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“I’m fine. I won’t be able to sleep until this room is sorted.”
“You have time.”
I shake my head. “Everyone thinks that. Until there’s no time left.”
“We’re talking about a baby here, Arsen. No matter how prepared you are, you’re never prepared enough.”
My jaw clenches as I turn towards the windows. “Goodnight, Polina.”
She accepts my dismissal with a sigh and pads quietly out of the nursery.
She’s not wrong, though—I should go to sleep. Exhaustion tugs at my shoulders, but I’m here and making progress, and I don’t want to stop. It’s not solely because Laila is waiting for me in my bed, but that’s not an insignificant part of why I just keep moving.
I tug my sweaty shirt over my head and toss it to the floor, then get back to work.
I’ve just decided that the crib would be safer if I moved it further from the window when the door squeaks open.
I add “oil the hinges” to my mental to-do list. “I told you to go to bed, Polina.”
“I think she did.”
I stiffen, but keep working. I don’t turn around.
Still, Laila whispers, her voice closer than it was a second ago. “I didn’t realize… You already have everything she needs.”
“Not even close.” I get to my feet. “I’m ordering more.”
“More of what? How much more stuff could a newborn need?”
“I like to be prepared.” I make the mistake of turning to her. Her eyes slip to my exposed chest and the map of scars across my skin.
“Is that why you have all those survivalist kits squirreled away all over the house? Because you like to be prepared?”
I choose to ignore that. “You should be in bed.”
“I can’t sleep.” She hesitates, her fingers sliding up and down the door frame. “Arsen, may I come in?”
A part of me wants to turn her down, send her off to bed, and leave this one corner of the house untouched by thoughts of Laila.
Another greedy part of me wants to see her here. I want her to take up space, leaving behind her scent and her memory.
My greed wins out.
“Be my guest.”
I watch her make a slow circle around the room, running her hand over the crib and along the shelf I just built. Finally, she stops in front of me. “She doesn’t need anything else, Arsen. You’ve thought of everything.”
“It’s not enough.”
“What are you afraid of?” Her eyes fall to the scar in the center of my chest. “I can tell that something— Tonight at dinner, something upset you. Was it about the nursery?”
I take a step back. “Nothing upset me.”
“Fine. New question: how did you get these scars?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her jaw shifts and her cheeks redden. “At least, not right now. I have time if you want to talk.”
