Page 29 of Unexpectedly You

“Here it is,” I say, placing the plate in front of him.

“Thank you.”

Ah, these damn thank yous of his. “You’re welcome.” Before I can walk away so I can make something for myself, but mostly to sever another link that’s forming between us, he talks again.

“When are you going to pick up your daughter?”

Damn, if that’s not a fucking cold shower.

“Tomorrow.” I move away, again fighting the need to scream the place down. “I need to go back to work.”

“Are you not having lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” I say, already walking away. “Leave everything on the table when you’re done. I’ll take care of it when I get back.” I open the connecting door that leads to the shop downstairs without looking back.

I’m glad I don’t have to work, because with this unbridled energy inside me, I’d probably punch someone when they complained about the pain, and that wouldn’t be good for the business.

I have stuff to do. Stuff I’ve put off since my sister died.

The drive to the shopping centre is full of curses and fuck yous to those idiots stopping me from reaching my destination. I’ll have to add road rage to the list of my failures. Taking the Tube would have been a better idea, if I didn’t have to buy a baby’s room and everything that goes with it.

Anyway, I’ve been running on empty since the day I picked up Jay. A clever idea would have been leaving him with Jeremy, or I could have asked Kai to take care of him, and I definitely shouldn’t have offered him to stay longer to recover. I should have continued with my life and pretended our encounter never happened. Instead, when I think about him leaving and being hurt again, my insides tighten, and letting go seems impossible.

When I enter the store it’s like stepping onto a new planet. The walls are a light blue pastel with animal designs, and the shelves are full of tiny little clothes, bottles in hundreds of differentshapes and colours, and some kind of machine called a “nasal aspirator.”

What the fuck is that?

I should tune it down with the fucks once Arianna is home.

I wander around and stop at the nappy section, and there are shelves full of different coloured bags. She must need those. I remember seeing them at Halia’s place, and in movies when there were babies. They have numbers on the package… 1, 2… do babies have sizes like adults do? They’re so bloody small anyway.

Bloody, another word to scratch from my vocabulary.

Also need to tune it down with the damns, and any other curse words I know, because her small ears shouldn’t be listening to those kind of words.

I need all the assistance I can get if I want to go home with usable things. A girl walks by me and I spot a tag. Hoping she’s a sales assistant, I clear my throat to get her attention. She smiles politely, and I return the smile, or at least I think I do, because my lips stretch too damn wide.

Three seconds ago, I was keen on asking for help, and now I’m hoping she won’t ask if I do, even though I need it. I desperately need help.

I turn around and spot a lady, whose trolley is organised by shape and colours, and I believe even by purpose. If any of those things has a purpose.

This is fucking terrifying.Instead of taking a step forward I take a step back. I never sweat this much even in a fist fight. The closer the moment Arianna will be with me gets, the more my fear grows.

I move to a stand full of tiny little onesies, and I touch one of them with my fingers feeling the softness of the fabric. My heart squeezes at the thought of what could have been, and what is instead.

Who am I going to rely on?I shake the thought away and concentrate on the problem ahead.

This baby is already changing my life and she hasn’t even come home yet. Tomorrow she’ll be with me, and I’m dreading it so bloody much.

I clutch the tiny onesie in my hand as if I’m afraid it’s going to explode, and I stride down the aisle as if on a mission, before I can tuck tail and run away.

I have to get out of my comfort zone and approach someone for help. I clear my throat again when I reach the sales assistant I saw just a few moments ago. “Is this a normal size for a baby? Is this too fancy for everyday wearing?”

“How old is the baby?”

“She’s four months old.”

“They’re so cute at that age, aren’t they?”