Mrs. Mulroney’s shoulders quickly slumped in defeat. “Oh Matthew, I can’t lie to Cal. He’s too handsome.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I sighed. “The doll’s mine. I picked it up at a charity store downtown.”
“You’re collecting dolls now? Is the writing going that badly?”
“No! It’s not about the writing… or doll collections… or…”
“Or what?”
My whole frame heaved with anxiety. “Cal, there’s something I want to discuss with you.” I glanced at the others and added, “In private.”
“Oh, thank the baby Jesus, it’s our cue to leave,” said Mrs. Mulroney, crossing herself and heading for the door.
“Phew,” said Angus, hot on her heels. “I hate awkward moments.”
“There’s nothing worse than feeling awkward,” added Mr. Banks hurrying after him. “Like getting caught with your pants down at a Sunday bake sale with an egg whisk in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other… but that’s another story entirely.”
Before anyone could ask any questions—thankfully—the door slammed and they were gone, leaving me alone with my husband.
“Matt? What’s going on? I thought I’d come home to find you ready for dinner. We’re meeting with Hal tonight. We’ve got an early booking atPer Se, remember?”
Hal was an old college friend of Cal’s who’d joined the billionaire boys’ club by riding the talents of smarter men—tech geniuses he’d backed at just the right time, with just the right charm, without doing any of the actual heavy lifting.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I forgot. I can be ready in five.”
Quickly, I made a move for the bedroom, hoping I’d dodged our family chat for now. Of course, I knew it was a conversation we desperately needed to have. Heck, I’d become so clucky lately I was starting to lose sleep over it. But I was petrified I’d screw things up. There was way too much at stake here. I needed my pitch to be perfect before I launched into the baby discussion, and at that moment I felt far from my A game.
But nothing was slipping by Cal that easily.
He caught me by the arm as I tried to escape. “Wait a second, not so fast. You still haven’t told me what’s going on here. What’s the deal with Mrs. Mulroney and Suzy Shortcake and you having what looked suspiciously like a midwife meltdown?”
I swallowed. My brain flipped through possible answers like a game show contestant on a timer.
“Performance art?” I offered.
Cal raised a single eyebrow. The Cal Croft patentedYou're Full of Shiteyebrow.
I sighed. “Okay fine. It’s… well. It’s about a baby.”
He blinked. “What baby?”
I gulped and my throat clacked. “Um…ourbaby.”
“We don’t have a baby.”
“I know. That’s kinda the whole point.”
Cal blinked again. “You’re talking about a real baby, right? Not a Cabbage Patch baby.”
“A real one,” I said, then immediately started babbling. “But not now—I mean notnownow, just at some point. Maybe. Soon-ish. Or not -so -soon. Depending on, you know, your schedule. Our lives. The market. Climate change. I don’t know when people usually have babies. Probably when they’re emotionally stable. Which I may never be, so actually I’m not sure why I brought this up—”
Cal crossed the room like he wasn’t just my husband but a seasoned bomb technician, gaze steady and sharp like he was determined to cut the right colored wire. He cupped my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing lightly beneath my eyes. I didn’t even realize I’d started to tear up until I felt him stop the waterfall.
“Matt,” he said, calm as ever. “It’s okay.”
I stared up at him, my throat thick. “What’s okay? Me spiraling again? Me catastrophizing because I want something huge and terrifying and irreversible? Me accidentally triggering a domestic scene with a Cabbage Patch delivery?”
He smiled warmly. “Shhh. Calm down. We’ll talk about it.”
