I grimaced and lingered outside. Maybe I should just wait until she got over the nausea. At first, I’d been alarmed when she’d throw up at the drop of a hat, but I’d gotten used to it. I felt bad, though, that my bad cooking had triggered it this time.
“I’m coming in, Poppy.”
She made no further protests, and I entered, leaving the bathroom door ajar. I felt sorry for her being in this condition, given how much she detested being pregnant. I couldn’t begin to imagine what her experience was like, since Miranda’s pregnancy was one smooth sailing.
“Here, let me help.”
I held her hair back until she stopped retching. When she was finished, I helped her to her feet, flushed the toilet, and brought her over to the sink.
“No, I need a shower after that.”
Her face was sweaty, her makeup ruined, and her hair was a mess.
“Okay, come on.”
She stumbled, and I lifted her in my arms and brought her up the stairs to her suite of rooms, then took her straight through to the bathroom and set her on her feet.
“Can you manage?”
“I don’t think so. Will you help me undress?”
I hesitated for a second. Was she overdoing this to hit on me? No, she did genuinely seem weak. It felt awkward lifting her dress, after I’d only removed August’s pants and boxers for the past weeks.
The changes in her body were fascinating. Now she was just wearing underwear, I couldn’t stop staring at the protruded nipples of her breasts. They were larger than I remembered. A line I didn’t recall existing ran prominently down the center of her belly.
“I look like a whale,” she muttered.
“No, of course not. You look beautiful.”
“You think so?”
I glanced up at her, taken aback by the miserable look on her face. For the first time, I noticed the anxious look in her eyes. What kind of husband was I that I’d never stopped to think about how this affected not just her body but also her mind?
She might’ve chosen to carry the baby for all the wrong reasons, but in the end, she was still bringing me a source of delight.
“I know we have our differences,” I said, “but thank you for doing this, for giving me the chance to be a father.”
“Are you serious right now after everything?”
“Yes, I am.” I smiled at her but froze when she gasped. My gaze flew to her belly.
“Oh my god, is that the baby?” I blurted out.
“Yes.” She rubbed at her side where a small bulge appeared.
“The baby’s moving?”
“For a while now.”
The familiar anger rose inside me that she hadn’t told me, but I let it go. It was her body, and it was her prerogative whether or not to share what was happening with it.
“Can I feel her?”
She shrugged. “It feels a bit creepy.”
I placed a hand over her belly and quickly snatched it back, laughing at the ripple of movement.
“This is…” I choked up, unable to finish my statement. I touched her belly again and closed my eyes, overwhelmed with emotions as the baby seemed to move into my touch.
“Do you know me, little one?” I placed a kiss on her belly and whispered, “I’m your daddy, and I’ll always take care of you.” I glanced up at Poppy, who was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Your mommy too because she’s giving me such an awesome gift. I can’t wait to meet you, kiddo.”
Poppy sucked in a deep breath and stepped away from me, breaking the mood.
“That’s enough. I’m okay now. You can go.”
I felt bereft at the loss of contact. I could feel that baby move all day, but I moved back to respect her space and body autonomy.
“Thanks for letting me feel her.”
“Please go, Charles.”
She looked ready to cry, and I was conflicted.
“Go before you get it all twisted that I care about this stupid pregnancy or you.”
With a nod, I walked out of the bathroom and closed the door. Perhaps for the first time since I married her, I felt a bit guilty and sorry for her. It was clear she was messed up by events that had happened to her in the past. Not that it changed some of the things she’d done to me, but I certainly hadn’t helped by marrying her for all the wrong reasons.
Maybe I could be kinder to her from now on and empathize with her, even if that would be hard to do. We had a business deal, having signed away mutual rights, but that didn’t mean I should stay standoffish.
Back in the kitchen, I contemplated leaving everything in the sink for the maid to take care of when she returned in the afternoon. But then I remembered helping August putting the dishes away. I could handle it myself.
Washing the dishes gave me way too much time to think, though. About things I should leave well enough alone. Like yesterday afternoon, when I dropped by August’s house during my lunch break. He hadn’t been home despite him telling me he would be there all day. He’d lied to me, and I wanted to know why.
I’d shrugged it off. He might’ve left before I arrived. It wasn’t like I’d announced my impending arrival, since I’d just wanted to stop by for a quickie before returning to work. I’d been distracted at work all that morning and had been convinced what I needed was him.
Then last night, when I’d texted him what time I’d be over, he’d turned me down.
August: Not tonight. I’m not going to be in.
That had stung. August had never turned me down before, and if I was honest with myself, it had thrown me into a mini panic. Had he gotten tired of me already? Was he seeing someone else?
He had all the right in the world to see other people. We were doing nothing but exploring the sexual chemistry between us. People did that all the time without commitment. I was definitely not looking for commitment.
Then why did the thought of August being with someone else leave my chest tight?
I was developing feelings for August. The kind I hadn’t expected nor felt with any of my ex-wives. I’d been fond of them, yes, but this was different. When they cheated on me, I’d walked away without letting it bother me, but August’s text had been a sore point all night.
That was the real reason I’d attempted to cook today. Not only to distract myself but also to remind myself how much fun we had together. Although it wasn’t the kind of fun I was used to, it was amazing and homey. If he was seeing other people, he would’ve mentioned it.
I just finished wiping down the island when Poppy cautiously entered the kitchen. She looked stunning in a blue dress decorated with yellow and white flowers. Her sandals were yellow, and she had jammed her dark glasses on as if she didn’t want me to see her eyes.
“Are you cleaning?” She came to an abrupt halt.
“Just washed up what I used. Why?”
“Because you’re acting weird. You never wash the dishes.”
I shrugged. “I do now.”
She walked by me to the fridge. “Whoever this guy is you’re fucking, he must be really good. You’re changing, and I don’t know if that’s a bad or a good thing.”
“How can washing the dishes be bad?”
She grabbed a bottle of water. “I don’t know yet, but I just have a bad feeling. Why were you even home last night? You barely spend any time here since you’ve found yourself a gigolo.”