Page 53 of The Devil Gets His Due

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KEELEY

“We should probably go look at baby stuff,” Graham says when I walk out of my room the next morning. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt, showered and shaved. Even from across the room I know exactly how his neck would smell if I pressed my nose to it. I know exactly how his arm would feel if I grasped it, how long those fingers of his would feel as I pulled them between my thighs.

That kiss was three seconds at most and I can’t shake it off. It’s like we opened Pandora’s Box, and a whole host of memories that should have stayed repressed have come spilling out: his hand on my stomach when he went down on me that first night; him knocking over a barstool to lift me onto a counter somewhere; his fingers sliding inside my panties,growlingwhen he felt how wet I was.

I fake a yawn. “Your mom wanted to do that.”

“We probably should just figure it out on our own first.” His jaw shifts. “Believe me.”

I don’t know what’s up with his attitude toward his mom. He acts like she’s one step from the psych ward when she seems completely together to me.

I groggily fall into a chair at the counter. “Don’t you need to do your whole workout thing?”

It’s so unnecessary. Unless you’re Anna Fucking Tattelbaum.Sheprobably appreciated all his superfluous muscles.

He laughs. “Keeley, it’s eleven. I worked out hours ago. Get dressed.”

“I need to feed Mark. And get my Sunday muffin.”

“I already brought him food. And that muffin is just candy swaddled in a paper lining.”

I’ll forgive him for maligning my muffin because he brought something to Mark.

“Okay. But I want my goddamn muffin.”

We goto Buy Buy Baby after he shoots down my suggestion that we start at Saks.

“You can’t even walk into Saks for less than a grand,” he says. “Their cribs are probably made of white gold.”

“We’re not going to find a Silver Cross stroller inhere,” I mutter as we walk to the doors.

“Knowing how expensive your taste is, that’s probably for the best.”

Inside, we are greeted by an employee who hands me a mind-numbing list of “suggested items” and gives Graham a scanner so all our choices will be saved in their registry system.

“This can’t all be necessary,” I say under my breath. “My God. Even thebathingsection of this list has twenty things on it.”

He glances at me. “We have plenty of time.”

“Maybe we don’t. Your aunt had a story—”

He laughs. “My aunt has a story for everything.” He places his hand on the small of my back. “I’m not going to let this get fucked up, okay? I promise you…by the time this baby arrives, we’ll have everything we need.”

I feel my shoulders settle a little. I don’t trust myself with any of this. But I do trust him.

We begin to scan things I didn’t even know existed until today: infant tub, diaper genie, bottle warmer, nursing pillow, window car shade, video monitor. Will he stay long enough to help me get it all set up? The odds of me correctly putting together a diaper genie or connecting the monitor to my phone are close to nil.

“I think we should find out what we’re having,” I whisper as we look at the strollers.

I see both hope and worry in his eyes. “You’re sure? I thought you wanted to be surprised.”

“I’m sure.” I’m still scared, but when I look at him, I know he’ll make sure things work out. And there’s enough we don’t know without adding gender to the list.

He reaches into his wallet and removes the envelope—he’s been carrying it around all this time, which is sort of sweet—and hands it to me. I take a deep breath before I tear it open.

Girl.

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