Everything Unexpected (21 page)

I miss coffee. I miss the taste, the aroma, the beautiful swirl of color it makes when I add just the right amount of cream. But what I really miss is the quick fix caffeine provides. I used to be able to work sixteen hour days, trusting in my cherished caffeinated friend to help get me through the day. These days, without its help, I’m usually ready for a nap by lunch. And my need to close my eyes in hour intervals could not have come at a worse time.

The Bakker case is just about to get started and the hours I’m putting in at the office are killing me. Cassandra expects a lot to be done in a very short amount of time. Research, prepping for discovery, drafting expert reports, pre-trial interviews—the list goes on. A few months ago, this would have been my dream. Now, every day at work feels more like a nightmare. I’m overwhelmed, I run out of steam quickly, and the looks I’m receiving every time I go to the bathroom are getting embarrassing. I bet everyone thinks I have an STD. This case is supposed to be my big break at the firm, show the partners I can walk on legal water. Only I’m not walking on it…I’m drowning in it.

As if on cue, Holly asks how the case is coming along.

“Great,” I answer too quickly. “It’s a lot of work and a lot of preparation but nothing I can’t handle.”

I plaster a smile on my face, hoping to convince myself as much as I am Holly.

“I can help,” she offers, placing her empty coffee mug on the table. “With the research and drafting part,” she adds.

I shake my head, ready to tell her I don’t need any help, but she continues on.

“Leah, it’s my job. I can help,” she says. When she leans in over the table and lowers her voice, I know then I’m not doing as good a job at hiding how tired I am. “Let me help you,” she urges.

I smile but her offer only makes me feel worse. Because I can hear the true meaning behind it even if she isn’t saying the words aloud.

This case is too much for you.

“I’ll let you know,” I say, promising her to think about it and looking to change the subject.

“When are the final fittings?”

The wedding is only a few short months away and dress fittings should be coming up soon.

“Next month,” she says, but there is hesitation in her answer.

“What?”

She takes a moment before answering, as if preparing herself for what she’s about to say. The way one would prepare before giving bad news. “What?” I say again, impatient.

“Well,” she starts slowly. “When we first choose the bridesmaid dresses, you weren’t pregnant.”

“So?”

“The dresses are above the knee, open back, a little form-fitting—”

“I know what they look like,” I interrupt. “I was there.”

She smiles uncomfortably. “Now that you are starting to show and will be getting…”“Getting what?”

She uses her hands and makes a ball over her stomach. She doesn’t immediately say the words but I wish she would, because I’m having a hard time grasping it. And then she does say it, and it’s the words no woman ever wants to hear.

“I don’t think you’ll…fit.”

My mouth drops open.

I look down to my stomach, trying to imagine how much bigger it will be by the time the wedding comes around. Surely it won’t be that big they can’t work around it? Unless, she thinks the rest of me won’t fit in it either.

“Is this because you just watched me eat three waffles?” I ask, embarrassed.

A small, pitying laugh escapes her lips. One that says,
Oh sweetie, it’s not your fault you’re fat.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” her voice too soft, trying too hard to show how ludicrous my question was. But I see it in her eyes. She’s worried I’ll look like a whale in her wedding photos.

“You’re that pregnant woman all other pregnant women hate. All belly and nothing else. But…the seamstress doesn’t think that dress will be as…” she takes a second, deciding on the right words to use, “complementing on you. She thinks we can find something better. Something that will work around the baby bump.”

She says this all so sweetly it’s almost impossible not to understand her point. Almost.

“Why don’t we just put me in a potato sack,” I say smiling wide, handling this immaturely. But I don’t care. This day has been just one giant suck after another. Every woman gets plagued by fat days. The days we wake up and don’t feel our best. But we hide them with flowing shirts and stretchy leggings. Sometimes we make ourselves feel better by eating junk food all day because if we’re already feeling fat, then why not? But the great thing about these kinds of days is no one really notices when you’re having them. They see you exactly the same way and most times, the feeling is gone by the next day. Today, my bitter reality made itself known. From now on when I wake up feeling fat, it won’t go away the next day or the day after that. It will stay long and only get worse. But the real shitty part? Everyone else will not only notice, but they’re already starting to point it out as well.

