Isnapped out of my emotional stupor at the crack of his angry tone. “You've hadalmost two weeks to talk!”
“Ineeded time! Youtoldme to take some time!”
Jammingmy key into the lock and finally opening the door, I shouted, “That didn't meanto abandon me for almost two—”
“Dammit,I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry. I was wrong for taking so much time. I was wrongfor not calling you sooner. You didn't deserve that.”
“No,I didn't,” I said coldly, using my hip to slam the door. “But why the hellshould I have thought this time would be any different? Younevercallme, and I was an idiot to think—”
“Icalled you now, didn't I?”
“What?”I stared ahead at the tiny refrigerator in my tiny kitchen.
“Icalled you now. Maybe I took too long, and I'm sorry, but Icalled you.”
Chewingon my bottom lip, I struggled to keep a grasp on my anger. “Yeah, well,whatever. One time in three years doesn't—”
“Kendo,I want the baby.”
Layinga hand over my stomach, I lost my grip and plummeted into relieved affection.“Oh, God, seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Idropped into one of the mismatched chairs at my garage sale table and thrust ahand into my hair. “What made you change your mind?”
“Ijust thought about what life would be like, knowing you were out theresomewhere, taking care of our kid all by yourself. I don't think I'd be able tolive with that. I think I'd miss you too much. I think … I think I'd hate notknowing my kid.”
Brendan’sthoughts sat unsettled in my heart, with an annoying tingle that said his wordsweren't inherently wrong, but not quite right either. There was too muchthought and not enough knowing. But I didn’t allow myself to linger on that. Hewas trying at least. That had to mean something, and so, I allowed myself tosmile.
“So... we're really doing this. Together.”
“Yeah,”he said with a sigh. “Let's do this.”
Itouched my lips and felt the width of my grin. It was a reminder that this wasa good thing, apositivething. Brendan had called and come back to mewith a declaration of commitment. I was happy and genuinely excited, albeitnervous, for our future, but oh, that little seed of trepidation ...
Itcertainly has a way of growing on its own.
Chapter Eight
Thedays of morning sickness, tireless writing, and unbeaten exhaustion passedslowly, yet the weeks flew by, as they carried me toward the end of October andHalloween. With my manuscript now safely in the hands of my editor, I finallyhad the freedom to sleep as often as I wanted, in between decorating for theholiday to trump all others.
Brendanwas spending more time at my place and that made me happy, especially in theearly morning, when he'd feed Mrs. Potter while I threw up violently. But itmade the apartment feel that much smaller, and as I unpacked a box of spookysnow globes, I sighed at his size thirteens on the coffee table.
“Can'tyou just find somewhere else to put them?” he asked, not looking up from hisphone.
“Thereis nowhere else.”
“Sure,there is.”
“Oh,really?” I dramatically turned my head this way and that. “Where?”
Heglanced across the apartment, to the dining table. “Over there.”
“Weeat there.”
“Wecan eat here,” he muttered, tapping the table with his socked toes.
“Oh,my God, just move your feet!”
