Page 74 of First Comes Forever

“Babe, I’m here,” I call out as I burst through the door of the condo.

The TV’s paused on a still frame of Renee Zellweger’s face, and I roll my eyes.Bridget Jones’s Babyis now Amani’s favorite pregnancy movie. I’ve endured a lot of movies I would’ve never agreed to watch, but she says she’s manifesting. I’ve dutifully sat through about a dozen cheesy pregnancy rom-coms. And I’m becoming quite skilled at sleeping with my eyes open.

I push open the bedroom door, but the bed is empty. The comforter is bunched up and crumpled, with half of it lying on the floor. “Amani, are you in the shower?” I ask as I knock on the bathroom door, but I don’t hear the water running.

“Do not come in here,” she groans.

Now, I’m worried. When I enter the bathroom, she flushes in a hurry. Amani crawls out of the nook that hides the toilet and scowls at me. “What did I just say?”

“Oh, poor thing.” I drop to the floor with her, securing my back against the nearest wall and pulling a weak Amani into my arms, her back to my stomach. She’s pale and cold, yet sweating. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a bad day?”

The hormone injections have been grueling. Liv had morning sickness during the first trimester. It wasn’t pleasant by any means, but Amani’s nausea has rendered her near immobile, and she isn’t even pregnant yet. It’s a side effect from all the drugs and synthetic hormones they are pumping her up with.

“It isn’t,” she groans. “Believe it or not, this is mild.”

I wipe a bead of cold sweat from her forehead. “Why haven’t you told me it’s been this bad?”

“Chase needs you, and I wasn’t trying to take up all your time. All I do is sit on the couch and watch movies with brief intermissions to puke my brains out. I’m no fun to be around right now.”

“You should’ve told me,” I mumble. I rack my brain, trying to remember our phone conversations. Was there any sign she was this sick? I’ve spent most of this summer with Amani, but for the past few days, I had work to do. While Cici is handling the PR nightmare that is Kayla’s pregnancy, I’ve been working on the redlines of Chase’s filming schedule and promotional tours. It’s been days of back-to-back meetings. Too exhausted to think after endless meetings, I’ve been crashing at my home in Hollywood, unable to make the drive every night to Elm Community.

“Maybe you should stay at my place when I can’t make it out here.”

She shakes her head. “Traffic is awful up there. I like it here. All my stuff is here. The ocean view helps when I feel crappy.”

“Okay. Do you want to get up?”

Her frayed, messy bun rubs against my neck as she shakes her head. “I think it’s best I stay within crawling distance of the toilet. And when did you start wearing so much cologne, by the way?”

“I’m not wearing cologne.”

“New soap?” she asks, sniffing aggressively. “It’s a little…musky.”

“No, same soap. That’s just you and your new bloodhound nose. Do you want me to shower?”

Turning her head, she smirks at me. “And how are you going to wash the scent ofyouoff?”

“Good point.”

“I’m sorry,” she says and exhales. “I’m already so fucking uncomfortable, and it’s only the beginning. Do you think it’s going to get worse? My mom said she threw up every day for about six months. Apparently, that stuff is hereditary.”

“I don’t know. Liv’s morning sickness was short-lived, so I’m out of my wheelhouse here. But while we’re on the subject, if you got that sick, who would take care of you in Denver?”

It’s the question that’s been on my mind for a couple of weeks now. I know I told Amani I only wanted to meet the baby once it was born, but it doesn’t seem like that’s enough anymore. We’re well past feelings. I’m trying to plan a future that I’m not quite ready for. But what’s the alternative?

“My friends would.”

“Your friends all have full-time jobs, families, responsibilities. I know they’d be there for you, but who would go through it all with you, you know?”

“What’re you saying, Adam?”

Squeezing her shoulders, I look around the bathroom, expecting to see the ghosts of my past filling this condo, but they’re all gone. Images of Amani have replaced all the painful memories of my failed marriage. I picture Amani putting on her makeup, shower sex before I leave for work, the time she styled my hair with her fruity-smelling hair products. How quickly this shell of a condo has turned into a home.

“Would you consider doing the pregnancy here? With me? So I can take care of you and the baby?”

“Hmm,” she exhales. “Maybe. But don’t you think you’re becoming too emotionally involved? You said you weren’t ready for a baby, but you’re acting like a dad. What do I do with that?”

I laugh and rub her arms, which feel warmer now that she’s been sitting in my embrace. “You roll with the punches, maybe? You be patient with me and know I’m doing everything I can to get there as quickly as possible.”

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