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Alex glanced up in my direction, a screw held between his teeth. For a second there, he just stared blankly, as if he hadn’t heard me at all, but then he spat the screw into his palm and pointed to the swatch I liked the least—pistachio green. Though in all fairness, I had only realized I didn’t love the color right when he pointed it out.
“Olive green it is,” I said, pushing on the armrests to get myself up. “We can start painting tomorrow.”
He pressed his lips flat, and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe I had asked the question when I already knew the answer—the same look he’d given me when I asked him what color throw pillows we wanted, even though I had already ordered a set of clay orange ones.
“How’s the cot coming along?” I asked.
Alex wiped his palm across his forehead. “You’d think an orthopedic surgeon should be able to assemble one of these without needing an engineering degree and a miracle.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I said, walking to him. I brushed my fingertips across the back of his neck, moving them down to that lovely birthmark just below his jaw, the shape of which I still hadn’t figured out yet. Just a cute-looking blob. “It’s supposed to be hard. Prepares us for parenthood.”
“I think all those baby books should be more than enough preparation.”
“And I think there’s a whole world out there that will disagree with you.” I chuckled; not entirely sure I was even a little bit prepared for just how drastically our lives were going to change. At least Alex seemed to be the optimist.
He then waved the screwdriver in the air like it was a scalpel. “Well, I’m just glad my surgical skills don’t depend on assembling thisthing, otherwise we’d be in trouble.”
“You’re doing great.”
Alex leaned his cheek into my palm, and then I left him to finish what he was doing while I walked over to the cupboard.
The only items of clothing I’d bought so far were two seafoam green onesies. Unisex. We weren’t finding out the genders until the baby shower next weekend, and all the old wives' tales—thicker hair, craving salty over sweet food, slower heartbeat—were enough to tell us that we were having boys. Not that it mattered. Alex and I weren’t fussed over the gender, as long as the babies were healthy—
“I’m done,” Alex declared, clapping his hands together. He pushed himself up and turned to me, the smile on his face so bright it could light up the inside of a cinema. “Now I never want to assemble one of these—”
“You still have one cot left,” I interrupted, biting back the laugh I knew was going to erupt from my stomach. Alex had spent at least two hours today putting that cot together.
Another two hours would surely kill him.
He whipped his head my way, his eyes big and bulging and his mouth slightly agape. “What do you mean?” he huffed. “I thought we decided they’d share a crib until they’re a bit bigger . . . Where’s Danny?” Alex glanced back to the hallway like he expected my brother to stand there waiting. “Why isn’t he helping us with this?” he pointed at the newly assembled crib with the built-in storage room. Danny had imported them from Sweden and sworn they were the best money could buy. If it was up to me, I would’ve found a second-hand one online. “He’sthe one who bought the most complicated crib in the world. I bet it is one of his tests on you.”
I laughed to the point where I had to run a finger under each eye, and even more when Alex looked at me as if I was crazy.
“You’re joking, right, Soph?” he said, walking toward me, one hand out. He wrapped his fingers around my upper arm and brushed his thumb along my skin. His touch was as hot as it had been that very first time so many months ago, outside that fancy restaurant, in that garden with the trees surrounding it like shadows. “I don’treallyhave to build up another one of these today," he said, smiling goofily as if the idea were actually absurd, ridiculous, and entirely necessary.
“You can always do it tomorrow,” I teased, knowing it would get a reaction out of him. Every single one of Alex’s reactions, even the I-am-terribly-annoyed ones, were endearing in their way. He never raised his voice. He never got snotty or resentful, and our arguments would usually lead to one of us apologizing—usually him.
“Call him,” Alex said, his face turning serious again. “Tell him to get his butt over here and help.”
“I can’t,” I replied. “He’s getting ready for his date tonight, and even if he weren’t going out, he’d use his tennis elbow pain as an excuse to get out of helping.”
“A date?” Alex asked, raising a single brow. He released my arm and stepped back, leaning against the cot railing. We both sighed softly in relief when the cot held firm. “With whom?”
I shrugged. When Danny had called last night to cancel helping with the nursery today, I’d asked him why, and naturally pressed him when he hesitated. It wasn’t like my brother to keep quiet about his love life—sometimes he even overshared. But this time, I couldn’t get a single detail out of him. “I’ve got no idea. He refused to tell me, said he didn’t want to jinx the date.”
Alex started to say something, then stopped. I wasn’t a mind reader, but I sure as hell could tell what he was thinking—the same thing I was thinking: that Danny was not joking the other night and decided to track down Vicki. It seemed a bit far-fetched perhaps, but it was entirely possible. Danny was the kind of person who loved doing the exact opposite of what I told him. Besides, I thought it was him to test if Alex was truly over Vicki.
“Nah,” Alex said after a minute and shook his head. “He wouldn’t . . . I mean . . . Do youthinkhe would?”
“Date Vicki?” I asked. As soon as the words were out, they sounded outlandish, impossible. Of course, Danny wouldn’t date my boss. Of course, he had more sense than that. Hadn’t I complained enough about her? Come on, not after the way she mistreated his older
sister.
“Yes,” Alex said, staring deep into my eyes as if he hoped the answers were in my irises.
Unfortunately, they were not.
“No, of course, he wouldn’t.” I shook my head, doubting the words when they came out of my mouth. “He would never.”
