Waking Up Pregnant(83)

                He could just call and see if she wanted him to bring the cake. Maybe she hadn’t thought to put a box mix on the list for the housekeeper he’d hired to shop and do all the things eight-months-pregnant women weren’t comfortable doing. Sure there was a driver on call for her 24/7. And if she’d been up for going to his mother’s today, she might have found a box there...but what if she hadn’t.

                What if she was hungry?

                What if the only reason she wasn’t calling to ask about the cake was because she felt like she shouldn’t after moving out? What if she thought he didn’t want to hear from her?

                Okay, and what if he never got a grip again.

                If Darcy wanted to talk to him, she’d call. If she wanted cake, she’d make one.

                If she wanted him...hell. She’d still be here. In his arms. In his bed. In his life in a way that wasn’t simply about waiting for their child to be born so they could share it like civilized adults.

                And she wasn’t.





                                      TWENTY-FOUR

                “Darcy, don’t you make me take that file from you. It’s nearly seven.”

                Hand flat on the top of the file in question, Darcy shook her head. “You even think about taking this from me, and you can kiss your ‘Nana Gail’ fantasies goodbye. I’ll have this baby calling you Gammy Gigi for years.”

                Jeff’s mother flinched, but apparently tonight she wasn’t backing down. Slipping her phone from her pocket, she made a show of starting to text. “Hold on, dear. Let’s talk about this in a moment. After I tell Jeff about how you aren’t eating and you look so very pale.”

                “What?” she gasped, grabbing the plate with the remains of her organic burrito...the second burrito, because there wasn’t even a single crumb left to show for the first. “This is my third, no, fourth meal today. Since I’ve been here!”

                Gail didn’t look up as she sighed. “We old people get so easily confused. The file, Darcy.”

                Old. At fifty-five, Gail was hardly material for the old folks’ home, especially since she had the physique and attitude of a woman closer to forty. Add another item to her ever-growing “Why I want to be like Gail when I grow up” list.

                Darcy looked down. She knew it had been a long day, but the truth was, being at home was difficult. It was beautiful and comfortable and all, but a week into living there, she still found herself watching the clock for the part of her day that had become her favorite, waiting for an event that wasn’t going to come.

                Reminding herself that Jeff wouldn’t be swinging through the door at any moment.

                It was just her. Alone. With nothing to wait for or anticipate at the day’s end because she’d had to go and make the smart decision for herself. And it stunk.

                She used to thrive on living by herself. But that was before she’d had a taste of what it felt like to share a home. Before Jeff.

                “I wonder what he’ll do when he hears how sad and thin and worn-out you look?”

                Darcy narrowed her eyes. She did not look thin. The rest, possibly. But certainly not enough to report to Jeff. Gail was bluffing.

                And if she wasn’t...