IT’S NICE AND quiet in the office. There are only a couple of first year interns working at their desks, trying to accomplish the exact same thing I am—getting ahead by coming into work on a Sunday. They barely notice me as I walk in, still in my yoga gear, a large bag covering my midsection. As soon as I get to my office, I close the door and get organized. I turn my laptop on and stream some calming music, knowing it will help put me in a good frame of mind. I set a bunch of files in front of me and get to work on reading, highlighting, and researching one argument after another. It’s amazing how much work you can get done when you have no interruptions or distractions. What’s more amazing is how much more productive I am when I’m not spending so much of my energy trying to keep my pregnancy a secret from my co-workers.

After a couple of hours, I’ve somehow found my way to the middle of my office, sitting on the floor with stacks of papers encircling me. But everything is systematic. I know exactly which pile I need to reach for when I need it. I should work like this every day. I’m so immersed in my work I don’t even hear the soft knock at my door, or it open for that matter. It’s only when I hear a clearing of the throat that I look up.

“Cassandra—Mrs. Fairfax,” I say, clumsily standing. “I—I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

“I heard the music playing—” But she doesn’t finish her thought. Something has blindsided her, shocked her into silence. Only then does it dawn on me that her confounded look isn’t about the piles of papers around me, but what’s in the center of the piles. Unhidden by my yoga attire, Cassandra’s eyes are dead fixed on my stomach.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my stomach, as if to protect it.

“This is …unexpected,” she says flatly, closing the door behind her. I’m surprised at how much I dislike the tone.

I stand upright, straightening my shoulders. “Yes, you’re right in that regard. This was…unexpected.” The urge to defend this pregnancy, this child, runs through me faster and stronger than anything I’ve felt before. “I was planning on telling you and the rest of the firm this week,” I say as confidently as I can, even though I’m lying through my teeth. I was hoping to still hide it from them for another few weeks.

“I see.”

“Rest assured, I’m not going to let this pregnancy impact the caliber of my work or the amount I’m able to handle,” I continue, lying, “therefore I don’t expect this to be an issue.” I pray she can’t see my legs shaking.

Her eyes wander over my body, squinting just a touch. “Consider this notifying us of your…situation,” she says, then turns to leave.

That’s it? That’s all she’s going to say? Simply call me a
situation
?

“Cassandra!” I yell after her. “I meant what I said. I don’t expect this to impede my abilities or to be a problem moving forward. You’ll have my full attention with the Bakker case. Nothing changes.”

She looks at me for a few seconds before her lips curve into the smallest of doubting smiles. “Leah,” she starts, casting a sympathetic look my way. “You’re a smart girl. You should know this by now.”

I blink, confused.

“Everything is going to change.”

SHANE’S PLANE FROM LA landed a little while ago and he texted me to meet him at his place as soon as I could. After the day I’ve had, sex is just about the last thing on my mind. For the first time, I feel very uncomfortable with my body. I’ve always been secure and confident with myself, but now it just feels alien to me. Not only am I growing and expanding at a rate I wasn’t ready for, but it’s caused problems for me all day. Shane’s expression at seeing me for the first time in nearly a week doesn’t help either.

I watch as his smile easily turns into one of surprise, his brows raising, mouth opening. And just like everyone else today, his eyes immediately fall to my stomach.

“Whoa,” is all that comes out of his mouth. Like he’s about to herd cows out into the pasture.

I breeze past him, my shoulder nudging him hard as I stomp by. I hear the door close behind me, followed by Shane’s hurried footsteps chasing after me. I turn swiftly, raising my hand in the air, telling him not to come closer.

“Yes. I know,” my tone clearly annoyed.

Shane stills, tilting his head to the side. “You know what?”

“This.” I point to my stomach. “I know. I…popped.”

