Page 18 of Tides That Bind

There isn’t and I frown, I’m hit with a strong Braxton Hicks contraction that makes me arch in my seat and clench my fists.

When the tightening subsides, I rub my stomach. “I know. We’ll talk to him soon.”

I take a deep breath when my whole body relaxes and find I do have a reason to smile because I’ve received a notification that the crib has been delivered. And then I frown when I see it’s been left at the front door where there’s no awning.

Starting the car, I open the AC vents and cock my tongue against my cheek. I don’t ask Riley for much because it often is a wasted breath and I need to ration mine these days. Occasionally he washes his dishesand takes out the trash. Sometimes he takes his clothes out of the dryer and doesn’t just leave them there for me to fold because I need to use it. But none of those things happen all the time and are just common decency when you share a bit of living space.

I scroll through my contacts. Pregnancy brain has made me almost forget I saved Riley’s number as Peter Pan. After all, he was the leader of the lost boys. It seems fitting.

Hey. Are you home?

The crib was delivered and they left it outside on the front steps. Can you bring it in the house for me so it doesn’t get totally soaked?

There’s no response from Riley by the time I exit the parking lot and pull into the drive thru of McDonalds because if I don’t have a chocolate milkshake I might combust on my way home. If I’m going to have to sit in traffic, I deserve to be a little happy. And there are very few things that make me happy at this stage of pregnancy other than milkshakes.

I’m happily sipping, waiting to pull out onto the road and thinking the baby agrees—milkshakes are amazing—when my belly tightens again, the fresh contents of my stomach threatening to break free.

It’s only a few seconds.

I look at the milkshake sitting in the cupholder that I probably won’t enjoy considering I’ve now tasted it with a hint of acid reflux. “Gatorade would’ve been a better decision. I think I’m dehydrated,” I tell myself as I finally get on the road.

There still isn’t a response from Riley. It’s pouring now and it will take me at least forty minutes to get back to Oceanside because Californians don’t fare well behind the wheel in bad weather. I decide to call him.

But there’s no answer.

I imagine Nate telling me it’s not fair to be angry at Riley in this situation, but I am. And I’d argue I have plenty of reasons to be angry and frustrated with my husband’s best friend to begin with. The mainone is how he was supposed to move out already. Even though he sleeps and showers in the apartment above the garage, our house is really his home base.

The moment after I toss my phone onto the passenger seat is when he decides to call back. Now I’m more annoyed with him that I need to wiggle and reach so awkwardly to get it when I stop at a light.

“What’s up?”

“Are you home?” I ask.

Riley is quiet for a second. “I usually don’t answer that question unless I know why someone is asking.”

I curse under my breath. “It’s raining. And the crib got delivered and is out front. Can you bring it in?”

“Yeah. I saw your text.”

“Why didn’t you respond?”

Riley doesn’t answer.

“Why didn’t you respond to my texts but answer my call?”

“In case it was an emergency,” Riley tells me.

“My baby’s crib being left in the rain isn’t an emergency? That’s been backordered for months.”

Riley sighs. “It’s a crib in a box. I’d hardly call that an emergency. Besides, I’m in my apartment and there’s a monsoon outside.”

“Well, can you do me a favor and use an umbrella?”

“I don’t have an umbrella.”

I bang the phone against my head. “Riley—”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll go in a minute.”

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