“You know,” I whispered, “my friend Cinda lives across from my old apartment three blocks down. She’s a professional babysitter. She even watches Dax for me sometimes.”
Hope’s expression fell. “Unless she takes state assistance, I can’t afford her.”
“Maybe she’ll give you a deal.”
“I’m sure the whole building hates us anyway,” she said, tearing up as she looked at her sleeping son. “Avery is probably sleeping with ear plugs.”
“Avery’s still at work. She had to work a double. He didn’t wake her.”
“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I mean, there has to be something wrong with him, right? No baby should be freaking out at three in the morning.”
I shrugged. “I think all babies cry at night. Right?”
“Not like that. He cries like I’m killing him.”
“Avery would be much better at this stuff than I am. You should ask her.”
“Why? Because she’s a woman? I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and I’m a mom.”
“No, Avery works with babies and kids all the time.”
“Avery is always working,” Hope said. “I don’t think I’m going to be getting advice from her anytime soon.”
“I know,” I said, feeling bitterness seep into my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. It must be hard for you.”
I ignored her. My marriage wasn’t Hope’s business. “Maybe he’s teething.” I glanced into his open mouth.
“You can put him in his crib in my room,” Hope said.
I cringed. “What if I wake him?”
“I’ll help,” she said, walking down the hall and opening her door.
I bent over his crib illuminated by a small heart-shaped nightlight.
I placed him gently on his back. He stirred, and Hope and I froze and held our breaths. After he rubbed one eye with his chubby little fist, he relaxed and his breathing evened out.
I walked back out to the living room, laughing to myself as Hope sat and shoveled Alfredo noodles into her mouth. When she caught me watching, she hurried to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m so embarrassed. I probably eat like a rabid animal. I can’t believe how good of a cook you are.”
I sank down on the couch beside her and lifted my plate. “I’m just glad someone is enjoying it.”
When my eyes finally peeled open, Josh’s side of the bed was empty. I reached for my phone on the bedside table, holding it up to my face to see that it was ten in the morning.
“Josh?” I called out before kicking off my covers. The heat was set too high and I was roasting.
My bare feet slapped against the tile in the kitchen, and I looked around. He wasn’t home. I squinted as I checked the thermostat. Josh slept best when it was cold. The heat must have woken him up.
I opened the fridge, seeing a half-eaten Tupperware bowl of Alfredo. I pulled it out, noticing maybe only a small helping was left.
After spooning cold sauce, noodles, and chicken onto a plate and popping it into the microwave, I tapped on my phone to text Josh. It wasn’t like him to leave without a note.
The microwave beeped, but just as I reached for the handle, someone knocked on the door.
I smoothed back my wild bun but gave up after one look at my wrinkled tank top and pajama pants. I peeked through the hole, seeing the new neighbor, Hope, holding an empty dish.
The chain complained against the track as I slid it open, matching the whine of the door hinge.
“Hi,” Hope said with a bright smile. She scanned me from head to toe, surprised. “I figured you’d be at work.
“I traded. Can I, um … what’s up?”
She shoved the plate at me, and it was then that I recognized the design.
“I’m just returning your dish.”
I held it in my hand, confused. “Thanks.”
She waited for a moment and then spoke again, “Tell Josh the Alfredo was amazing. You are one lucky girl.”
“I will,” I said, watching her turn on her heels toward the stairs, a bounce in her walk.
I shut the door and carried the plate to the sink. What. The. Fuck.
My phone rang, and I lunged for it. Instead of seeing Josh’s name on the screen, it was the hospital. I held the phone against my forehead. “No, no, no,” I whispered. “Please don’t call me in.”
I slid my thumb right across the screen. “Mrs. Avery?” the woman on the other end said.
“Yes?”
“Hi, it’s Evelyn from Dr. Weaver’s office. We’ve got your test results. Are you ready?”
I looked around at my empty apartment, and then at the empty plate. “Y-yes.”
“Congratulations! You’re pregnant. By the counts, it looks like you’re six to seven weeks along. Can you schedule an ultrasound today, or would you like to call back?”
“Um,” I said, scratching my head. “Let me talk to my husband, and I’ll call you back.”
“Great. Talk soon.”
She hung up, and I stood in the kitchen alone, still holding the phone in my hand. The apartment was quiet.
I rushed over to the window, seeing Josh’s Barracuda resting in its spot. I lifted the phone and called him. Instead of ringing, his voicemail answered.
Hi, this is Josh Avery. I’m probably at work or with my wife. Call back. I don’t check my messages.
“Hi,” I said, my voice sounding quiet and unsure. “This is your wife. You’re not with me. Where are you? Call me back.”