Tara Quinn - Merry Christmas, Babies

She didn’t want that to change. Maybe she’d made a horrible mistake—or many of them. Confiding in Joe about her past. And her present. Visiting the fertility clinic. Thinking she needed more out of life. Thinking, period.

“You know doctors,” she conceded with an answer of sorts when it became clear that he’d sit there through the noon hour if she didn’t ante up. “They’re always worried about malpractice suits.”

Sitting forward, Joe held her gaze, not bothering to temper his frown with even a hint of a smile. “What did she say?”

Angela Parks walked by—probably on her way to the water fountain, judging by the big blue thermal cup in her hand. She filled it at least three times a day. Elise was a little concerned that the twenty-five-year-old pay tech might be diabetic.

“She went over the potential risks.” She’d also given Elise a written list of them. She needn’t have bothered. They were stamped so clearly on her mind she was having trouble focusing on other things.

“Such as?”

Joe looked so earnest, sitting there, his tie slightly askew. Should she tell him? Didn’t he see they were pushing boundaries here? Was he ready for that?

Was she?

“Premature birth is the biggest. A normal pregnancy goes forty weeks. If mine goes to thirty-four she’ll be pleased. Thirty-one is average.”

“Does she see any reason you won’t?”

“No. Not at all.”

“What else?”

“Even if I make it to thirty-six weeks, the babies will have lower than normal birth weights.”

“Why is that?”

“With four of them sharing space, their growing room is limited.”

He fidgeted in his seat, looked down.

“Anything more?” he asked, taking a noticeable degree of interest in a speck on his shoe.

She threw out a hand, wishing she felt even a tenth as nonchalant as she’d have him believe. “Various little problems I’ll be prone to with that many babies pressing on my internal organs.”

Elise started to sweat again, just thinking about the “little problems” of gestational hypertension, anemia, diabetes or any of the other things Dr. Braden had warned her about. She’d never considered, until that morning, that she wouldn’t be physically capable of taking care of herself through all this. She was strong. A survivor.

And if she didn’t, who would?

Helplessness was not an option for family-less people.

“I’m assuming she had orders for you?”

Dozens of them. A few she’d share. “Just lots of rest, a careful diet and vitamins at this point,” she told him honestly. She couldn’t think about any more than that. Being confined to bed the last trimester wasn’t an option.

Elise’s life was about miracles. She’d survived the fire that had killed her entire family. She had little trace of the burns that had covered forty percent of her body. She could be one of the three percent of women who had relatively normal quadruplet pregnancies—and she’d start the percentage for those who made it the entire way upright.

“Did she advise you to quit work?”

“No.” Not yet, anyway. Dr. Braden expected she’d eventually prescribe bed rest, though. She probably assumed that Elise would understand that bed rest meant not working.

The assumption was wrong.

“MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION please?”

Joe stood in the doorway of the kitchen, searching the room for his partner. She was over by the sink, still serving plates of food.

When she’d originally started the tradition of providing Friday lunch, their office had been one room with partitions and she’d cooked at home and brought lunch in. There’d been just the two of them and they’d pulled up chairs at Joe’s desk and eaten together.

Voices slowly stopped as faces turned toward him. Joe counted all nine of them. Everyone was there. Good.

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but we have an announcement to make. Elise?”

He would not feel guilty about this. Elise’s health was at risk.

“Ah, yes.” He heard her voice and studied the flooring. The travertine had been a good choice. Elise’s, of course.

“B&R is going to expand our program of services…”

What? He did everything he could to bore a hole with his eyes into his partner’s forehead as she expounded on the plan the two of them had agreed upon that morning, giving their employees assignments, timelines and a bonus program. The woman was good.

But she wasn’t getting away with it.

After the applause died down and questions were answered, Joe stepped farther into the room.

“That isn’t all Elise has to say,” he told the group. This time his gaze let her know in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t do this, he would.

She’d put away the lunch leftovers and moved aside as Ruth Gregory and the two girls who worked under her supervision carried over the dishes and started rinsing them.

“I…”

Her eyes pleaded with him. He didn’t back down.

“I…”

“You aren’t quitting, are you?” The horrified call came from the end of the room. Sam Watterson, his senior sales associate.

“No!” Elise’s eyes met Joe’s again, and he finally understood. She wasn’t trying to be difficult. She wasn’t even trying to be secretive.

She just couldn’t do this.

“What Elise is trying to tell you is that she’s going to need your help a little bit more than usual around here over the next few months. We all know how much she’s given to this company—to all of us—and now it’s time for us to thank her by returning the support. Starting with congratulations. She’s decided to start a family.”

Exclamations broke out around them, heads jerking toward Elise, as though for confirmation that Joe was sane and not telling stories about her.

“Yes, yes, it’s true,” she said. She stood in the center of the room as though uncertain of how to respond to the smiling faces around her.

“Are you going to adopt a boy or a girl?” Ruth asked.

Elise’s expression froze. “Uh…”

“She’s not adopting,” Joe jumped in, cursing himself. It wasn’t like him to act without foresight, without planning. But then, it wasn’t like his partner to get pregnant, either.

“You’re going to have a baby?” Angela’s voice rose with excitement. She was at Elise’s right elbow.

Elise nodded. “More than one, actually.”

“Twins?” Carolyn Ramsey, B&R’s workers’ compensation specialist, joined the women by the sink.

“Quadruplets,” Elise said as though it was commonplace. The woman just wasn’t facing the situation, Joe thought. Which worried the hell out of him. How could he count on her to take care of herself if she wasn’t going to acknowledge what needed to be done?

Whatever the hell that was.

Everyone in the room was staring. “I’m eight-and-a-half weeks along,” Elise added.

“Quadruplets!” Angela’s eyes were wide. “Cool. I’ve never known anyone who had four kids at once.”

“Are you going to tell us next that you’re the happy father?” Mark Oppenheimer asked, taking his plate to the sink.

The idea floored Joe.

But not, apparently, their staff. The room grew quiet, eyes on him.

“No, he’s not,” Elise said at last. “Joe’s a wonderful business partner, but spare me his eating habits. I could never live with a man who eats leftover pizza for breakfast.”

Laugher broke out and Joe started to breathe again. She’d never experienced the bliss of cold pizza in the morning? That was her problem.

“Nor could I expose my children to such habits with a clear conscience,” she continued.

“Then who…”

“But…”

He should have anticipated the awkward situation he’d put her in. Should have done this differently. Presentation was his business.