Page 95 of Things We Burn

“I, uh, um, had high hopes about my ability to construct the crib,” I explained, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “But as you can see…” I pointed to the cardboard that I’d given up on. Why I didn’t buy the fancy stuff that came put together that people hauled in for you, I didn’t know.

Kiera had tried to insist on decorating this room too, but this was the only room I’d pushed back on. I’d even let her do the kitchen. I’d had to. I could barely step foot in there except to take care of my basic nutrition needs. The ILVE Nostalgie stove, the Shun Hikari knives and the large island all taunted me. Showed me what I’d had. What I’d lost. Who I was. Who I wasn’t.

But the nursery… it seemed like I had to do that. It was my job to take care of the nursery. I was the mother after all.

Mother.

Still, even with the baby now squishing all of my internal organs up toward my ribs, kicking me all night long and changing my body irrecoverably, I didn’t think the label fit.

Father.

That’s what Kane was. What I’d thought he’d refused to be. But he was standing in our baby’s unfinished nursery, a stern expression on his face. Yet even with that expression, the label fit him, bespoke.

Kane remained silent, just focusing on the wood and the boxes for longer than was comfortable.

“Who carried these upstairs?” he finally asked.

I tilted my head at his question, confused. “What?”

He turned to look at me then. Yet again, I had to stifle a gasp at the lack of expression on his face. “Who carried these upstairs?” He gestured to the crib parts and the boxes.

“I did,” I said, stating the obvious. “Well, the delivery guys did the dresser, thankfully. Just pushing that across the room was a workout.”

I’d thought the air in the room was tense before, but it suddenly seemed to throb with ferocity.

Kane’s eyes bore into me. They were no longer blank but bulging with rage.

“Mypregnant womancarried this shit upstairsalone.” He shook his head, muttering seemingly to himself.

My heart rate increased tenfold. “I mean, y-yeah,” I stuttered. “But it’s not like it’s that heavy. I’ve spent my life carrying sacks of potatoes around restaurants and boxes of oysters through Manhattan.”

His gaze was piercing. “You weren’t carryingmy childthen.”

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose. There it was. Even more menace. But also something else. Something I kind of liked despite the situation.

Possession.

Mywoman. Mychild.

But there was still distance between us. A coldness that rivaled the arctic in temperature.

My hand went back to my stomach. “She’s fine, I just had a checkup,” I reassured him.

Or at least I was attempting to reassure him.

He went stock-still. “Sh-she?” he clasped the back of his neck. “It’s a girl?” His eyes were on my stomach again. Yet his gaze was softer, reverent. Full of despair.

I sucked in a breath of air that felt like broken glass. “Yeah, I’m, um, not into surprises, or intense gender reveals. I like having a plan.”

Not that knowing the gender helped my plan any. All it did was veer me away from onesies with trucks and dinosaurs on them. Not that I was overly bothered with dressing an infant in anything frilly and pink. I’d gone with muted tones that had good quality fabric and reputable reviews. No frilly dresses or clothing without zippers. I suspected I was in for a challenge merely putting on a diaper.

“A girl,” he said again in little more than a whisper.

The despair in his voice made my heart ache.

His shoulders slumped as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. I’d never seen Kane like this. Never seen him so cold, unfeeling. And I’d never seen him look so … defeated.

It was killing me. Because I was the cause of it. I wanted to go to him, wanted to comfort him, but there was a barrier between us. Invisible, but miles high and just as wide. Impenetrable.

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