Page 60 of Tides That Bind

I take a deep breath. “The baby’s rug is clean. And white.”

“Who gets a white rug for a baby?” Riley asks, dropping the box in the hallway.

“Me.”

“Yeah, well that was a stupid decision. Kids make messes.”

I open the linen closet across from the nursery, holding the candle up to look for the toolbox he’ll need. I know there’s a box cutter in there.

But what’s the point of that? Riley rips the box open like a savage.

Spotting the tools, I flex my feet to stand on my toes because it’s high up above all the extra sheets and towels. Too high for me to reach. Leaning down, I put the candle on the floor, and raise my arms, hoisting myself up.

Riley jumps to his feet. “What are you doing?”

“I do this all the time.”

“Get down. It could break.”

I whip my head around. “Because I’m fat?”

“Because it’s shelving, not a jungle gym. Get out of the way.” With one foot still on the ground, I give in and let Riley take the toolbox off the shelf. With his free hand, he picks up the candle and motions at my bedroom door. “Can you go and lie down now?”

“You’ll need help.” I squint at the mess of crib parts and cardboard, spotting the directions, but Riley shakes his head.

“I don’t need those. And I don’t need the micromanaging.”

I unfold the paper. “Of course you don’t. You’re a man. Why would you need directions?”

Riley goes into the nursery.

“Your life could use a little micromanaging though,” I mumble.

“I heard that.”

I lean against the doorway. “Good. I meant for you to hear it. In case you didn’t notice, Nate and I have a baby on the way. Is that really something you want to stick around for?”

Riley grabs one piece of the crib. “Considering I made it this long with you, a baby will be a cake walk. And it’s not like I live here.” He points to the back of the house. “I live there.”

“You use our kitchen.”

“A microwave only gets you so far.”

“And our washing machine.”

“Would you prefer I’d walk around in dirty clothes?”

“I’d prefer if you’d fold your clothes and not leave them in the dryer for me to do that.” With my foot, I lift a corner of the rug Riley foldedwhile dragging a piece of the crib. “Actually, I’d prefer if you’d move out completely by the time the baby comes.”

Riley narrows his eyes. “I don’t know if you forgot, but I was here first. In this house. In Nate’s life.”

“Yeah, well I’m his wife. Having his baby.” I point to my stomach. “There isn’t a line about a friend in the first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage rhyme.”

Riley sits back on his feet. “Why do you hate me so much? I never did anything to you.”

But that’s the thing. Riley doesn’t have to do anything. He only has to exist out of place in my home with my family for him to get under my skin. Because the family Nate and I are building—literally creating—is traditional. It’s stable.

It’s everything Riley is not.

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