Spiral of Bliss 02 Allure (7 page)

“So, what are we thinking?” Nancy chirps as she returns to the kitchen.

Dean turns to her and starts talking about a potential offer, how much movement there is on the asking price, what kind of allowances we should make for improvements, if we should apply for a mortgage, what current interest rates are like.

I watch Dean as he talks. He’s standing with his arms crossed, his back straight, his feet apart in that sure-footed stance that seems to be holding the world in place. He’s reeling off words like
equity, amortize,
and
depreciation
with the same ease he uses to discuss clerestory windows and quatrefoils.

He’s not afraid.

No. He’s not only
not afraid
, he’s fearless. I’m pregnant, he’s going to be a father, and instead of gnawing over a bunch of worries that he would be well within his rights to have, Professor Dean West has made a definitive plan. Now he’s going to implement his plan and ensure everything goes exactly the way he wants.

I should find this reassuring. Instead, his confidence only intensifies my own uncertainty.

“Dean, we’re meeting Kelsey in ten minutes,” I remind him.

We retrieve our coats and go back outside. Dean and Nancy continue to discuss the offer, and she promises to be in touch with more information.

“I have an appointment next week with my lawyer,” Dean tells me as we get back in the car and return to downtown. “See about the process of amending the will and trust after the baby’s born. If something happens to me, everything I own goes to you, but we’ll have to get the baby added as a beneficiary. And I’ll increase my life insurance benefits too.”

“Dean, I was talking to Allie earlier about maybe helping her out with a loan for the bookstore.” The words escape me in a rush. Until now, I haven’t realized how much I want Dean’s support for this idea.

“How much does she need?”

“I don’t know yet. But I mean, not a loan from you. I was thinking about applying for a business loan and… uh, maybe partnering with her.”

“Oh.”

“Oh good, or oh bad?”

“Good, but investing in a troubled business is no easy task.”

“I know.” I don’t, actually, but I want to learn.

“You can’t overdo it.”

“I won’t.” Irritation prickles at me. “I don’t intend to put myself or the pregnancy at any risk.”

“I’ll give you the—”

“Dean, if I needed the money from you, I would ask. But I want to do this by myself.”

“Liv, to get a business loan, you need to have collateral and a—”

“Dean, please.” My stomach is getting twisted up again, the way it used to when I first met him and allowed myself to dwell on the differences between us. “I’m not training for a marathon. I’m just going to try and help out a friend. I really want to do this.”

He turns onto Ruby Street. “Okay, but you don’t even need to ask if you want to use our money.”

“I know.” And I do.

He parks the car by the curb, then puts his hand on the small of my back as we navigate patches of ice on the sidewalk. I can feel the warmth of his touch even through my coat—his gesture of
I’m right here
that I have always loved.

“You’re late.” Kelsey March glowers at us from the front porch of Matilda’s Teapot, where she is hunched into her coat. Her blue-streaked blond hair shines in the overhead light, and her face—devoid of makeup aside from bright red lipstick—is pinched with cold.

“Why aren’t you waiting inside then?” Dean asks.

Her glower deepens, and I subject her to an effusive embrace. “You look great. How’s your mom?”

“Fine. She sent you some
blinchki
.” She thrusts a Tupperware container at me and jerks her head toward the door. “I’m starving. Dean, you’re paying.”

“For you, anything.” He gives her one of his patented Dean West smiles, which would make any other woman melt.

On Kelsey, however, it has all the impact of a feather against stone. She rolls her eyes at me and strides into the tearoom, which is in an old, converted Victorian house. Chintz tablecloths and curtains dominate the interior, the clientele consists mostly of elderly ladies, and the tea and sandwiches are served on china plates and cups.

“So, what’s going on with you two?” Kelsey flips open the parchment menu and studies me and Dean through her rimless glasses. “Everything okay?”

Kelsey knows a lot of what happened between me and Dean, and she was the one I stayed with when we were apart. She doesn’t, however, know everything.

“We’re good,” Dean says.

Kelsey gives me a look. “Liv?”

“We’re good,” I agree.

It’s too early to tell anyone about the pregnancy, even Kelsey. At least Dean and I have talked about it, and we’re both doing what we’re supposed to do. He makes me a cup of horrible no-caffeine coffee in the morning and puts my prenatal vitamins on my plate. I walk on the treadmill at the gym, have scheduled my next two checkups, and when I’m not feeling nauseous, I eat lots of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains.

I try not to dwell on my fear that I don’t know how to be a mother. For most of my life, I didn’t even want to be a mother.

“So then she made this huge iced bread, which is called a
krendel
, and she knows I love it except that I eat it like a freaking cow, so she made me deliver it to the neighbors but only because their son is newly single after…”

Kelsey, thank God, is rambling about her own mother. I love Kelsey’s mother. She is a plump, cheerful woman who epitomizes one of my dream mothers.

I’ve had a lot of dream mothers. The sharp-tongued feminist, the happy homemaker, the driven career woman, the nurturing earth goddess. They’ve flitted in and out of my mind since I was a child. Now that I’m pregnant, they’ve appeared with new strength as I try to imagine what kind of mother I’m going to be.

Well, I know one thing about being a mother, at least. I know I
don’t
want to be the kind of mother my own mother was.

Kelsey goes on and on about her Christmas while we eat. Well, Kelsey and Dean eat. I’m feeling a little queasy, so I just pick at a slice of quiche.

“Not hungry?” Kelsey glances at my plate.

“Uh, not really. Hey, did Dean tell you about his IHR grant?”

“What?” Kelsey is properly awestruck by this news and peppers him with questions and congratulations.

“You going to campus tomorrow?” Kelsey asks Dean as we get ready to leave. “Up for a few games of racquetball?”

“Not tomorrow.” Dean fishes for his wallet. “Prepping for a seminar.”

“Did I tell you my department scheduled me for
three
seminars?” Kelsey drains the last of her tea. “And I have a new grad student starting this semester. You know what that means.”

Dean pushes back from the table so abruptly that the chair legs screech across the hardwood floor. He grabs my coat and holds it out for me. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” I throw him an odd look as I shrug into the coat. “Don’t forget to use the gift certificate. What’s the hurry?”

“No hurry.” He heads off to take care of the bill as Kelsey and I gather our satchels.

“Hey, really.” Kelsey gets all serious for a second and reaches out to squeeze my arm. “You guys okay?”

I watch my husband as he makes his way to the front counter, his dark hair and black peacoat a striking contrast to the yellow chintz and lace décor.

“Yes,” I tell Kelsey. “We’ll be fine.”

A cloud cover has made the evening gloomier than usual, and Dean makes sure Kelsey gets back safely to her car before he and I head to Avalon Street. When we get home, he settles on the sofa to watch the news. I busy myself watering my houseplants and straightening the living room.

I stack a pile of Dean’s sports magazines on the coffee table and pick up the newspaper. I didn’t read it this morning, so I look over a few of the articles, then turn to the Help Wanted section.

I skim the ads.
Energy consultant. Systems administrator. Early childhood educator.

Nothing I’m qualified for or have experience in, though I suppose it doesn’t matter now that we’re going to have a baby.

I sit at my narrow desk and take a notebook and a pen from the drawer. I stare out the window for a few minutes, watching reddish clouds sweep over the snow-frosted mountains.

Then I write:

I look at the list for a minute, then add: