Page 64 of Mismatched

It’s my turn to take offense. I’ve never actually called Lydia a workaholic, but her work-life balance, or lack thereof, was one of the factors that pushed me toward Unmatched last spring and made me feel like I had no other choice. She’s become more conscious of it, and does her best to strike a balance, but sometimes I still get the vibe that she can’t make time for me. Which makes me a little uneasy when I think about her making time for a family.

“Okay, when will you?” I ask as calmly as I can.

“Soon,” she says, twisting her fingers in her hair.

I exhale, trying to take a gentler tone. “Look, I know you’re already doing extra work—you’re making our baby. But we need a plan because of your businesses. So you can step away and not have to work so much?—”

“Are we really having this conversation again?”

I meet her eyes.

“I brought Henry on to help solve that problem—at your suggestion—and he’s helped. I don’t spend my weekends on payroll anymore. I hardly have to worry about any of the software systems or financial projections. But there will always be things that require me to be present?—”

“Like your family.”

She’s quiet, and for a moment I’m afraid I was too harsh, that she might cry. Instead, she levels me with a cool gaze.

“Do you know what one of the weirdest things is about being pregnant? It isn’t how tired I am, or how suddenly none of my clothes fit, or even that certain smells knock me over. It’s that there is no way to not be present every second. I can never just set it aside and not think about it. Every bite I eat feeds our baby, every breath I take gives it oxygen, even which side I sleep on apparently matters. I am present for it. All. The. Time.” Her shoulders slump and she turns back for the hall. “And right now, I’m exhausted.”

Heartthrob follows her out of the room, but I stay still, leaning against the kitchen counter.

When I hear the shower come on, my feet unfreeze, and I head into the second bedroom—our office. There isn’t a ton of stuff in here. A couple of desks, some bookshelves. A houseplant. Maybe Lydia’s right and I’m being too pushy, wanting to change the space now. There is a lot going on for her that I don’t have to deal with, much as I wish I could. But if all her energy is going into... gestation? I feel like I need to channel mine somewhere.

I step out to the garage, poking around until I’ve found a couple of empty cardboard boxes. When I come back in, I try to figure out where to start. The walls are the same dingy yellow color they were when we moved in. Lydia might be right that we don’t need to turn the space into a full nursery just yet, but giving it a fresh coat of paint would be an improvement overall.

I’ve emptied the contents of the bookshelves into one of the boxes and am in the middle of unloading the second when my phone rings in my pocket.

“What’s up?” I ask, seeing my brother’s name on the screen. “Any news?”

“I generally like to start conversations with ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’” Seth says.

“Sorry.” I grunt. “Stressful week.”

“What’s happening? Boss man still pushing extra travel?”

I clench my jaw. That’s the part of it he knows. I don’t love keeping the rest from him, but I’m trying to stick to what Lydia and I agreed on. “Not yet, but he’s laying plans for spring.” I clear my throat and change the subject. “So, is Chandra planning another open house for Sunday?”

“Actually, no, we’re abandoning that plan,” he says. “We won’t need it because we went back under contract tonight.”

I set down my armload of books. “No shit—that’s fantastic!”

My brother’s grin is practically audible. “I figured you and Lyd would want to know.”

He’s right. I abandon what I’m doing and trip down the hall, bursting into our bedroom to tell Lydia the news. Only I find her curled into her pillow, sound asleep, a book on top of the covers by her side. I approach the bed, ready to wake her up. But then I think about what she said earlier about being exhausted, and decide I don’t want to disturb her.

I turn the light off and tiptoe quietly for the door. Heartthrob gets up to follow.

“When will you close?” I whisper to my brother.

“Next month. I might even be in Denver by Thanksgiving,” Seth answers, matching my tone. “Why are we whispering?”

My stomach knots and I continue down the hall, through the kitchen, not stopping until I’m out in the backyard. Heartthrob runs out with me, excited to play, but I sink into one of the metal chairs, ignoring his urgent wagging.

“I—we won’t—” I can’t catch my breath. Why didn’t I think of this? “Lydia and I are doing Thanksgiving in fucking Ohio.”

“Okay...” he says, sounding confused. “I mean, that sucks for you guys. But no big deal.”

Heartthrob drops a tennis ball in my lap, and I hurl it across the yard so it ricochets off the neighbor’s fence. I can’t believe I put Lydia’s fucked-up family before my own brother our first holiday without Mom. I drop my head into my hand, wondering what I was thinking, how I could’ve let this happen.

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