Page 13 of The Last Trip

I sink down in the warmth, easing myself back against the wall of the tub with a sigh. It’s been so long since I was able torelax like this. To just sit quietly and let my body rest. Lately, just rolling over is a full workout. As the tub fills, my round stomach becomes an island, the only part of me still visible among the bubbles. I wonder if I’ll miss this, the joys and pains of pregnancy. Everyone says you do, and as magical as parts of it have been, I imagine I will, but I also know how ready I am to have her here with me. To see her wrap her little fingers around mine, to kiss her head, to feel her snuggle against my chest and hear her tiny, soft breaths. I want all of that, despite how this started. The surprise of it all, the out-of-order way we’re going about this whole baby and marriage thing. Our family was just meant to be, and I’m okay with that. I’ve never been one for tradition anyway.

I never had much in life, not in terms of money or opportunities or even family. My mother tried, but it was just the two of us, and we struggled. I always dreamed of a life that felt easier, safer. And now I have it. I have Cal and our daughter, and potentially a new stepdaughter—is that what we’ll call her?—to fill the holidays and the silence. The emptiness. In the blink of an eye, I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of. So why don’t I feel happy about it?

Later, when I’m dressed, with my hair fixed and a bit of makeup on, I join Cal in the kitchen where he’s stirring the chili, wafting the scent up to his nose every few seconds.

I’m at the table, reading a book with my feet propped up on the seat of the chair next to me when he turns back to me. “I’m making it less spicy than usual. I don’t know if she likes spice the way you do.”

“That’s fine.”It’s nice to be known. I’m hit with the thought. It’s nice to have someone who knows how you like each meal prepared, how you relax, and what your face looks like when you’re stressed, even when you try to hide it. I love that Cal, evenin our short time together, has learned these things about me. Just like I’ve learned so much about him.

He’s nervous, I can tell. He wants to impress her.

I think about the type of father he will be someday, how he’ll treat this baby, how he’ll love her. This woman, his daughter, is a lucky girl to have Cal in her life.

An hour later, his phone chimes loudly with a text letting us know she’s arrived. He paces the kitchen, putting finishing touches on everything, hanging and straightening the towel on the handle of the stove, glancing out the window, pushing the trash can back a bit farther against the wall.

I stand and move toward him, smoothing my hands over his arms. “You’re going to be fine,” I promise him, kissing his nose.

To my relief, I see the stress almost melt away from his features. His lips curl up slightly, and he puffs out a breath. “Of course it is.” He nods, kisses my head right back, and exits through the door, leaving it open in case I decide to follow.

For a moment, I consider it, but really, it doesn’t feel right. They should get a chance to say hello, to have that time together free of outside intrusions, even if that intrusion is me. I’d hope he would give me the same if the situation were reversed.

Turns out, I’ve severely underestimated the amount of time they’ll need, though, as I’m still waiting once twenty minutes have passed. When I finally hear their footsteps and soft voices outside, I sit back down in the chair with my book, adjusting my shirt and my hair.

I want her to think I’m beautiful, strangely enough. I care what she thinks of me, the woman her father chose. I want her to like me.

Cal appears first, pushing the door open for her, and when she enters the room, my heart stops as I take in the sight of her blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the familiar curve of her cheeks.

It can’t be her… It just can’t.

And yet—it is.

What the hell?

CHAPTER TWELVE

HIM — BEFORE

She’s as beautiful now as she’s ever been, sitting on the floor of my apartment, eating chicken chow mein as she studies for her finals. I interrupt her studies with a question that’s been looming in my mind for the last eight months.

“Hey, do you ever think about getting married?” I feel the heat in my cheeks as I try to gauge her reaction.

Slowly, she turns her face toward me, jaw slack. She blinks. “What did you say?”

“I just wondered…” I’m really trying to sound much more casual than I feel as I clear my throat and run a finger along the edge of the coffee table. “Would you want to marry me?”

She coughs—practically chokes on her food—a hand to her chest. She is looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and I really don’t like it. “Are you?—”

I put a hand up, cutting her off. “I’m not proposing. I’m just wonderingifI did, what would you say?” There shouldn’t be a question, really. The answer should be obvious.

“Um, I think you have to ask. That’s the whole point.” Her voice is softer now, though. Sort of sad.

“I know. You don’t have to say yes or no, I’m just asking if it’s something you’ve thought about. We’ve been seeing each otherfor nearly a year, and we’re heading into summer. I just wanted to see where your head is about things.”

“I…” she scoffs. “I mean, I guess I hadn’t really thought too much about it.” My face falls, and she immediately adds, “I mean, I really like you and we’re having fun, but I’m still young. I don’t think I want to get married anytime soon.” The laugh that escapes her throat is strangled as she studies me, her face wrinkled with obvious confusion and worry.

“Well, why not? What’s your plan, exactly? When will you want to get married?”

“I’m not sure, really. I guess when I’m ready.”

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