Page 171 of Nine Months to Bear
“We have a situation.” His voice is tight. “I need you here. Now.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that I’m calling you when I know you’re playing house.”
I glance at the stairs. The footsteps are growing louder. Olivia will be down any second. “Twenty minutes.”
“Make it fifteen.”
He hangs up. I’m moving, grabbing my keys from the counter.
“You’re leaving?” Babushka sounds disgusted.
“I have to. This is important?—”
“More important than the woman carrying your child? The one you just promised to spend the day with?”
“This is about protecting them.” I shove my phone in my pocket. “Protecting all of you.”
“Bullshit.” She sets her mug down hard enough to crack. “You’re running. Five minutes ago, you were ready to play normal. Now, Taras calls and suddenly it’s life or death?”
“Stefan?” Olivia’s voice floats down from upstairs. “I can’t find my sandals. Have you seen my?—”
She stops halfway down the stairs, taking in the scene. Me with my keys. Babushka’s disapproving face. The tension thick enough to cut.
“You’re leaving,” she says.
I grimace. “Something came up.”
“Something always does.”
“This is important?—”
“I’m sure it is.” She comes the rest of the way down, and I notice she found her sandals after all. “It’s fine. I understand.” But she doesn’t. Her posture tells the whole story.
“Olivia—”
“Really, it’s okay. I should probably go to the clinic anyway. Check on things.” She forces a smile. “We can do the normal thing another time.”
Another time.Like there’s an endless supply of days where we can pretend to be regular people.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I promise.
“You don’t have to make anything up to me.” She kisses my cheek, quick and light. “Go. Do what you need to do.”
I should explain. Should make her understand that this isn’t about choosing business over her.
Except maybe it is. Maybe Babushka’s right. Maybe I’m using Taras’s call as an escape hatch from feelings I don’t know how to handle.
“I’ll be back for dinner,” I say instead.
“Sure.” She’s already turning away, heading for the kitchen. “Babushka, do you need anything from the store? I’m thinking of making that chicken dish you taught me…”
Their voices fade as I head for the door. My hand’s on the knob when Babushka calls out.
“Stefan.”
I look back. She doesn’t say anything.
