The Wanted Girls

Chapter 3

I hear Nate's key in the lock, and the apartment door creaks open.

He steps from the hall into the living room. "Hey, preggers," he says, and kisses the top of my head. "How's the great organization going?"

"Well, it's going." I glance up at him and smile sadly. "Help me up? My legs are cramping."

His strong hand takes one of mine and he pulls me to my feet. Then he surveys the boxes on the ground.

"I feel like such a d**k," he says, running a hand through his hair.

You are a d**k, I think. I say, "well. It is what it is."

He nods perfunctorily and goes about taking off his jacket and shoes. He steps back into the hall and I hear his keys and other items clanking into the pretty ceramic bowl we keep on a table near the front door.

"I got an e-mail back about that place I told you about," he calls from the hallway. 

I start trying to move the boxes into a more organized formation. "Oh, the one near the museum?" I reply. It hurts my heart that he is not staying in the apartment we have shared together since we moved in, barely into our twenties. That was more than a decade ago, I think sadly. I think of the thousands of days and nights we have shared in this place. The nights spent on the couch, watching movies, or making love. The meals we shared at the dining table we picked out together, the way we integrated our books, our belongings, our lives.

"Yeah, that's the one. I like that I can walk to work."

I know I shouldn't say anything right now, because it will start a fight. He never wants to talk about anything uncomfortable, even when it is necessary.

But, I can't help it. "That's a one-bedroom, though."

Nate sighs. "Yeah, but like I said. It has two bathrooms. Lots of space. I don't need two bedrooms, I can set up everything in the living area. It's huge! Way bigger than this place."

I bite my lip. "Yes, I know, but, we talked about this. You need a space for, you know, him or her. For visits. A kid needs a space of its own."

Even before Nate speaks I can sense his tension. "Kate, it's just going to be some weekends and some evenings. Or mostly daytime stuff anyways. The couch is perfectly fine, it's really comfortable when you rotate it to a double-bed. I'll get some nice, fun sheets and duvet. It's not that big a deal."

I know, I think angrily. I've slept on it tons.

"I know," I say out loud. "But, for a toddler, it's not very safe. Or for a baby for that matter. You at least need a crib for a little while.

Nate exhales with exasperation as he steps back into the living room. "I know, Kate. But, Christ, I'm not going to have the kid overnight when it's that young! A kid needs its mother at that age."

"And naps and stuff? Have you thought about that, Nate?"

"I don't know!" he snaps. "Can't you just bring over a playpen or something? Kids sleep in those, right?"

I stare at him and feeling anger and resentment as he looks at me.

"Or I just won't let him or her nap," he continues. "If they stay awake, then by the time they get home, they'll be all tired out and just go straight to bed."

All of a sudden I feel tired, imagining a frustrated Nate bringing home a screeching, exhausted three-year-old. Nate snapping at me as he thrusts the child into my arms; "You deal with him!" And then a quick peck on the cheek. "Love you, see you next... oh, wait."

"What?" I imagine myself saying, jaw clenched, as our child screams in my arms. "Shh, shh, shh... It's okay, baby. I'm here." And then to Nate, "What, Nate?"

"The guys and I were trying a while back to get a good weekend down for a trip to Dave's cottage, and next weekend looks like the best." An apologetic look that doesn't look sincere, as he waits for me to acquiesce.

"Okay, fine, maybe you can do Thursday night and Friday during the day," I suggest.

Nate pulls a face. "Yeah, we might try and leave before noon on Friday. Grab some lunch on the road, beat the rush. All that."

"So, then, what's wrong with Thursday night?" I shoot back. Our child is still whimpering in my arms, but thankfully settling.

"Yeah..." Nate begins. "I just don't want to be tired for the drive? In case it's a rough night? And, you know how my neighbours always get worked up if he's crying all night."

"Okay, fine, then the next week can you do Thursday through Sunday?" I compromise.

Again, Nate looks hesitant and I can see him searching for a good answer to placate me. "We'll talk about it this week, okay?" he finally says. "I'm too exhausted for this right now."

"Kate?" Nate says in the present. "What do you think about bringing over a playpen?"

I speak more harshly than I intend to. "I think you should take care of that. I'll already be bringing the child to you with all the stuff its going to need to stay with you, I think you can handle getting a playpen to keep at your place. Since it's so spacious, right? You'll have lots of room to keep a playpen around somewhere."

"I'll think about it," is all he says before he turns and walks into the kitchen. I hear the fridge open, and seconds later, the sound of a beer being opened. I hear the cap land on the counter.

"Nate?" I call. "Can you start getting in the habit of throwing out your beer caps right away? It's a choking hazard."

"Yeah, yeah," he calls back. "I was just getting to it. Relax." I hear him open the trash can and drop the bottle cap inside, and he walks back into the living room.

Taking a sip of his beer, he surveys the boxes. "Can you get these a bit more organized? Don't wanna be tripping over them on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night."

I imagine Nate tripping and hitting his head against the bookshelf. Nope, wouldn't want that! I think cruelly, then mentally chide myself for being mean.

Instead, I nod and say, "Sure, I was just getting to it."

Nate nods and takes another sip of beer. "I was just going to send some e-mails I meant to do at work, and look over a rough cut I have for a promo video. Were you going to eat any time soon?"

What he means is, "when's dinner?" 

That's right, dear reader, I still do the cooking and the cleaning. A growing baby needs good, healthy food, which means I make good, healthy food for my meals. And my nesting urge is strong, so I can't stand clutter and things like dirty dishes and dust bunnies, or a washroom that's starting to look a little grungy. Or anything, really, that doesn't look spic and span. I think of birds and the time they spend perfecting their little nests and I think, I feel you, little bird.

Only, this isn't even going to be my nest for much longer. 

A wave of sadness washes over me as I imagine the next few months of my life. It has been impossible to find an apartment so far, and now that I am showing, one glance at my belly is all it takes to let me know I won't be hearing back after handing over my application and other paperwork for an apartment of my own. I would stay in this, my first and only home with Nate, but the rent is too expensive, and without an elevator I can't even imagine the hassle of getting a baby and a stroller up the stairs. That, and I would just be too sad, imagining what it would be like with him there with me, as he always has been, and us raising our baby together.

I feel hopeless as I think of my stop-gap plan; I will stay with my parents until after my baby is born. Then, I will go and find an apartment, without a child in tow, and hopefully it won't be long until I have a place of my own. I know this will get me through the dreary days of living back at home, in my old bedroom, which carries with it its own sadness; there were so many happy days spent with Nate in the home where I grew up. From the time we were friends in high school, hanging out in the basement with our mutual friends, to when we were first together and curled up together on the couch or in my bed to watch movies. 

As wave after wave of sadness crashes over me, I start to feel sick to my stomach with misery. A tear drips down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away, feeling angry at myself. I glance quickly at Nate, but he is engrossed in his phone, and hasn't noticed. 

I force my mind back to a happy place and think to myself, I will make a happy place for myself again. But that brief moment of strength is gone in a flash as I look at Nate and think, I just wish it was with you.