Quandary | Noah Sebastian |

twenty-five

A subtle breeze coasts down my exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I whine, tightening my grasp and burrowing my face further against Noah in search of warmth, only to come to the realization it wasn't him I was clutching to me. I cracked open an eye, my pregnancy pillow coming into view instead of the sight of my slumbering husband.

I furrowed my brows in perplexity; I know I had fallen asleep in Noah's arms.

With a groan, I rolled as far onto my back as I could, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes before pushing myself out of bed—which was getting progressively more and more difficult as the days went by. "Noah?" I called, trudging out of our bedroom with a hand on my back. "God, it's fucking freezing," I grumbled to myself, a chill running down the length of my body the further I walked down the hall. The air conditioning was on full blast as usual, thanks to Noah.

I call his name once again, but there was still no definitive response, other than a muffled 'fuck'.

There wasn't any music playing or the faint smell of toast cascading through our home, so he wasn't in the kitchen or studio. The only other option was the nursery.

I waddled my way towards what used to be our spare bedroom, peeking through the door left ajar. I grinned to myself when I saw him hunched over a piece of paper, tiny screws laid out in front of him in neat piles. I pushed the door open gently and leaned against the doorframe, giving it a light tap to announce my entry.

"Hey you," I greet him. "Whatcha up to?"
"Building the crib," he replies, clipped.
I scrunched up my face at his curtness, shaking my head lightly. "I see... Been here long? I didn't even feel you get out of bed."
"Couple hours. Didn't want to wake you."

I stand up straight, pulling my brows together with a small frown. I was not appreciating his tone.

I take a gander around the room, seeing he had put together the white bookshelf my mom had gifted us and the nightstand we got from Ikea. I loved seeing that things were coming together, bringing me a sense of security and joy, but I could still feel the rigidness permeating from him.

"Everything okay? You seem a little tense," I ask.
He sighs harshly. "Yes, I'm fine. There's a few pieces missing, so I'm a little annoyed with that."
I shuffle on my feet. "Well, we could take a break. Make some breakfast. Plus, we still need to paint the walls, so we can figure out the missing pieces afterwards—"
"We?" He scoffs. "I'm the one putting all this shit together."

My mouth opens, but no words come out. I snap my mouth shut; I'm left blinking as I register the words he just said.

I ball my hands into fists as I feel anger simmering in my veins. "It's a little more difficult for me to sit on the floor and put things together, Noah."
"Then maybe we should've done this sooner before it got too difficult for you," he mumbles with a roll of his shoulders.
"Excuse me?" My jaw drops and my hand flies to my chest, absolutely appalled. I give him a chance to explain himself, but we're left in a tense silence as I watch him continue to fidget with a piece of the crib. "You know what? Go fuck yourself. I can't believe you just said that!" I take hold of the door knob, pulling the door towards me as I begin to make my exit. "Sorry for being eight months pregnant," I snap, then slam the door behind me.

Tears are burning my eyes as I stomp to the kitchen. From there, I don't waste a second and pull out the griddle, aggressively putting it on the counter and plugging it in to heat up. It might be hard for me to build a crib and paint the walls, but it certainly wasn't hard for me to cook breakfast for the both of us. Even if I was pissed off to no end.

After throwing several strips of bacon on the griddle, I made my way around the kitchen and grabbed everything that I needed to make pancakes with haste. I whipped together the batter as the bacon cooked, never minding the fact that Noah was now standing by the island, watching me.