Page 36 of This Means War

“Josh!” I call after him, but he doesn’t turn back, just gets in his car and drives away.

Cole and I stand there in silence for a minute, both of us in shock. Josh’s words are bouncing around inside my mind. Not the ones about me being naive; it’s not as if Cole and I don’t both know we only got married because I’m pregnant. No, what bothered me was what Josh said about expecting a different outcome when it’s the same three people. I can’t stop myself from imagining all the ways I could end up getting hurt. What’s to stop Cole from leaving me after he gets elected mayor? Maybe at that point he’ll no longer care about me and the twins, he’ll just go rushing off to Ashley. His one true love. I’m Leah and she’s Rachel, except polygamy isillegal in Michigan so he’ll have to divorce me before he marries her. Oh my gosh, his last name is evenJacobson. This is bad.

“Lydia?” Cole’s voice jerks me from my musings on the parallels between Genesis and my life. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, not willing to get into this with him. The whole point of our prank war has been to avoid getting into anything serious with him.

“He’ll come around,” Cole assures me.

“Yeah,” I say again, but I don’t feel any better.

Chapter 26

Cole

The next few weeksgo by in a blur. I haven’t heard from Josh, but Delia has sent me a few texts. Her messages unnerve me. I was expecting to face opposition from people, but Delia seems ready to endorse my marriage to Lydia. First, she congratulated me, then she told me she was sure Josh would come around. Her next text said how she knew she probably shouldn’t say anything, but she thinks Lydia and I make a great couple. “Ashley is great,” another text read, “but she’s basically the female version of you. You can’t marry yourself. Besides, I always thought you needed more fun in your life, and Lydia is definitely fun.”

Fun. That does seem to be the word that describes her. I’ve said it. Now Delia’s said it. My dad even said it–though he uttered it like it was a curse word. Fun isn’t high on the list of Jacobson family priorities. Unless you think work is fun. Which I do, obviously. I wouldn’t work sixty-plus hours a week if I didn’t, right?

Honestly, as you get older it’s only natural for your idea of fun to change. I’m almost 30; I shouldn’t think prank wars are fun. The fact that we’ve gone almost three weeks now without either of us striking a blow shouldn’t leave me feeling disappointed.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about pulling a prank on her, especially since it’s my turn to make a move, it’s just that things at work have been busy. Plus, I still haven’t managed to clear the air with her about the things Josh said about me and Ashley. It feels weird to go on the offensive when I’m also busy trying to formulate an apology.

As for why Lydia hasn’t chosen to prank me, I can’t say for sure. Unlike me, she’s not swamped by work and seems to find plenty of time to read, watch TV, and, of all things, garden. For the last week she’s been spending hours every day working on the landscaping in the front yard. I asked her once what her vision was, and she told me not to worry about it. Before she moved in, my idea of landscaping was grass and mulch, so if she wants to plant flowers more power to her. Every night she covers her work with a tarp, informing me that she wants her color choices to be a surprise. Honestly, I really couldn’t care less whether she chooses white pansies or blue pansies. There are too many other things vying for my attention.

On top of normal work stress, Tom just informed me earlier today that the incumbent mayor, Ferris Arnold, just managed to procure state of the artsmart boards for Holland’s public schools. Providing for the needs of our city’s educators has been high on my list of talking points for my campaign. Arnold making a move like this hurts. Even if it is virtually the only thing he’s done during his entire tenure as city mayor to improve our schools.

My phone alarm goes off, and with a sigh I push my chair back from my desk in my home office. It’s Friday evening, and I’d hoped to come home from work at the office and spend some time unwinding. That ship sailed when I got Tom’s phone call. I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes researching technology in classrooms and brainstorming ways to improve our schools. According to my phone alarm though, I need to take a break to eat. Especially since I ignored my lunch alarm to finish some paperwork.

I head to the kitchen, wondering idly if Lydia will want to join me for dinner. We haven’t eaten a meal together since the chicken salad incident. I don’t even know what she likes to eat, outside of orange juice and Pop-tarts. There’s a big box of strawberry Pop-tarts in my pantry with her name sharpied in large letters across it. “Those are name brand Pop-tarts, Cole,” she lectured me last Sunday when she caught me eating one. “I only bought them because they were on sale; you can’t just eat them all.” That was when she got out the sharpie.

I suppose she and I should talk about our finances now that we’re married. She’s been living like we’re roommates. The other day I found a checkon the counter that read “rent” on the memo line.

I’m staring at the depressing contents of the refrigerator and wondering whether I should just order out, when the front door slams and Lydia comes marching in, excitement radiating off of her.

“I finished!” she trills. There’s a streak of dirt across her forehead and her ponytail is sliding down her back. She’s wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a yellow tank top. My eyes catch on her lower abdomen, and my breath hitches. It’s almost indiscernible and yet now that I’ve spotted it, I can’t see anything else. A tiny bump.

Women sometimes talk about their uterus leaping inside them when they find an attractive man who’s good with kids. Whatever the male equivalent of that phenomenon is, that’s what I’m experiencing right now as I take in that bump. Pride, possessiveness, a weird desire to puff up my chest.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of these thoughts. You’d think I wanted to get married and have children the way I’m reacting right now.

Lydia notices me staring. “Ugh. I know,” she touches the tiny bump, and all the feelings I’d been working to push away come rushing back, “I’m already showing! I’m only 11 weeks. Google says you show earlier with twins.” She frowns. “Just my luck.”

I’m speechless. I can’t come to terms with my own emotions.

“Geez, Cole,” Lydia tugs at the hem of her shirt, “way to make a girl feel self-conscious. I guess I’m going to have to start wearing baggy sweatshirtsaround you.”

Please don’t, I want to say, but maybe that’ll make me sound like a weirdo with a pregnancy fetish. Oh gosh, is that what this is? Have I just had a pregnancy fetish all along and am only now realizing it?

“Seriously, Cole, stop staring!” Lydia starts dancing around the room in an attempt to get rid of my gaze, but my eyes automatically follow her. Nope, it’s not a pregnancy fetish, it’s just Lydia.

“Cole!” A banging on the front screen door makes Lydia pause. I recognize Tom’s voice. “What is going on? What’s this mess on your front lawn? Is this some sort of joke?”

My eyes, still fixed on Lydia, narrow as a mischievous smile lights her face.

“What did you do?” I suddenly realize how stupid I’ve been. Who covers their gardening work with a tarp? I should’ve known she was up to something the second she said she wanted it to be a surprise.

“Just a bit of political landscaping,” she says with a shrug.

---