“Questions for the doctor. This one is at the top. When does it end? I feel like I’m only living half a life.”
“Ah, but it’s a half with foot massages,” he says, putting down his magazine and rubbing my swollen feet and ankles in a way that makes me think I’ve discovered heaven. “And I looked it up. It gets better after the first trimester.”
“I’m not sure this massage can get any better.”
“I meant the exhaustion,” he says with a laugh.
“How about the swelling in my ankles and feet?” I’ve switched to flats, but it’s still uncomfortable. “It’ll get better after the first trimester, too, right?”
“Actually, it’s usually worse later. Apparently, swelling is normal early in a pregnancy, just not common.”
“Great.” I frown as I prop myself up on my elbows. “You really looked all this up?”
He looks at me like I’ve just asked the world’s silliest question. “Of course I did.”
I sigh, feeling satisfied and loved. Yes, I think before I drift off. Of course, he did.
I wake in bed to the sound of a helicopter landing in our backyard and remember that Damien has a breakfast meeting in San Diego. But he’d told me he would be back by noon if I needed anything.
I can’t imagine what that would be since my entire day is going to consist of working on the Greystone-Branch project in my office, something I fully intend to jump into after I eat the pancakes that Damien left warming for me in the oven.
So far, I haven’t had pregnancy cravings, but if I do, I hope it’s for chocolate chip pancakes, because the ones Damien makes are almost as orgasmic as the man himself.
By the time I get out the door and into Coop, I’m in the kind of good mood that even the pile-up of traffic on PCH can’t shatter. I make it to my office with a full hour to spare before my interview with Laura, a recent engineering grad, who I’m seriously hoping is going to be as awesome today as she was when I did the first interview. Because if so, I’m offering her the job.
I keep Laura’s resume on my desktop while I start working through my list of action items. I’m on number eight by the time eleven o’clock rolls around, and Laura is officially an hour late.
I skip lunch, just in case she’s stuck in traffic and her cell phone is dead.
She doesn’t show.
At two, I call her. She answers on the first ring with, “Yeah?”
“Laura? It’s Nikki Stark.”
“Oh, hey. Hang on.” She must be putting her hand over the microphone because I hear a horrible rustling, then her muffled voice. “No, no, that’s going to Goodwill. But that box needs to go into the truck. Sorry about that,” she says, her voice returning to normal.
“You’re moving.”
“Um, yeah.”
“You know we had an interview today.”
“Oh, man. I’m really sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. “I’m moving to Silicon Valley, and I need to—no, no, not that box.”
“I’ll let you go,” I say. “Good luck.”
“Oh, thank—” she begins, but I’ve already hung up and tossed the phone on the desk in disgust.
Shit.
I’m reaching for the phone to call my second choice when it starts to ring. It’s Frank, and I snatch it up. “Hi. Aren’t you on a plane?”
“Delayed. I’m at the gate. What’s wrong?”
“Just work stuff.” I’m surprised—and a little impressed—that he could tell that I was irritated. It’s nice in a weird way. Like he really is a parent. “Why are you calling? Just so I can wish you a good trip again?”
“Your mother called me.”
I’d been rising out of my chair—but now I plunk back down. Hard. “Oh.”
“You were right. She’s in town.” He clears his throat. “She—she’s rented an apartment. And she wants to see you.”
I clutch the edge of the desk so hard the wood cuts into my hand. “I don’t want to see her.”
“I don’t blame you, kiddo. But, ah, I probably shouldn’t have, but I told her you were pregnant. She got wind of the story out of Dallas, and I just—”
“It’s fine,” I say, even though it really isn’t. I don’t want her to know. It’s too intimate a secret. Too special. And I’m too afraid that she’ll ruin it. More than that, I’m scared of that tiny part inside of me that—despite everything—wants to hear her congratulations.
“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure. I regret it now, anyway. She said—well, she said it would destroy your figure.” The words sound heavy. As if he wishes he could drop them and let them just sink away.
“That sounds like Mother. What else did she say?”
“She wants you to call her.”
“I didn’t call her after she moved. I don’t know why I’d call her now.”
“Not arguing. Just passing along the message.” He hesitates, then says, “I’m going to cancel the trip.”
“The hell you are. You’re already at the airport. Your bags are already checked.”
“I should be there for you. What if she comes to your office? To your house.”
“I have Damien,” I say. “Plus, I can take care of myself.”
The silence on the other end of the phone is heavy. “I should never have left you. Never left Ashley.”
“Stop it. Just stop it.” I manage to keep my voice steady even though my insides are churning merely from the thought that my mother is in the same town as I am. “You’re here for me now, and that’s true even if you are in Europe. You cancel, and it’s like you’re giving her the power. Trust me, Dad. I spent way too much time shifting my life around because of that woman.”
“Dad,” he repeats, his voice so soft I almost can’t hear him.
With a small shock, I realize it’s the first time I’ve called him that. “Yeah,” I say, my voice just as soft. I clear my throat and force a smile into my voice. “So, anyway, I’ll see you in a few months, okay. I’ll be the one waddling toward you in the airport.”
I keep my voice cheery—and I mean what I say—but at the same time, I’m all twisted up inside.
She’s here.
She’s really here in LA.
As soon as we hang up, I start to dial the phone again—then stop. Because it’s not just Damien’s voice I want. It’s the man.
I glance at the time—already three. I know he’ll be back from his lunch appointment, and I also know that even if he’s in the middle of a conference call or another meeting, if I ask Rachel to interrupt, he’ll come to me.
I hate that I’m even considering interrupting his work. I hate that I’m truly that weak.
But where my mother is concerned, dammit, I am.
And if I’m going to get through this—if I’m going to keep my head and my emotions on straight—I need him.
Dear God, I need him.