As I deposit Kyndall’s pants into the basket, my eyes make contact with Rylie’s door. The brand new one that has already been decorated with Crayola-colored hearts and smiley faces. I make the decision to skip her room altogether this morning. I don’t have the energy to clean up the tiaras, plastic shoes, wings, wands and anything else she keeps in the trunk that Blake gave her for her birthday. So, like any decent mother, I just pretend it doesn’t exist.
Now finished with my clothing pick-up service—the tips suck by the way—I retrace my steps back down their hallway towards the stairs. At least the descent is easier. I cross back through the living room, snagging a couple of socks on the way and enter our bedroom, where I find Blake excitedly throwing on his black v-neck t-shirt over his faded jeans. I note, before his shirt covers it, the very sexy lines that define his hips. As I metaphorically wipe the drool from my mouth, I glance down at my white “Warning: I Pee When I Laugh” tank top. Harlow gave it to me as a reminder of my hopefully temporary state of incontinence.
Oh, I have so many things planned for her pregnancy.
I sure hope we’re not going anywhere because I plan on wearing this getup all day long. In public or private.
Sliding his boots on, he looks up and smiles. What? Did I get sucked into Kyndall’s closet without knowing it and now reside in a parallel universe where Blake’s actually smiling again?
He looks down at the basket full of clothes. “Need any help?”
“Nope, I’m fine.” I signal to his boots. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
His face falls a bit before answering. “I have an errand to run. I’ll be back soon. What time are the girls getting back?”
“They went to the noon movie, so probably around two-thirty-ish, I guess.” I narrow my eyes, still wondering where he’s going. Not that he sees me. He’s halfway down the hall already.
“Cool. I’ll be back soon.” I barely hear him over the clanking of his boots on the wood floors.
“Okay?” I ask because, number one, there’s no way he heard me over the front door shutting so why am I even saying it, and number two, I’m still questioning where he’s so eagerly going.
After a few seconds of staring out the doorway, like an idiot, I let out a yawn. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe, I should just go back to sleep. Yes. Excellent plan, Alex.
I sit down on our brand new bed, and lay back, watching the ceiling fan go around and around as I think and sigh. More circles.
Where exactly did Blake and I get off of Loving Couple Road and turn on to Distant Marriage Avenue. I shut my eyes because I feel the tears coming. Damn hormones. I wipe the first tear as it escapes my eye, but after the tenth one, I just let them fall.
After a long while, I manage to emotionally exhaust myself. Feeling myself drifting to sleep, the last thought on my mind is Blake and his arms around me, bringing me the reassuring comfort and peace that my mind and body long for.
I wake to the blissful noise of my cell, dinging over and over again, reminding me that next week Blake and I head to Dr. Young’s office to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. Normally, I’d jump up, smile, and set it to remind me again tomorrow.
But not today.
Today, my heart hurts and I can’t seem find it in me to conjure up one bit of excitement.
I miss my husband.
Stretching my arms above my head, I make sure my body is fully awake before hauling my ass off the bed. Finally, when I feel ready to stand, I grab the basket off the floor and open the bedroom door. My eyes immediately make contact with the reason for one of our latest arguments.
Poking my head just barely into the room across from ours, I flip on the light and my chest aches at the barren sight before me. Crib, changing table, dresser…all still in their boxes. Stuffed animals, toys, clothes…still in store bags. Swatches of paint all over the wall. We have been at an outright standoff regarding the color of the baby’s room. He wants light yellow. Puke. I would prefer a darker color because I have serious issues with pastels for some reason. Always have, always will. Blake, however, is obviously very secure in his manhood, because he loves them.
So, I put my foot down. And that’s where it ended.
The subject has not been broached since and, obviously, neither has the room. Shaking my head, I back out. As the door closes, my eardrums are pummeled by the shrieking, squealing, laughing and, of course, arguing of my daughters.
I enter the living room, just barely making out the tops of the girls’ heads over the brand new couches. As they’re excitedly jumping around on their knees, my eyes move to where Blake’s standing with Trace and Tatum, all watching the girls with smiles on their faces. Off in the distance I catch sight of Harlow, who’s also grinning from ear to ear, but when we make eye contact she quickly loses the grin, replacing it with an “Oh, shit” look.
I set the basket down on the brand new end table and turn the corner to find out just what the hell is worth the “Oh, shit” grimace on my friend’s face. As soon as my toes hit the floor rug, my feet stall and I can move no further. Because right in front of me, my giggling children are playing tug-of-war with:
A brand new puppy.
Umm, no. This is unacceptable. When did I agree to this?
This dog better be Harlow and Trace’s dry run at raising a child because I’m pretty sure we don’t have a puppy. Unless I’m still stuck in that damn parallel universe.
I look to Harlow first, praying I’m right. “Yours?”
No words, just wide eyes and the shaking of her head. Next, I turn to Tatum. “Yours?”
She’s giving me the same response as Harlow, but follows it up with a giggle when she reads my shirt. I turn to Trace, but the man’s intelligent enough to shake his head no before I can ask the question. I can tell he’s stifling a wicked grin knowing his best friend’s about to get an ass chewing. A boyish charm fills his light blue eyes as he casts a glance to Blake.
The puppy yips and I break my stare from Trace to see Rylie petting his tummy while the other two rub his ears. He looks up at me, paws in the air, and I swear he’s smiling. Actually, he is kind of cute but, unfortunately for him, I’m immune to cute.
For right now at least.
I tear my eyes from the golden ball of fur, seeking out the only possible person who could be responsible for this.
As soon as my eyes find his, Blake throws his hands up proclaiming his innocence. “What?”
My eyes triple in size. I’m sorry. Is it supposed to be an invisible dog? Am I not supposed to see it?
“That!” I shout. The girls look up at me from the floor, all excitement disappearing from their faces.
Harlow claps her hands together. “Alright girls, let’s go get some ice cream,” she says, grabbing her purse and keys off the couch. Trace and Tatum are nowhere to be found.
Smart.
“Can we bring the puppy, please?” Kyndall pleads. Harlow looks from me to the animal slobbering and shedding all over my rug, assessing the situation, and nods. “Yes, Kyndall. I think that would be best.”
I watch them all scramble out of the living room and race out the door, puppy in tow. Looking back to Blake, I shift my weight and place my hand on my hip, still waiting for my answer. He looks just as pissed as I feel. I can see the blood rushing to his cheeks and feel my face heating as well.