Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 88: I Can Help

Sarah

I stand in the doorway of what will soon be the nursery. I rest my hand on the bump that’s just started to show beneath my t-shirt.

Tomorrow, I have a doctor’s appointment, and since I am in my twelfth week of pregnancy, I can finally hear my baby’s heartbeat.

I can’t wait.

I try to picture a crib against the wall, stuffed animals piled in a corner. The doorbell rings and breaks my trance.

Rebecca’s early.

"I brought presents," Rebecca announces when I open the door. She’s hidden behind bags from the hardware store and a tray of iced coffees. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping around her face like she’s been running her fingers through it.

"Is one of those decaf?" I ask, eyeing the coffee.

"Duh." She pushes past me into the apartment, dropping the bags with a clatter. "One boring, flavorless decaf for the baby mama."

I take the cup she offers and nod gratefully.

Rebecca pulls cans of paint from the bags like a magician producing rabbits. "I got samples. We need to test them on the wall before committing."

"You didn’t buy the mint green we talked about?" I lift one of the sample cans. The label reads ’Whisper Blue.’

"I got it too, but options are good. What if mint green looks like hospital walls once it’s up?" She arranges five sample cans on the floor. "Blue, green, yellow, gray, and this weird off-white that the guy at the store swore was the most popular nursery color this year."

"I don’t want what’s popular. I want something that feels like... I don’t know," I mutter.

Rebecca snorts. "Always so indecisive. Well, we got options so choose wisely."

"Okay." I dip a small brush into the mint green sample and dab it against the wall. "This one. It’s fresh but not too bright. Gender-neutral but not boring."

"Are you sure? The yellow is nice too," Rebecca says.

"Too much like sunshine. The baby will never sleep," I joke.

Rebecca laughs. "We can’t have that."

We spend the next hour prepping the room. Rebecca taped down the drop cloths while I removed the outlet covers and light switch plates. There’s something satisfying about this preparation, this careful dismantling before we create something new. It makes me forget to be anxious about other things.

Nothing weird has happened since the night at the party, and I would like to keep it that way. Matthew kept wanting to speak to my parents about Rodrigo, but I begged him not to. I am scared. Too scared to delve into the past. I just want to think about this baby and be happy.

"So, have you decided what you will name your baby if it’s a boy?" Rebecca asks.

"I was thinking, Benjamin," I say.

"Solid choice. Regular human name. I approve." She steps back to examine her taping job. "What does Matthew think about it?" she asks in a careful tone.

I pause. "He said he doesn’t care," I say quietly.

Rebecca’s expression darkens. "Is he still cold toward you?"

I hesitate. "He has been...cordial."

"Cordial isn’t exactly what a woman wants from her husband," Rebecca says, raising her eyebrows.

I shrug, trying to make it seem less painful than it is. "It’s better than I had hoped for. At least he is being nice to me now."

Rebecca shakes her head. "Sarah, you can’t keep tiptoeing around this forever. You are 12 weeks into your pregnancy. It’s time that he stops being angry at you."

"I know, but I don’t want to push him," I say, forcing out a smile. "Come on. Let’s just focus on what we are doing now."

"Fine." Rebecca pries the lid off with a screwdriver, and the wet, chemical smell hits me immediately.

"Strong," I mutter, wrinkling my nose.

Rebecca doesn’t seem to notice. She stirs the paint with a wooden stick, the surface rippling hypnotically. "Time to transform this room. You want first honors?" She offers me a brush.

I take it, feeling the weight of it in my hand. There’s something ceremonial about this moment. The first stroke of color in the room where my child will sleep, dream, and grow. I dip the brush into the paint and approach the wall.

The first stripe of mint green is startling against the blank white. Wet, it looks darker than I expected. "I love it," I comment.

I’m working on a tricky corner when a wave of dizziness hits me. The paint smell seems suddenly overwhelming, burning in my nose and making my empty stomach turn. I pause.

"Sarah?" Rebecca’s voice sounds concerned. "You okay?"

