Chapter 53: Chapter Fifty-Three

LOGAN

I honestly don’t know how Rae does it. Physically, she must be miserable. She’s overcome with dizziness every time she stands, she’s constantly throwing up, and heartburn reduces her to tears pretty much daily.

Emotionally, she’s all over the place. Pissed off one second, sobbing the next. Yesterday, she cried because we ran out of ice cream, so I offered to pick some up at the grocery store five minutes down the street.

Terrible mistake. She dissolved into sobs and wails, begging me not to leave because she didn’t want to be alone with her feelings.

Her feelings about ice cream.

Somehow, through all the shit pregnancy is doing to her body, there’s this underlying happiness radiating from Rae.

When she’s not at work or napping, she’s flouncing around the apartment, chattering about baby names and comparing our baby’s size to fruit.

When she showed up at my—pretty much ~our~, now—apartment three weeks ago, I didn’t think this would be something she wanted, and to be fair, I think she did sort of question her decision the week after she found out.

Rae hates the idea of being a stay-at-home mom and giving into gender norms. She didn’t talk about it with me all that much, but she ~did~ spend a lot of time with Zoe.

I’ll give Zoe credit; I think she convinced Rae that she doesn’t need to be a housewife to be a good mom.

I’d also love to stay home with the baby while I take classes this fall. I tell Rae every time she brings up childcare or her fears about turning into her mother, but she just rolls her eyes and says I’ll change my mind.

I don’t think I will. I’m pumped to be a dad and watch our little one hit their— ~her~, Rae’s convinced—first milestones.

Besides, if Rae is going to carry my child for nine months, the least I can do is watch her for a semester or two.

“We’re going to have to tell my parents right when we get there,” Rae groans. “She’s killing me with the nausea today. No chance I last more than ten minutes.”

“We can wait until you’re feeling better,” I offer. To say I’m not looking forward to telling Rae’s family the big news is an understatement. Rae won’t admit it, but I’m fairly certain they hate my guts.

“No, we already put it off a week,” she sighs. “Can we take the long way?” She looks up at me with these watery, pleading eyes like it’s a huge burden to spend three extra minutes in the car.

I stifle a laugh. “Of course.”

Wrong thing to say. The sniffling starts, and she tucks her head into my shoulder. “You’re the best,” she whimpers.

I bite my lip, trying not to crack up. I’d be lying if I said her mood swings weren’t objectively funny at times. “Ready?”

“Yes. No. Do I look pregnant in this?”

“No, you don’t,” I assure her. She’s wearing a sweater so oversized she could weigh three hundred pounds and still be swimming in fabric.

“Okay, good. This is, like, my suit of armor. I don’t want Nicole to touch my belly.”

I never thought about how creepy it is that people touch pregnant women’s stomachs all the time until Rae started showing just slightly last week.

She let the news slip at work, and she came home ranting that six different coworkers pawed at her belly.

It’s the weirdest thing, like they’re convinced it’s a communal baby or a crystal ball that’s going to show them their future if they rub it enough.

“I’ll block her if she tries,” I promise. “Consider me your baby bodyguard.”

“You’re going to make me cry again,” she groans. “Okay. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

As promised, I take the long way to Rae’s parents’ house. She’s shaking when we pull into the driveway.

“What’s—” I start. Early on in our relationship, I figured out that if I pinpoint the source of Rae’s anxiety, I can usually help quell the stress from whatever’s on her mind.

Today, that might be impossible. I can’t even calm myself down. I’m scared shitless too.

“I don’t want them to disown me or something.” Her eyes go wide. “We had premarital sex,” she whispers. Her face turns scarlet. “Oh, my God. Forget I said that. Bad Rae. Bad.”

“We ~did~ have premarital sex,” I confirm, careful to mask my feelings about her marriage comment. Relief floods her face. ~Good job, Logan~. “We’re adults in our twenties. They have to know that already.”

She scoffs. “They definitely think I’m still a virgin. Whatever. Let’s broaden their minds before I throw up.”

I pretty much have to pull Rae down the icy walkway. She’s terrified of falling—she doesn’t want to hurt the baby—so whenever we’re somewhere even remotely slippery, I slide her along the ice until we’re back on solid ground.

Mrs. Olson, donning a floral apron and flushed cheeks, pushes the door open before we reach the front steps. “Hi, honey. Hi, Logan. Thanks for keeping this clumsy one safe on the ice.”

She didn’t slam the door in my face. We’re off to a good start.

Before I can say hello, Rae’s asking where her father and Miles are.

“Dining room,” Mrs. Olson says warmly.

~Shit~. We planned the visit for three in the afternoon because it’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner.

The weirdest smells upset Rae’s stomach, so she avoids food everywhere but our apartment. I haven’t had bacon in nearly a month.

“What’d you make?” Rae asks nervously.

“Spaghetti squash and—”

“Nope. I’m calling a family meeting in the living room.”

I’ve heard Rae be relatively firm before. I’ve heard her pissed off. I’ve heard her rant. Not once have I ever heard her stern voice, the one she just took with her mom. It kind of scares the shit out of me.

Rae’s grip on my hand tightens. ~Shit~.

“I’m really excited to see everyone,” I say. “I’d love to catch up before we eat.” No reason why we can’t get reacquainted over spaghetti squash, but it’s all I can come up with.

“Alright. I’ll grab the boys and Nicole.”

The second Mrs. Olson turns her back, Rae shoves a handful of ginger gum into her mouth and smears vanilla Chapstick all over her lips.

Ginger soothes her stomach, and she claims that if she applies enough balm to her upper lip, the scent masks odors.

It seems like kind of a placebo effect thing to me, but if it keeps her from throwing up for the fifth time today, I’ll buy her all the Chapstick in the world.

“If I clam up, you have to tell them,” she whispers.

“Sure,” I say, trying to keep the apprehension out of my voice.

Thankfully, the living room doesn’t smell like squash, and some color returns to Rae’s cheeks, only to drain out when her parents, Miles, and Nicole walk through the entryway and shoot us an array of intense expressions.

Nicole’s fake smile rivals Taylor’s. Miles grimaces. Brad grins; he seems like a pretty good-natured guy. He’s definitely my favorite of Rae’s family members. Mrs. Olson, on the other hand, looks all sorts of stressed.

I wonder if she figured out what’s going on. Maybe she hated the scent of squash when she was pregnant too. Is that genetic?

“Rae, I think this might be the first family meeting you’ve ever called,” Brad laughs.

“Yup.” She shifts in her seat and points at the couch across from the one we’re occupying.

~So bossy~, I think, and then, with a sinking feeling, I realize that she’s probably scared she’ll get sick if she stands up for hugs. Either that, or she’s afraid someone will notice her tiny bump.

I’m surprised to see Miles and Nicole obey her request. They don’t seem like the kind of people who take orders from people who aren’t in their “world,” as Miles would put it.

“What’s going on, honey?” Brad pries.

Rae squeaks, and her pleading eyes travel to mine.

I wait a second, hoping she’ll find the words, but she doesn’t, so I dig deep for the best way to phrase our announcement. “We, uh, have some big news to share,” I start.

Mrs. Olson gasps. Nicole’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull. Brad and Miles remain focused on me, completely unaware of what I’m about to tell them.

Here goes nothing. “We’re exp—”

“I’m pregnant,” Rae announces. “Excuse me.” And then she books it down the hallway.