Live, Laugh, Loathe

Chapter 12: Drew

I didn't argue when he brought me peppermint tea in the middle of the afternoon because I felt nauseous.

I didn't fight when he insisted on holding every door for me.

I said not one word when he made me share his car home, helping me in and out of the vehicle.

No, I was very calm and didn't once try to stab him with a pen. I'd dumped huge news on him this morning, and he was in shock.

But I'll be damned if I let him set me up on his couch to relax while he cooked us dinner. I'm pregnant, not bedbound.

"Damon, so help me. If you make me sit on this couch, I'm going to quit without notice tomorrow." The threat is empty; I actually like working at Williamson Consulting Group and as his assistant, but it gets the job done.

"Fine, but I do all the heavy lifting, ok?" I just roll my eyes. I'm not sure this thirty-year-old man even understands what it means to be pregnant.

"Ok, so what are you hungry for. I've got ingredients for a few meals, but I know you've been sick the last few days. Is there anything that you think will go over better?" I suppress a sigh. This will be a long seven to eight months if he's going to act like this the whole time.

But I humor him and check in with my body. Because he isn't wrong, random foods have been triggering me, even in the evenings. Why the fuck is it called morning sickness if it can affect you at any time of the stupid day? The first thing that pops into my head is burgers. No. Cheeseburgers.

"Cheeseburgers. And fries. If you have it." He nods and turns to the fridge, pulling out the necessary ingredients.

"Can you set the oven to four-twenty-five, so we can pop the fries in right away?" It takes a second to figure out the absolute spaceship that is his oven, but I get it going and add the fries once Damon gets them on a cookie sheet.

While he preps the meat, I prep the lettuce and tomato slices and butter the buns. Once the meat is on the pan, the room fills with that sweet, sweet burger smell, and for the first time in what feels like days, my stomach rumbles in hunger. I am so ready to eat.

It's easy. So, so easy. And it hurts a little. Because I know it won't last.

It might not be right away, but eventually, we will be at odds with all of this. He'll want to teach the baby to ride horses, while I'll want it to stay home and do math camp or something. He'll want to use time-outs, while I'll want to use natural consequences.

He'll get busy and eventually leave it all to me.

And I think that's what really worries me. That I'll wake up one day and realize he's no longer there parenting alongside me.

---

Burgers and fries consumed. One tour around his very nice condo later, we're seated opposite each other on his couch. It's very soft, and I have to resist rubbing my face against the fabric like a weirdo. I can't decide if the pregnancy is making me fall in love with the texture of this couch or if it's just that nice.

"Ok, so we're having a baby." Damon has removed his suit jacket and tie and unbuttoned the neck of his shirt. He looks absolutely delectable.

I have to actively focus on reality as my brain envisions me crawling across the couch to him and giving him head. Hello, pregnancy hormones!

"Yes, Damon. That's generally what happens after pregnancy." Deflect with sarcasm; hopefully, he won't notice how hard my nipples are just sitting here with him.

"Ok, sassy pants. I see how this is going to go. Are you tired? Should we just table this for another day?"

"Damon! Stop it. I'm not any different than I was two months ago. Sure, yes, I'm cooking a baby right now. But please don't treat me with kid gloves. I'll go insane. If I feel tired, I'll go home. But right now, we need to talk about this."