Libby had no idea how naturally this all came to her, and every time she was around I saw the mother in her emerge.
Libby tucked my daughter tightly underneath the covers before coming to turn out the light. She smiled up at me before she shut the door, then the two of us were alone in the hallway. The past four weeks with her had been phenomenal. We had family dinners at my house so the kids could get to know her, then we’d cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie with a milkshake or something her stomach could tolerate. She was starting to tip into her second trimester, so her nausea was abating. But not by much. There were still moments where I could call her to talk and I could tell she had just been sick.
I hated it for her. I wanted to take it all away from her and shoulder it myself.
“How was tucking in the boys?” Libby asked.
“They’re the easy ones. Lizzie’s the high-maintenance child,” I said.
“She doesn’t seem high-maintenance to me. Brushing her teeth, picking out pajamas, picking out a book to read and snuggling underneath the covers is pretty straightforward.”
“I put the boys in pants and lay them down with blankets,” I said.
“Then you simply don’t understand how a girl works,” she said, giggling.
“I knew enough to snag someone like you.”
“Well, don’t make it sound so romantic,” she said flatly.
“Come on,” I said, chuckling. “There’s raspberry sorbet waiting for us downstairs.”
I took Libby’s hand in mine and guided her back downstairs. Every once in a while, I caught her gawking at my home. Compared to what she lived in, it was pretty outlandish. Hell, compared to what everyone lived in, it was pretty outlandish. But I wanted a space my kids could bring all their friends to and not feel like I was breathing down their necks. I also wanted a place where I felt the kids could roam without ruining my space. It worked for us, even though it seemed bombastic and overdone to most.
Her favorite room of my house so far was the library. It sat at the back of the house and was completely off limits to the kids. They had their own little library with age-appropriate books of all kinds—coloring books with crayons taped to the inside and cardboard picture books, children’s poetry books and those little puppet books that had all the things the boys could touch and feel and explore.
The library at the back of the house, however, was fit for an adult. It had its own fireplace and cozy nooks with reading chairs. It had a large window on the far side of the wall that overlooked the hillside slope of the property. The windowsill was decorated with a plush cushion and had blankets folded in the corner, and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were piled high with books, both read and unread by all in the house.
There was a coffee station in case the reader wanted coffee and a small, miniature bar in case the reader wanted something stronger. There were blankets and fuzzy socks and anything else I could think of to make the person enjoying this space as relaxed as possible.
And every single time, Libby would gravitate to that room.
“I can’t imagine what a place like this must cost,” Libby said.
“I can’t believe you haven’t gotten used to it,” I said.
“I don’t think I will. You’ve seen where I live. That’s what I’m used to.”
“Well, get used to all this. Because you’re carrying my child and the two of you will have the best.”
“I don’t need the best, Graham.”
“But you deserve the best. And I want to give it to you.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I never said you did.”
“All I want is your support through all this.”
“And you have it,” I said. “All of it. For as long as you want it. And it’ll be the best support you could ever receive.”
“I don’t need the best, Graham.”
“Before we get into this pitiful little fight that will end with you underneath me, I have something I want to talk about,” I said with a grin.
“And simply because you said that, no sex for you,” she said.
“That’s what you think.”