Page 60 of Curveball

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Cass cooks when he’s stressed.

When, after thoroughly cleaning my sister’s kitchen sink and in an effort to break the almost intolerable silence, he started rooting around my kitchen in search of suitable ingredients, muttering something about making dinner, I almost laughed. Silently apologized to our kid for giving it a stress baker and a stress cook as parents.

Silently freaked out about calling itour kid.

Perched on the counter next to the stove, I watch as he prepares what I can only hope is another batch of that soup he brought over—bored with nausea for now, the fetus is hungry. Cass watches me right back, sneaking glances at my stomach in between slicing vegetables.

“I’m not even twelve weeks,” I feel the need to point out. “Nothing to see yet.”

“Sorry.” His throat bobs as he returns his focus to the chopping board in front of him, the sound of a knife slicing through celery oddly comforting. “You said you got an ultrasound.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And everything is okay?”

“Looks like it.”

Cass nods absently, hesitating for a moment before quietly asking, “Do you have a picture?”

“Yeah,” I rasp, the word scratching my throat. “Yeah, I do.”

It only takes a minute to dig the sonogram out from the depths of my nightstand before I rejoin Cass in the kitchen, anxiety ballooning in my chest as I set it in front of him.

A softohleaves Cass on a heavy exhale. He clears his throat, blinking real fast, clutching a knife and silently staring for so long, I start to fidget. Antsy butterflies flutter in my belly, thoughts run rampant in my head, nervous words push themselves out of my mouth before I can stop them. “They’re about the size of a lime, apparently. Or a large strawberry, but I think that comparison is kinda useless ‘cause a large strawberry is pretty subjective, right? And, um, they have fingers and toes now. And ears. And nipples. And theyreallyhate eggs. They love pickles, though, which is great because how’s a girl to get through a day without her pickles, y’know?”

Not once does Cass take mercy on me and interrupt my rambling. He doesn’t shoot me the ‘Jesus Christ, I’m having a baby with a nutcase’ look I’m sure I deserve. Hestilldoesn’t say anything.

But he sniffs. Loudly. And then it’s my turn to clear my throat, make a similaroh-esque noise except mine is tinged with a lot more disbelief because is he… “Are you crying?”

“No.” His gaze lifts—as watery as I suspected. “Might in a minute.”

I’m… speechless. I don’t know what to do withthis. Screaming, swearing, promises of eternal damnation due to all that premarital sex I had, I can deal with. Sweet, happy tears? I’m at a loss.

“You really mean it, don’t you?” He’ll be here. He’ll help. He wants this.

“I do,” he insists, and God fucking help me, but I believe him. Tearing his gaze away from the sonogram, he regards me carefully, patiently,hopefully. “You never said what you wanted.”

No, I don’t suppose I have. Not out loud. Not to anyone. “I want a girl,” I answer his question in all the ways it can be interpreted. “But I do have a pretty good track record with boys.”

Metal clangs as Cass drops his knife. The mom in me wants to scold him for such reckless weapon wielding but then Cass is hugging me again, twice in one day, twice more comfort than I’ve ever gotten from any previous baby daddies. I don’t know what to do with it other than cling on for dear life. Relish it the same way I relish the raspy, happy words Cass murmurs in my hair. “We’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” I repeat. “We don’t even know each other.”

“That’s an easy fix.” A big, warm palm cups the back of my head, a comforting pressure. “We should-”

Whatever we should do, I never find out because Cass is interrupted.We’reinterrupted. We spring apart, startled by the two people barging inside the apartment. A boy and a woman, one frowning, one apologetic.

“I tried to call,” Willow says at the same time August barks an accusatory noise, directing a scowl at Cass.

“Is it true?” Ashen eyes flit to the very person he inherited them from, and my heart stops when he hisses a question my way. “Are youpregnant?”

Oh, goody. Both my worst nightmares occurring in one day. “How-”

“We ran into Kristal at the cages,” Willow answers my question before I ask it. “She wanted to extend her congratulations.”

Fuckingbitch.

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