“Okay. How about I like to eat cylinder-shaped potatoes, so go fuck yourself?” I signed and sealed that with a bright smile.
Nick’s laughter was warmth. “That’s so much better.”
“You’re welcome.” I paused. “So what do you think? I come over to your house, meet your grandfather if he’s up for it, and we make hamburgers and fries? Maybe even cylinder-shaped potatoes, too.”
His grin was lopsided. “That’s hard to refuse.”
“There better not be a ‘but’ attached to that statement, because I might get offended if there is.”
Nick’s gaze flew to mine. “Why would you get offended?”
“Um, maybe because I haven’t met your grandfather or been to your house yet,” I pointed out. “I don’t even know where you live. Just a general idea.”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing . . . personal. I want you to understand that. I would love for you to meet my grandfather, but there are days when it’s not . . . easy to be around him. Some days he sleeps most of the time. Other days, not so much, and it’s not a walk in the park. It’s a lot to handle and—”
“I’m not your ex-girlfriend.”
One eyebrow rose. “I know that.”
“I don’t know if you do.” I met his gaze. “Because if you did, then you wouldn’t automatically assume that your grandfather was going to be too much for me to handle.”
Nick opened his mouth but clamped his jaw shut. A moment passed and then he pursed his lips. “You know, you’re right.” It sounded like a lot for him to say those words, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “What time do you want to do this on Thanksgiving?”
A part of me wanted to be churlish, to give voice to the sour feeling in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with the low level nausea that hit at odd times during the day. I didn’t want to do it if he didn’t really want me to, but then how childish would it come across if I pulled the brakes now?
I couldn’t.
All I could do was make Thanksgiving as awesome as I could and hope Nick would truly see that I wasn’t going to cut and run when things got rough. That even though he was in this to “make the best of it,” I was in it for the long haul.
Chapter 24
I was such a baby.
I didn’t talk to him about my concerns about us, even when Sunday night would’ve been the perfect opportunity. But I couldn’t help feeling like I wasn’t grateful enough or I was being selfish for wanting to make this relationship more about me than the baby, and God, even that sounded so messed up.
Maybe this was the reason why I hadn’t fallen in love before now, because as I drove to Nick’s house late Thursday morning, I was convinced that when it came to love I was ridiculously neurotic.
I second-guessed so much. Like everything from calling or texting him to if we weren’t doing enough couple things with other couples. I wanted to smack myself.
I also needed to stop eating everything in sight, because I was sure the extra tightness in the waistband of my jeans had nothing to do with the baby. At almost eleven weeks, my lima bean was the size of a lime, and outside of making me want to belch every five seconds, I doubted it was the cause of the extra ten pounds I’d packed on.
At a stoplight, I glanced at the grocery bags on the passenger seat and smiled. I was going to start watching what I ate after I had my hamburgers and cylinder-shaped potatoes.
Following the directions on my phone, I easily found Nick’s grandfather’s house. It was on the other side of Plymouth, away from the city and on the outskirts. Suburbia. The businesses grew farther and farther apart, the subdivisions had more space than houses, and when the directions indicated that I turn left in the next two hundred feet, I found that I was driving onto a private driveway—to a house, not in a subdivision.
I don’t know what I was expecting when it came to his grandfather’s house as I drove up the driveway. Maybe something old? A farm, perhaps? But as the stand of trees cleared to a neatly manicured front lawn, I was surprised to be staring up at a newish home.
Slowing down, I parked in front of a double bay garage and turned off the engine. The house was a two-story, colonial style, with a massive front porch that appeared to wrap around the other side. It was the perfect porch for lazy summers, I thought, or for a baby to sit and play on.
My tummy twisted pleasantly at that thought.
Grabbing the bags, I stepped out and closed the door behind me. The sun was hidden behind fat gray clouds, and as I walked up the river rock path, there was a chill of snow in the air. When I stepped up on the porch, I noticed a wooden swing and smiled.
Goodness, this really was the perfect porch.
Nick opened the front door before I could knock, and for a moment I was sort of blinded with stupidity. He was standing in the doorway in jeans. That’s all. Jeans that hung low on his hips, revealing that damn vee shape of his lower stomach. His hair was damp, curling against his temple and forehead.