Page 150 of Slapshot Baby

"I love who we became inside it. The house just held the shape."

She lifts her tea. "That's why I wanted you specifically. Mira showed me some of your work. You find what a space already is and you make it louder."

My fingers are still on the iPad. She sees my work the way I see it.

"That's probably the nicest thing a client has ever said to me."

"I'm not just a client, Ava. I’m Kai’s mother."

The warmth in her voice wraps around me so tight it hurts.

We're standing at the breakfast bar discussing pendant lights when a wave of fatigue rolls through me. My hand drifts to my lower belly and I sit.

Laura's eyes sharpen. They drop to my hand then lift to my face. Her face lights up as she reaches out and covers my hand with hers.

"Ava." Her voice goes soft, careful. "Is there something to celebrate? Something you haven't shared with us yet?"

My heart slams against my ribs.

She sees it. Your stupid hand just gave her everything.

I pull my hand away, almost knocking down a plate. I grip the iPad.

"What? No. It’s just a cramp. I skipped breakfast this morning and ate a granola bar in the car, which barely counts."

"You just ate two of my scones."

"Right. So maybe it's dehydration? I forget to drink water when I'm working."

Her gaze keeps drifting back to my middle. The slight press of her lips tells me everything.

"You work too hard," she says, squeezing my knee. "Kai tells me you never stop."

"Kai is one to talk. The man trains like sleep is optional."

"He gets that from Charles." A smile, but her eyes are still soft with something she's choosing not to name. "You know, if there were ever anything you wanted to tell me... about anything at all... I hope you know you could."

My throat closes.

How do I tell her about a pregnancy her son doesn’t know about?

We spend some more time on finishes, timeline, and rough budget.

By the time I’m leaving, I’m brimming with ideas.

At the front door, she squeezes both my hands in hers. "Thank you for doing this, Ava."

Then she looks pointedly at my stomach. I look away.

“Thank you, Laura,” I say weakly.

The drive home feels like crossing into a different country. My street is narrower, quieter. By the time I pull into my driveway, exhaustion has settled so deep into my limbs that the walk from the car to the front door feels like crossing a desert.

Biscuit meets me with her full-body wiggle, nose jabbing into my hip. I crouch and let her lick my chin while I try to summon the energy to take off my shoes.

"Hey, girl. Your mom almost blew up everything she's built."

I drop my bag and settle on the couch, putting on the TV to watch an evening show. The sound of the doorbell startles me.