“Is the baby okay?” He knew she couldn’t handle another loss. Didn’t deserve it.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Did she just chuckle?
The lights blinked, signaling that the play was ready to start. He made a quick mental review of the next day’s calendar. Fridays were usually lighter than Mondays, but still booked. He’d been planning a trip home over the weekend. Had even thought about maybe inviting Anna to accompany him. But then there’d be the whole overnight thing.
He was pretty sure he wanted sex as badly as she seemed to. He just wasn’t ready to take a chance on sex making them more committed than he was sure he wanted to be. Yet.
“Can you do lunch tomorrow?” he asked. And then amended, “Or dinner would be better so I could have a full day of business.”
“You’re going to be here tomorrow?”
Now he was.
“Yes.” A couple of his meetings were over the internet. He could do those from his San Diego office. And reschedule other things.
His mind raced. Mallory only called if it was important. “You’re sure everything’s okay?” He hated not knowing what was going on with her. How could he stay on top of things, make certain that he was giving her the support he’d promised, if he didn’t know what he was dealing with?
“I’m sure, Bray.” She sounded sure.
Walking back toward the hall that led to his entry into the theater, he relaxed, made arrangements to meet his ex-wife not far from work for dinner the following evening and went in to enjoy an evening of Broadway with his girlfriend.
Life was moving on.
Just as he’d planned.
* * *
Mallory was both gleeful and scared to death as she dressed for work on Friday. Instead of her normal pants and polo shirt, she wore one of her many light cotton skirts—this one in shades of burgundy with beige flowers—a beige top and a three-quarter sleeve, lightweight maroon sweater. Her jeweled flat sandals matched perfectly and completed the comfy but feminine feel she was going for. Because she had a late parent meeting to discuss a precocious three-year-old who belonged in a four-year-old class academically, she wouldn’t have time to go home and change before dinner with Braden.
It was just a normal dinner, she told herself, at a restaurant they frequented often.
Except this time they were talking about her twins.
Did he have twins in his family?
It didn’t really matter; she was having them whether he did or not. But the doctor seemed to want to know. Something to do with the insemination process.
She’d been assured there was no danger to her babies, either way, but they wanted it on the record, if possible.
Her babies.
She was having twins. Of all things.
All by herself.
It stood to reason that they’d both be hungry at once, need to be changed at the same time. How would she choose who to tend to first?
Up late looking on the internet the night before, she finally nixed that endeavor. There were more horror stories and warnings, parents talking more about the challenges than anything else. She could come up with her own list of potential problems without any help, thank you.
And she was a certified child-development specialist with a college degree in the field who worked with dozens of children, not just two, every single day.
She could do this.