How did the woman sound so fucking calm? “How is she?”

  “Breathe, sweetheart, just breathe. There you go. I know, I know. It hurts. I’ve had five. I’m very familiar with how you feel right now.”

  “I want Chad.”

  Did he hear that right? It was faint, like she wasn’t speaking directly into the phone, which made sense, he supposed, since Velma was apparently holding it now.

  “Did you hear that, dear?” Velma said, speaking to him now. “Are you on your way?”

  “Yeah, but I’m in St. Clair Shores. It’s gonna be a minute.”

  “He’s in St. Clair Shores, Jenna.”

  “Should’ve know
n he’d go to that damn boat,” he heard Jenna say. It sounded like she was clenching her jaw.

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, even though she probably didn’t realize he could hear her.

  “He wants to know what you mean by that, dear,” Velma said.

  “Nothing,” Jenna said.

  “It most certainly means something,” Velma chided.

  “I don’t know,” he heard Jenna say, and then she groaned. “I guess I’m hoping he did because that’s where we went on our first date.”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding, even though the two women couldn’t see the action. “Tell her yes. That’s why I went there last night. Because it reminded me of her.”

  “Oh, Jenna, you have such a sweet young man,” Velma said.

  “I’m coming to realize that,” he heard Jenna say, and his heart just about burst from his chest.

  “Tell her I love her, Velma.” Dear God, it was the first time he’d said those words since he returned. Which was days ago. “Tell her I’m coming. I’ll always be there for her.”

  “Oh dear, hold on, Chad. She’s having another contraction.”

  He winced when Jenna cried out.

  “Velma, hang up with me and find her doctor’s name in her contacts. Let her know Jenna’s in labor. And then find out which hospital I’m supposed to take her to and call me back.” He disconnected without waiting for her consent, and focused on driving, praying the traffic gods would be kind and he wouldn’t get pulled over for reckless driving.

  Velma called him back a few minutes later. “Her doctor said she will meet you at Beaumont in Troy.”

  Fuck. He was probably ten minutes from the hospital, but he had to go past it to get to her office and then circle back. He could ask Velma to take her and meet him there, but no. He wanted to take her. He wanted to be there for every little thing. He’d already missed eight months of this process.

  “Okay, I’m coming.”

  “The contractions are really kicking into gear now. I’m pretty sure this is the real deal,” Velma informed him.