“We’re not waiting until you’re seven or eight months pregnant before we buy a house,” he argues. “You don’t need that stress.”
“I mean… we don’t have to buy a house anytime soon. Babies are tiny, right? Our apartment is fine for now.”
“Liv, it’ll be a lot more hassle trying to close on a house when we have a baby.” He studies me. “Don’t you want this house?”
Although his tone is curious and not reproving, I feel about two inches tall and horribly ungrateful. What kind of person wouldn’t leap at such an offer?
I loosen my fingers from the edge of the counter. “I just don’t want you to think you have to be so extravagant.”
“It’s a necessity, not an extravagance. Yeah, we could get something smaller, but with this place there’s no worry about running out of space or having to move because of the school district. It’s a great, safe neighborhood too.”
“What about work?”
“What about it?”
“What if you get a better job offer somewhere else?”
“Then we’ll deal with that, if it happens. But I can’t imagine an offer that would be better than what I have at King’s. The conference is coming up, I have classes and papers, students to advise, tenure track, a top-level salary. There’s no good reason for me to look for another job. And now that you’re pregnant… what better place for us to stay than Mirror Lake?”
He’s got it all figured out. I have no counterargument, and I don’t want to think about my reasons for trying to come up with one.
“It’s a beautiful house,” I repeat.
He gives me a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“So, what are we thinking?” Nancy chirps as she returns to the kitchen.
Dean turns to her and starts talking about a potential offer, how much movement there is on the asking price, what kind of allowances we should make for improvements, if we should apply for a mortgage, what current interest rates are like.
I watch Dean as he talks. He’s standing with his arms crossed, his back straight, his feet apart in that sure-footed stance that seems to be holding the world in place. He’s reeling off words like equity, amortize, and depreciation with the same ease he uses to discuss clerestory windows and quatrefoils.
He’s not afraid.
No. He’s not only not afraid, he’s fearless. I’m pregnant, he’s going to be a father, and instead of gnawing over a bunch of worries that he would be well within his rights to have, Professor Dean West has made a definitive plan. Now he’s going to implement his plan and ensure everything goes exactly the way he wants.
I should find this reassuring. Instead, his confidence only intensifies my own uncertainty.
“Dean, we’re meeting Kelsey in ten minutes,” I remind him.
We retrieve our coats and go back outside. Dean and Nancy continue to discuss the offer, and she promises to be in touch with more information.
“I have an appointment next week with my lawyer,” Dean tells me as we get back in the car and return to downtown. “See about the process of amending the will and trust after the baby’s born. If something happens to me, everything I own goes to you, but we’ll have to get the baby added as a beneficiary. And I’ll increase my life insurance benefits too.”
“Dean, I was talking to Allie earlier about maybe helping her out with a loan for the bookstore.” The words escape me in a rush. Until now, I haven’t realized how much I want Dean’s support for this idea.
“How much does she need?”
“I don’t know yet. But I mean, not a loan from you. I was thinking about applying for a business loan and… uh, maybe partnering with her.”
“Oh.”
“Oh good, or oh bad?”
“Good, but investing in a troubled business is no easy task.”
“I know.” I don’t, actually, but I want to learn.
“You can’t overdo it.”
“I won’t.” Irritation prickles at me. “I don’t intend to put myself or the pregnancy at any risk.”
“I’ll give you the—”
“Dean, if I needed the money from you, I would ask. But I want to do this by myself.”
“Liv, to get a business loan, you need to have collateral and a—”
“Dean, please.” My stomach is getting twisted up again, the way it used to when I first met him and allowed myself to dwell on the differences between us. “I’m not training for a marathon. I’m just going to try and help out a friend. I really want to do this.”
He turns onto Ruby Street. “Okay, but you don’t even need to ask if you want to use our money.”
“I know.” And I do.
He parks the car by the curb, then puts his hand on the small of my back as we navigate patches of ice on the sidewalk. I can feel the warmth of his touch even through my coat—his gesture of I’m right here that I have always loved.
“You’re late.” Kelsey March glowers at us from the front porch of Matilda’s Teapot, where she is hunched into her coat. Her blue-streaked blond hair shines in the overhead light, and her face—devoid of makeup aside from bright red lipstick—is pinched with cold.
“Why aren’t you waiting inside then?” Dean asks.