His small grin slowly turns into an arrogant smile. Like he’s proud of
himself
for it. “Yes.” He nods. “You did.” He comes forward another few steps, hands raised as if to touch my stomach. I take a quick step back.

“What are you doing?” I ask sharply.

He stops mid-stride, his hands frozen in air. “I was going to touch you,” he says slowly, making his intention clear.

“Why?”

“What?” He barks out a small laugh.

Why does he want to touch me? Is he not seeing what everyone else is? A few weeks ago I could understand the attraction. But now?

“What do you mean
why
? I haven’t seen or touched you in a week and now you’re here and looking like—” He stops, looking me up and down with his eyes.

“Like what?” I say a little too aggressive, daring him to make a comment about my body. “Looking like what?”

A gentle smile comes over his face and he takes two tentative steps towards me, moving slowly as if not to scare me. “Like you’re glowing,” he says quietly.

With one more step, I feel his hands rest over my stomach. They’re large enough that his fingertips brush against my hips. “Absolutely glowing.”

“I don’t feel like I’m glowing,” I say, looking up into his eyes. They’re a deeper green today, probably due to tiredness from his trip.

“But you are,” he says smiling.

“No, what you are seeing is me getting fat. It’s probably food sweats from everything I ate today,” I counter. “I’m not the only one who sees it either. It’s been commented on several times today. They all think I’m a whale.” Okay, maybe that part is a bit of a stretch.

“What?” he answers, a hint of anger in his tone. “Who said that?”

I shake my head, not wanting to talk about it. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not inaccurate. And I’m only going to get bigger. Bigger and rounder. Soon I won’t be able to see my feet. My own feet, Shane!”

His head falls back and his shoulders shake with laughter. “Oh, Comb, I’ve missed you,” he says, kissing my cheek.

He leads us to the couch, our hands still intertwined after we sit. I feel his thumb brush over my fingers. Two weeks ago, that touch was enough to make me want to rip his clothes off. But tonight, it only makes me feel self-conscious and uncomfortable. How do you tell someone you’ve been having sex with for months that now the idea of being naked with him makes you want to vomit?

“I’m not in the mood,” I say, releasing my hand from his grasp. “Sorry.”

His brows furrow at my words and he leans away from me. “Wait…what?” he says, almost insulted.

I shrug. “I’m just…not feeling very sexual right now.”

“Is that why you think I asked you to come over?” he asks.

I shrug once more.

I hear him release an exasperated breath. “Wow,” he says, pulling away from me.

Resting his arms on his thighs and interlacing his fingers together, he looks straight ahead as he speaks. “I thought we talked about this.”

“This?” I repeat.

He nods once, looking at me now, expectantly. “Yes.
This
. Over the phone.” He blinks back his own irritation. “I told you this wasn’t just about sex for me. I thought I made that pretty clear. I told you what
this
was about. What I wanted this to become. I thought you…felt the same way.”

He turns his head away from me, shaking it slightly. He’s thinking back to the call, wondering if he misunderstood everything that was said.

Thought I felt the same way?

Could he really not know? After five years, could he still not know me well enough to tell? I think of how I acted walking in here tonight, the assumptions I made of why he asked me to come over. After five years, do I not know him well enough either?

No.

We do know each other. That much, I am sure. If there is only one certainty I have, it’s Shane. He’s my constant. And now, he’s left wondering if I’m his.

I don’t want him to wonder. I want him to know. I wish I could erase these last few minutes and start all over. I want to walk back through that door with a smile, full of excitement at seeing him after a week of separation. I want for us to go back to that place we were at when we spoke on the phone. The place he led us. The place where after years of overlooking what could be between us, we can now both admit we want to try. I want to try to be his as much as I want him to be mine.

Without warning, I do the same thing I did that first night in the back of cab. I lunge at him, taking his head in my hands and press my lips to his. When I kissed him that night so long ago, I wanted my curiosity answered. When I kiss him now, our first time since that night, I’m answering
his
curiosity. Answering him with my lips, tongue, breath.

I thought you felt the same way.

I do, Shane. I do.