Page 105 of Three Months Yesterday

“Hey,” he says, and I can see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes. It’s only been two days since he was here, but it feels like so much longer. “I can’t believe I missed the appointment.”

“It’s fine.” I want to reach out and smooth the wrinkle between his brows, but he’s not here. “How are you? How are rehearsals?”

“Crazy.” He runs a hand through his hair, which looks like he’s already done plenty of times today. “Aaron’s running me ragged. And the media…” His words trail off as he shakes his head. “You’d think I made some life-changing announcement like I was quitting or something instead of simply getting back to work.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.” But he smiles, that crooked smile that makes my chest ache with how familiar it is. “I missed the appointment,” he repeats. “I promised I wouldn’t miss any and I missed the first one since I left.”

“Beckett, honey. It’s okay. Even if you were here, I wouldn’t expect you to be at every appointment. Most of them are boring and repetitive anyway. Weight, blood pressure, measure the belly, listen to the heartbeat. Rinse and repeat.”

“Still—”

“Still nothing,” I interrupt. “Take the tour and fame out of it, even if you did something ‘normal,’ you have to work. Missed appointments are going to happen.”

There isn’t a single part of me that’s upset he missed the appointment. I miss him and I wish he was here, but that has nothing to do with the baby or the news the doctor gave me, and everything to do with my selfish desires. The world makes sense when he’s around.

“How’d the appointment go?” he asks, shifting in his bed.

“Fine,” I hedge, not looking forward to giving him the news. “Doctor Wallace wants me to come in every week instead of every other.”

“What?” He springs up in bed, his concern pouring off of him, I swear I can feel it through the phone.

“It’s just precautionary,” I tell him, shifting to sit with my back against the headboard. “My protein levels are perfect, it’s just my blood pressure she’s a little concerned about.”

I watch Beckett’s eyes bounce around the screen and I know he’s looking for any sign that I’m holding something back.

“I’m okay, honey.”

“Maybe I should cancel the tour.”

“Absolutely not.” The words come out sharp, harder than I mean them, but I won’t be that person to him. He may be ready to take a step back, but he still loves what he does, and he deserves to get the chance to do it. “I’d rather you do this tour and miss every doctor’s appointment if it means you’re here for the birth.”

He’s quiet—studying me more through the screen.

“We’re fine. I promise.”

“I love you,” he says firmly, like he needs me to know how true that statement is.

“I love you, too.”

And that feeling only grows more and more each day.

The flowers are waiting on the porch when Ian and I return from the grocery store. White lilies and something purple I can’t name wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

I stop at the bottom of the steps, my hand tightening on the grocery bag. My gaze shoots to Ian, sudden anxiety prickling my skin.

Ian’s glance to the flowers is far too relaxed for where my mind goes and when he looks at me, his expression is knowing, almost gentle. “It’s fine.”

“But—”

“Go on.” He gestures to the house. “Get the door.”

I climb the stairs slowly, my eyes on the flowers, but before I can bend to pick them up, Ian lifts them himself.

Inside, I turn off the alarm while Ian watches close behind me. It’s become our routine over the last week. Ian doesn’t take charge and do everything for me, he’s simply there, observing and ready to step in if the need arises. I thought I’d hate it, him being here, but it’s somehow become a comfort, like in some weird way a part of Beckett is still with us.

Ian doesn’t leave after he sets the flowers on the kitchen island. He steps back, giving me space, but keeps a position in the doorway.