I shrug as she pats her face dry and slides into a worn t-shirt and her black skinny jeans. I just fucked her, but with that outfit I’d fuck her again if I could get it up. Maybe tonight. My dick’s pretty happy right now. But damn, her body looks fine in that outfit. Okay, stop thinking about tits and ass for two seconds and go back to soothing her stomach. Maybe she could use some Pepto.

“Cove!”

“What?”

“Are you listening to me? What are you thinking about?”

“I’m listening.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“I just fucking told you I was pregnant and your reaction is well what? Seriously?”

She heads for the stairs, down to the living room, and changes our surround sound to some depressing girl band; lyrics of broken hearts, an old farmhouse, and some other sappy-ass crap fills my ears. Fuck-it-all-to-hell. If she wasn’t so beautiful I wouldn’t always be thinking with my dick and would’ve heard her.

“Fuckin’ A,” I sigh. I can’t believe I missed out on her telling me she was pregnant. Talk about insensitive.

I head down to make amends. Her back is turned and she’s gazing at the city once again. Holy hell, she’s pregnant and she has no idea how happy I am.

Step one; change the music to something that depicts my mood and my feelings to the news. Best Day Of My Life is a good song. That transforms the atmosphere to something more cheerful.

Step two; wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head, her cheek, and finally her mouth. I could care less right now that her breath smells like puke.

Step three; hold her face in the palm of my hands and look into her eyes, with a tear in mine, then shake my head in disbelief.

Step four; smile and say I love you.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You look handsome,” she whispers, and takes my hand as we approach my parent’s loft. Her rose-colored short-sleeve dress flows freely as her sandals flap on the hallway floor. I kiss her cheek to return the compliment.

“I want to find us a nice house in the city, Soph, just like we’ve talked about. One with a yard so our kid can play outside. I’m already stressing about our terrace, what if the thing tumbles off of it? And the pool? Fuck, our place is like a danger palace for a child. If we buy a house the pool has to be outside, with a tall fence, and a gate that locks.”

“Doesn’t a new house sound wonderful? This is so exciting!” she grins and swings my arm as we walk. “Oh, and by the way, don’t refer to our baby as a thing.”

“Sorry,” I pause. “I just want to be a good father. I feel like my entire life changed this morning in a matter of seconds.”

“What do you mean? We’ve been planning this for a while. You knew it was coming.”

“I know,” I whisper as we stand next to my parent’s door. “But still it was a surprise. I didn’t realize your period was almost six weeks ago... and you were drinking the other night. I figured... we’re such dumbasses, you know? I hope the baby’s okay.”

“I know,” she sighs. “My mistake with the liquor won’t happen again, and I’m not a dumbass. But, you can bet I’m getting shitfaced after the birth. Well, maybe after I finish breastfeeding. Can you drink while breastfeeding? Oh my God, I have so much reading and research to do. I better take a class too.”

This may be the turning point in my wife’s life, and if I’m lucky, mine as well. I’ve never been happier for her, for us, and what this means for our future. Oh yeah, and then reality has to fucking slap me across the face and take my smile away. It’s my father.

I’m taken aback to see he has the balls to answer the door like he did this morning. I enter the home with a straight face and shake his hand in a partial peace offering; placing my splinted fingers in my front coat pocket to hide my injury, and glad that Soph had time to cover the brush burn on my face with some of her makeup. My half-smile returns when I smell chicken coming from the kitchen. Home-cooked meals in my family are prepared with love and I’ve always been fond of watching my mother effortlessly create a meal. She has such a sense of style and grace; putting every ounce of herself into whatever she tries, and I’m referring to her life, not the kitchen.

My mother also has eccentric decorating tastes, probably a bit loud for some, with bright colors on the walls and furniture, antiques and art in every space, and oddities placed here and there as conversation starters; such as the life-size fiberglass horse in the entryway. My parents use it as a coat rack, and it startles even the most open-minded of guests.

“Oh Cove, darling. How handsome you look in that coat and tie this evening. All spiffed up, what’s the occasion on your day off?”

“You invited us over for a meal. I thought I’d go all out for my two favorite women,” I grin and plant a kiss on the cheek of my overdramatic mother, then give Sophia’s hand a secure squeeze.

“Sophia, you look fabulous as well. What have the two of you been up to today? Relaxing, I hope? I know it’s been a hectic week for all.”

“Yep. Chaotic and unsettling,” I respond as we enter the main room. “Looks like the two of you have also been relaxing today. I haven’t seen either of you in shorts since I was a teenager.”

She laughs and nods as we gather in their living room. “Your father and I took a walk along the Gateway trail today. It was pretty. You and Sophia should go down there soon and get some fresh air.”

“Will do,” I smile, thinking about how wonderful it will be to stroll along the trail with my wife and a baby. I see couples down there all the time, and I have to admit, I’ve always been a little jealous when I see the joy on their faces.

“Leondra, why don’t you get these two a glass of wine so we can toast to a new week. A more peaceful week,” my father requests.

Sophia grasps my hand, unsure if we should say something now, or what ‘til dinner.

“We’ll just have water, or whatever else you have that’s nonalcoholic. We both had a couple of badass days of drinking, so we’re pretty tanked out on the whole liquor thing right now,” I jump in with a quick excuse.

“Sure, sweethearts. Pineapple juice?”

Soph turns green from the thought of such a tart juice, especially after her morning of cranberry upchuck.

“Seltzer water?” I ask.

“Absolutely, why don’t the two of you have a seat and I’ll get you each a glass with some ice.”

“Good call,” Sophia whispers, taking a seat on one of the four blue sofas that are set in a square in the middle of the room. They surround an orange coffee table, and the entire set rests on a white deep pile rug. The room is bright, with the reappearance of the afternoon sun beating through the ten-foot windows.

Sophia takes a peek at a cat condo in the corner of the room then peers around the space for Lewis; her sweet Persian cat who my mother now claims is hers. My mother and the cat bonded while we were in Vegas, and she takes much better care of him then Soph ever did. Shit, she even buys him little leather jackets, and he has his own photo wall in the upstairs guest bedroom. Hundreds of photos on display, just of him. That’s what happens to people who don’t have any grandkids.

“He’s asleep in the bedroom,” my mother responds to her question on his whereabouts.

“Why don’t we step outside and talk for a while, son. Let Sophia and your mother have some time alone. What do you say?”

I nod, knowing that a conversation with him is inevitable, and the relief on his face when I agree is touching. Plus, I’m calmer now than I was yesterday. Some things take on a whole new perspective when a baby’s on the way.

He closes the door of the terrace once we’re both outside then runs his hand through his hair; trying to calm his nerves. I watch my mother give Sophia a glass and she sets mine on the dining room table. She smiles at me in a warm motherly way; a look on her face she used to have whenever she was proud of me as a child. The same look when I got an A on a test, or gave her a flower I had picked from our yard, or told her that I loved her... it’s that look. I’ve called her ‘mother’ most of my life, but refer to her as ‘mom’ when I feel she needs sympathy or my loving support. It’s less formal, but more endearing.