Christine Rimmer - The Right Reason To Marry

“Should I call him?” she asked.

“He didn’t say to ask you to.”

“Did he mention what he needed to talk to me about?”

Her dad gave her a look, indulgent and full of wry humor. “I’m not sure he knows what he needs to talk to you about.”

For the rest of that day and into the evening, she kept thinking that she probably ought to call Liam, check in, ask him if he had any questions or anything. Somehow, though, she never quite got around to picking up the phone.

Monday, her leave from work began. Her dad dropped the kids at the bus stop and then went on to work.

It was nice, having the house to herself. She took a half hour just deciding what to wear and ended up settling on a giant purple T-shirt dress with an asymmetrical hem.

Really, she didn’t want jeans or leggings wrapped around her balloon of a belly today, so she settled on thigh-high socks in royal blue with her oldest, comfiest pair of Doc Martens boots on her feet.

Once she was dressed, she felt suddenly energized, so she vacuumed and dusted and rechecked the baby’s room for the umpteenth time, making sure everything was ready. Around eleven, just as she finished assembling two large baking dishes of lasagna and sticking them in the freezer to reheat when needed, she heard the doorbell ring.

It was Liam. He had a pink teddy bear in one hand and a blue bear in the other.

“I forgot to ask. What are we having?” He smiled that killer smile of his, and she felt way too glad to see him.

She laughed. “It’s a boy.”

And just like that, he threw the pink bear over his shoulder and handed her the blue one.

The man was too charming by half. “Thank you—and I think we should save the pink one, too.”

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” He pretended to look alarmed. “We’re having twins, aren’t we?”

“Oh, God, no. I just meant it seems wrong to leave it lying there on the front step.”

He went and got the pink bear. “Fine. The baby gets two bears.”

It seemed only right to offer, “Would you like to see his ultrasound pictures?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She ushered him in. As he brushed past her, she got a hint of his cologne, a scent of leather and sandalwood that caused a sudden, stunning remembrance of the two of them all those months ago, naked on tangled sheets.

He paused in the arch to the living area and glanced back at her. “Something wrong?”

“Not a thing.” She shut the door and followed him into the first-floor living area.

In the kitchen, she put the blue bear down on the counter. He set the pink one beside it as she went to the double-doored fridge, which was covered with family pictures and artwork created by both Ben and Coco. “Here we are.” She took the two ultrasound shots from under a strawberry magnet and handed them over. “These were at eighteen weeks.”

He studied them. “Wait. Is that...?” He slanted her a grin.

“What sharp eyes you have, Liam Bravo. Yep. A bona fide penis—and I have a video of that same procedure. Want to see it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She stuck the pictures back on the fridge and led him to the table where she’d left her laptop. He laughed in a sort of startled wonder as he watched his son wave his tiny arms and feet, yawn and suck his thumb.

After he’d seen the whole thing through twice, he glanced up at her. “You said you were all ready for him. Does that mean he has a room and everything?”

She grabbed the two teddy bears and gestured toward the hallway to the bedrooms. “Right this way.” He followed her as she explained, “We’re lucky this house has so many rooms, including five bedrooms on this level. I had a sort of craft room/home office in one.” She led him to the end of the hall where the door stood open. “Ta-da!” She put the bears on the dresser by the door.

“Wow.” Liam seemed really pleased.

And out of nowhere, she was recalling one of the depressing fights she’d had with Ben, Sr., before Ben was born.

Bud, as everyone always called him, had kept promising to help her paint the tiny closet of a spare room at the apartment they’d shared back then.

Somehow, though, he never found the time to keep his promise. Bud had loved the life of a commercial fisherman and he was always out on a boat, working the fisheries up and down the Pacific coast, from Southern California to Alaska. He just kept saying “later,” every time she tried to pin him down as to when, exactly, he would put in some time on the baby’s room.

In the end, she fixed up the room herself, though not until after they’d had a doozy of an argument over it—one in which they both said a lot of things they shouldn’t have. It was always like that with her and Bud. They would argue bitterly.

And then Bud would go off to work and be gone for weeks.

In the end, she’d tackled the nursery nook alone. When Bud came home, she showed him the finished product. He’d waved a dismissing hand and said it looked “fine” in a dead voice that communicated way too clearly how trapped he felt.

Liam’s voice drew her back to the present. “The mural is amazing.”

Covering the whole wall behind the crib, the mural included a snowcapped mountain, a starry night sky, an airplane sailing by the moon and tall evergreens standing sentinel off to one side, everything in grays, greens and silvers.

“Northwest outdoorsy,” Liam said. “I like it a lot.”

She rubbed her belly. The baby was riding really low and she’d had some contractions.

He was watching her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. This baby is coming soon .”

His eyes got bigger and he straightened from his easy slouch in the doorway. “As in now?”

She waved a hand and chuckled, thinking that this visit was going pretty well and she was glad about that. “Relax. Probably not today.”

“Whew.” He gazed at the mural again. “You paint that wall yourself?”

“More or less. Stencils. You can’t beat ’em.”

He shifted his gaze to her. He had a way of studying her, like he was memorizing the lines of her face. He used to do that months ago, sitting across from her at whatever bar they met up in, or later, naked in bed. One night, she’d teased that he should take a picture. He’d promptly grabbed his phone off the table by the bed and aimed it at her, snapping off two shots.

She’d demanded he delete them, because who needs naked pictures of herself on a guy’s phone?

He’d handed her the phone. She’d seen then that he’d only taken close-ups of her face. And when she glanced up at him, he gazed back at her so hopefully, like it would just be the greatest thing in the world, to have a couple of shots of her grinning, with total bedhead. She’d agreed he could keep the pictures—and then grabbed him close for a long, smoking-hot kiss.

Liam was still watching her. “Have you chosen a name for this baby boy of ours?”

“No, I have not. I kind of thought you might want input on his name.”

Apparently, that was the right answer because he granted her a beautiful smile. “Thanks. I’ll be thinking about names. I’ll make up a list of ones I like. We can talk it over.” Solemnly, he added, “I read all about baby daddies. I don’t want to be that guy.”

Her heart felt like someone was squeezing it. She hardly knew what to say. “You have other children?”

“Huh?” He seemed horrified. “No! Wait. I get it. You mean ‘baby daddy’ as in a flaky guy who has kids by different women, but I wasn’t so much referring to the multiple baby mamas aspect. I meant a flaky guy, yeah. But in this case, a guy with only one baby, a guy who’s basically a sperm donor with minimal involvement—that’s what I don’t want to be. I want to be on board with this baby, available, helping out. I want to be there , you know? Tell me you know that.” He seemed so intense suddenly, as though it really bothered him that she might not understand his sincerity about pitching in.