"Just a little dizzy." I straighten up.

Rebecca drops her roller into the tray and is at my side in an instant, her paint-splattered hand on my elbow. "Sit down. The fumes are too strong."

"I’m fine," I insist, but the room is tilting slightly.

"You’re not fine. Paint fumes are bad for the baby. I should have thought of that before we started." Her voice is tight with worry.

"But I want to help finish." My protest sounds weak even to my own ears.

"Sarah." Rebecca uses her no-nonsense voice, the one she uses with her kindergarten students. "You need to go sit on the balcony, get some fresh air. I can handle this."

"But it’s the nursery. I should be the one painting it." I feel childish even as I say it, but it’s important somehow.

Rebecca’s face softens. "I know this is your thing. But right now, your thing is growing a healthy baby. Let me do this for you."

My eyes fill with stupid tears. Pregnancy hormones make me cry at commercials for car insurance, so it’s no surprise they’re showing up now. "I hate not being able to do things."

"I know," Rebecca says, guiding me firmly toward the door. "But there will be plenty of time for you to do all the things once the baby’s born. Believe me, you’ll be begging for a break."

I hesitate one last moment, but another whiff of the paint makes my decision for me. Rebecca is right. The baby comes first now.

"Fine," I concede. "But take pictures as you go. I want to see the progress."

"Deal." Rebecca is already back at her roller.

The balcony air feels clean after the paint fumes, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing out on something important. I take a deep breath. The crisp October air fills my lungs, and I have to admit it feels good.

My hand finds its way to my stomach again, a habit I’ve developed over the past few weeks. The bump is finally noticeable and I feel this tightness, the subtle curve, the way my jeans dig in at the waistband.

It’s wonderful.

"Just you and me out here, kid," I murmur. "While Aunt Rebecca does all the fun stuff."

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, hoping Matthew is checking in from work. Instead, Josh’s name lights up the screen.

For a second, my thumb hovers over the screen. Josh always calls me and texts me every few days, checking to see if I am doing okay much to Matthew’s annoyance.

I swipe to answer. "Hey, stranger."

"Sarah!" His voice booms through the speaker, too loud as always. I pull the phone away from my ear slightly. "Long time no talky."

"It’s been less than two weeks, Josh."

"Exactly! Almost twelve whole days. I could have died and been reincarnated as a sea cucumber in that time," Josh declares.

Despite my mood, I giggle. "Why a sea cucumber?"

"They can eject their internal organs to distract predators and then regrow them later. Tell me that’s not the coolest defense mechanism ever."

"That’s disgusting. And also not how reincarnation works, I think," I protest.

"Nonsense." I hear street noise in his background, the honk of a car horn. "So what are you up to?"

"We are painting the nursery today. Well, Rebecca is painting. I got banished to the balcony because apparently paint fumes are bad for babies," I say, frowning.

"No shit? That’s a big step!" he says excitedly.

"Yes." I smile brightly.

"Can I come and help?" he asks.

I pause. "Come over?"

"Yes. I want to see what’s Rebecca doing to the walls. Plus, I have a gift for the baby," he says.

My stomach does a little flip. "You bought a baby gift?"

"Don’t sound so shocked. You are my bestie."

I hesitate and think about Matthew. The last time Josh and Matthew were in a room together, the tension was thick enough to spread on toast. Something about Josh brings out Matthew’s territorial side, though he’d never admit it.

"Today?" I ask.

"No time like the present. I’m actually not far from your place. Was meeting a client in your neighborhood," Josh says.

I should probably check with Matthew first. That would be the considerate thing to do. But Matthew is at work, and I’m stuck on this balcony while my nursery gets painted without me, and suddenly, the idea of Josh’s energy filling the house sounds perfect.

Besides, Matthew doesn’t dictate all my decisions!

"Sure," I say, making the decision. "Come over. Rebecca could probably use help with the painting anyway."

"Sweet! I’ll be there in twenty." He hangs up before I can respond, typical Josh style.