After telling her sister about her pregnancy, Brooke left Natalie’s house around nine thirty. Once home, she slept better than she had in weeks, and she couldn’t help but correlate this with the fact that she’d been so honest with her sister about what she was going through. The only real hitch in the evening came from Kyle. From his behavior at dinner, Brooke suspected that he had concerns about inviting her into his family’s life, which bothered her a little, although she was happy that Natalie had chosen a man who wanted to keep her safe. Brooke hoped that with a little time, he’d learn to trust her and she would learn to relax more around him.
The following week, Brooke arrived at her sister’s house again, just before noon on Wednesday, thinking that they would eat and then head out for her appointment, which was at one thirty. She felt better knowing that her sister would be there with her, if only to sit quietly as Brooke listened to whatever the doctor might have to say. But when Natalie answered the door, she wore bright red oven mitts and a red-and-white polka-dot apron covered in flour.
“Did I get the time wrong?” Brooke asked as she took in the rest of Natalie’s appearance—there were smudges of chocolate on her face and in her hair, accompanied by a slightly manic look in her eyes. The air coming from the house was scented with yeast and toasted sugar.
“Not at all,” Natalie said, gesturing for Brooke to enter. “I just screwed up the date on an order I took last month. I thought the party was next Thursday, but it’s actually tonight. Desserts for a hundred. I’m swamped.”
Brooke clutched her purse to her side. “Oh no,” she said. “You should have called me. You don’t have to come with me to the appointment.”
“Of course I’m coming,” Natalie said. “An extra set of hands is exactly what I need.” She grabbed Brooke’s purse and set it on the entry table. “Come on in.”
“You want me to help?” Brooke said, hesitant. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Natalie said. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you what to do. And we’ll be out of here in plenty of time to get to the clinic. I made sandwiches, if you want to eat. I’ve been sampling desserts all morning, so I’m already stuffed.”
“I’m okay, too,” Brooke said. She’d eaten a big breakfast, and wasn’t hungry. She followed Natalie into the kitchen, where the counters were cluttered with bowls dripping chocolate batter down their sides, and piles of silver pans in the sink. The stainless-steel baker’s rack against the wall near the back door was stacked with various kinds of miniature pastries—some had spun sugar on the top and others were covered in a shiny and thick chocolate glaze.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise,” Natalie said. “Crazy is totally part of my process.” She grinned and handed Brooke an apron. “Here. So you don’t mess up your clothes.”
Brooke wasn’t wearing anything fancy—black leggings and a loose olive-green sweater—but she complied anyway, then washed her hands with hot water and soap. “I can see why you need to expand your work space,” she said. She peeked out the kitchen window above the sink and noted that the lights were on in the garage. She could see the contractor’s silver head through one of the building’s windows. “How’s it going?”
Natalie sighed as she stirred something on the stove. “I found out this morning that we’re having a plumbing issue. Alex—that’s my contractor—says his guy can’t get to it until next week. Which means they can’t finish the Sheetrock or painting this week, like he said they could.”
Brooke almost offered to call Ryan and see if he could spare one of his plumbers to help, but she didn’t want him to think that she was changing her mind about his offer of support for her baby. And the truth was, with the way things were between them, she wasn’t sure he would do her that kind of favor. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That sucks.”
“Ah, well,” Natalie said. “Par for the course with a project like this, I suppose.” She nodded toward the white KitchenAid mixer on the counter. “If you could start that up on low, and then add twelve eggs, one at a time, letting each of them incorporate into the butter and sugar before adding the next, that would be great.”
“Got it,” Brooke said as she took a step over to the mixer, opened the gray cardboard carton labeled “organic farm-fresh eggs,” and began to carry out Natalie’s instructions.
“Are you nervous about the test?” Natalie asked over the loud whir of the machine.
“A little,” Brooke admitted. “I just want everything to be okay. But the receptionist told me that I’ll be able to find out the sex, too.”