Page 50 of The Devil Gets His Due

“You need to get the room ready, soon,” says his great-aunt. “I knew a girl whose baby came almost three months early, and cribs were all backordered. That poor child slept in a Pack ’n Play for two months after being released from the hospital on a feeding tube.”

I cough. “Three months early?”

“It was a mess.” She leans forward to pat my knee. “Best to be prepared.”

“So you haven’t bought a crib or a car seat yet?” Jeannie asks. “We should check the safety ratings, especially for the crib. If the slats are too far apart, the baby’s head can get stuck.”

My chest starts to tighten, and I glance across the lawn at Graham, who’s now watching me and frowning. There’s so much to do, and when the hell am I going to have the time?

Jeannie claps her hands together, holding them to her chest. “I want to buy your furniture. I’ll come to LA and we’ll go shop. Though if you’re thinking about getting a bigger place, we should wait until you move. You don’t want to have to disassemble the crib—they never go back together right, and God forbid it collapses with the baby inside.”

Collapses? What the fuck?

I swallow. “We haven’t discussed moving.”

“They can’t movenow,” says Gracie. “Not when they’ve only got a few months to go. The move alone could send her into labor.”

Jesus, they’re discussing this like it’s imminent, and—oh my God—is it? My inhale is shaky. Three months ago, I was taking a pregnancy test and it still feels like yesterday. Three months from now—less than that, actually—I’ll be a mother. There will be a helpless human depending onme, a person who once let her car run out of gas because she was looking at the wrong gauge. A person who existed for an entire week of residency on grape soda and Swedish Fish.

“Up,” says Graham.

I blink at him and then stand.

He takes my seat and pulls me into his lap in one swift move, as if it’s something we do all the time. And I immediately feel…better. No matter what lies ahead of us, he’ll make sure it’s okay.

“You’re interrupting our girl talk, Graham,” says Noah.

“I got the very strong feeling that your ‘girl talk’ meant harassing the shit out of my wife.”

My wife. I don’t know why I get this tiny, sweet thrill when he says that.

“We just wanted to know about a theme for the baby’s room. You’re going to find out the gender, right?” his mom asks. “Keeley said you hadn’t, but it’ll make decorating so much easier, and if we throw a shower—”

“Mom, stop,” he commands, pulling me closer, his hand spread over my hip. “No more questions.”

My body settles, the tightness in my chest easing. I smile at him, and he gives me the barest beginnings of a smile in return, one I mostly see in his eyes.

“Okay, but have you thought about names?” his mother persists.

My smile grows. This morning I suggested Khal Drogo for a boy, and he told me our son would have face tattoos and be serving time before he could drink.

“We haven’t figured it out yet,” I tell them. “ButGrahamlikesEstherfor a girl.”

Their noses wrinkle. “Graham,” says Gracie, “no.”

He laughs against my ear. “Well played, but that doesn’t mean we’re naming her Kalamity with a K, either.”

The crowd disperses when dinner’s nearly ready, which is when Ben and Gemma arrive, full of apologies. Their new puppy, Lola, apparently had a cut on her paw and needed to go to the vet. Ben drags Graham off to the grill, and Gemma and I are told to relax while everyone hustles to get dinner out.

I ask her about the puppy while glancing across the lawn at Graham. He grins at me, and when he makes a show of looking at his watch, I laugh.

“Well,that’sinteresting,” says Gemma.

“It’s not interesting,” I reply. “It’s horrific. If we leave Graham in charge of the burgers, they’ll be full of healthy shit, and I bet he won’t even put cheese on mine.”

“You know that’s not what I’m referring to. You guyslikeeach other now.”

“Weget along. That doesn’t mean welikeeach other.”

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