Page 19 of The Last Trip

She stares at him like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead, she turns back to the window, and her face lights up. “Oh, look. There he is now.”

Sure enough, George is walking up onto the porch. His arm is slicked with mud as he pushes open the door, but this time, he doesn’t enter. “Eh, just a little hairline crack on one of the pipes.” He pulls a cloth from his pocket and rubs it across his face. “Looks like it’d been leaking for a while, but I’ve got it all fixed up now. Shouldn’t give you any more trouble, but we’re just a phone call away if you need anything. You have my number.” He nods toward the fridge before wiping his face again. “Come on, now, hun. Let’s get home before it gets dark.”

“Have a good night, you two,” the woman says, shuffling across the room. “Don’t forget to lock the doors before you go to bed, and you should probably leave some warm water running in the sinks and tubs, just in case the pipes try to freeze.”

“Got it. We’ll be fine,” Cal says, shutting the door behind them with a wave. Once we’re alone, he locks the door and closes the blinds before turning back to me and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well. Interesting day, hmm?” He laughs under his breath as he pulls me against his chest with a quick hug. Then he opens the fridge and takes out a beer and a naturally flavored seltzer water for me.

In the living room, he sits down on the couch, propping his feet up. When I sit down next to him, he asks, “Well, what did you think of her?”

“Her?” I ask, buying time more than anything.

“Janelle.”

“She…well, I don’t know. I didn’t get to know her that well, did I?”

“Just first impressions, then.” He takes a swig of his beer. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Do you think she looks anything like me?”

I think about it, replaying her features over and over in my head. “Not really,” I admit. “Actually, now that you mention it, have you thought about asking her for a paternity test?”

He lowers the beer bottle from his lips, his brows drawn down. “What? Why? You think she’s lying?”

“I think…she could be. It would be nice to know for sure.”

He scoffs, looking away. “What on earth would she do that for? We certainly don’t have anything she could gain from this. An assistant professor of literature and a part-time publicist for struggling artists are hardly cash cows.”

I hate when he calls my clientsstruggling, but he’s not exactly wrong. Neither of us make more than average. We’re lower middle class at best. “I didn’t say she was trying to get money out of us, just that I don’t know if she’s being truthful. For all we know, she has the wrong person in the first place. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to be certain before you get too attached.”

“Is that what you’re hoping for? That she’s either wrong or lying?” His accusatory tone sets my nerves on edge.

“I…I have no opinion either way. Is this the most convenient thing to ever happen to us? No, but I’m trying to make it work?—”

“Trying?” he demands, standing up from the couch. His face is already flushed from the alcohol and anger. He rarely drinks for fear of liver damage and an increased cancer risk. “What the hell are you talking about—trying? What happened to the woman who set all this up in the first place? You were the one who suggested inviting her here, and now you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong.”

“I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong. I’m just saying we should be cautious.”

“But where is this coming from? I don’t understand. Did she say something to you? Or…or did she do something that made you feel like she was lying?”

“No, I—” My voice catches in my throat because there’s absolutely no way I can tell him what I need to without everything becoming so much worse than it already is. “I don’t want to fight with you.” And then I do it—the thing I hate to think about, the thing I swore I wouldn’t do—I put my hand on my stomach and wrinkle my face at him. “Stress isn’t good for the baby.” It’s not a lie, but I’m also using our daughter in this fight against him—to protect myself and my lie—and it’s not fair.

At once, though, it works. He crumples like an accordion, shoulders slumping, body folding inward as he lurches toward me with a look of pure regret. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fight with you either. I’m just…this is a lot.” He kisses my cheek, then my neck in the place where he knows I’m most ticklish, until I giggle.

He presses his lips in closer, tickling me until I scream for relief. “Stop! Stop! Please! Cal!” I laugh, jerking away. Still in his arms as I catch my breath, I pat his chest, studying him.

He kisses my nose. “Thank you for being here with me for this. I know it can’t be easy, and I appreciate you trying.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, smiling sadly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, kissing my lips. “And now…” He scoops me up in his arms like a baby doll. I hadn’t realized he’d even put his drink down, but now, both of his hands are under me as we make our way into the bedroom. “Now, we can just forget about all the rest of it for a while and focus on the reason we’re here.” He drops me on the bed, kissing my forehead. “Rest and relaxation for Momma and baby.” Next, he drops down and kisses my stomach before standing up and retreating to the bathroom.

Alone, I slip out of my clothes and into pajamas before climbing back into bed. It isn’t until I hit the mattress that I realize how tired I am. Now my entire body feels made of liquid metal, like I’m melting and hardening into the mattress and will never move again.

I sink and melt and close my eyes, allowing the exhaustion to truly set in as he comes out of the bathroom.

Sometimes I forget I’m this pregnant. I catch myself running into things more often, underestimating how much stomach I have when I approach counters or try to roll over in bed.

Calvin draws near to the bed with a chuckle. “Someone’s sleepy.”

“Mmm.” I groan, too tired to make a human noise. I feel him lift the covers and slip into bed next to me, then his hand comes around my stomach, tugging us together.

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