Everything Unexpected (19 page)

I clear my throat. “No names yet,” I say. “But I think I’d like to know what we are having.”

A rare, shy smile appears on Leah’s lips at my answer. “Me too,” she says.

“So exciting,” my mother adds for the hundredth time.

“We can find out next week at my sonogram appointment,” Leah points out.

I smile for a fraction of a second before her words register.

Wait. Next week?

“When next week?” I question.

“Thursday. Like I told you,” she answers, smiling.

No, she most definitely did not tell me that. I, on the other hand, am certain I told her about my trip to Los Angeles next week.

“I’m leaving on Tuesday for LA, remember? I won’t be back until Sunday.”

Leah stares at me blankly. Has she forgotten this already? I told her last week as soon as I booked the shoot. I know I told her because I wanted her to know well in advance of my leaving.

“No you didn’t,” she states, gently putting her utensils down on her plate.

“I did,” I argue. “Right after I booked the shoot. I called and told you.”

I wait for recollection to sweep over her, but it doesn’t. Instead, she leans back against her chair and folds her arms. “I think I would remember you telling me something like that,” she counters.

“Apparently not.”

We stare at each other in silence for a minute before my father’s deep voice interrupts our little game of
Who Will Blink First
. “The life of a traveling photographer,” he says before taking a sip from his glass of wine.

Three sets of eyes turn on him, my mother’s shooting daggers.

“What?” He shrugs, looking at her. “They should get used to that.”

Silence falls upon the table and I look back at Leah, who clearly seems embarrassed and uncomfortable with our somewhat public spat. I nudge her leg under the table with my knee.

“Hey,” I say softly. “You can call and tell me after you find out.”

Any hope of that bringing a small smile to her face is gone when she only nods, preoccupying herself with folding her napkin in her lap over and over.

Sensing her raw mood, my mother thankfully comes to the rescue.

“You know what? We need to get you a congratulations gift!” She stands, stepping away from the table. “Why don’t the boys clean up while we choose a few things off the Pottery Barn Kids website?”

Leah gives an awkward, tight smile before standing and leaving the room with my mom. She doesn’t even turn back to spare me a glance. Once the sound of their footsteps are far enough away, I lean back in my chair, dropping my napkin over my plate.

“Thanks for that, Dad,” I say, sarcasm laced through my words.

“You think that was bad? Just wait. You have no idea what’s coming your way.” My father stands, waving his hand over the table. “Clean all of this up,” he says, before walking out of the room.

Left alone at the table, I rub my hand over my head, a small headache having developed. I resign myself to the fact that even if Leah does remember me telling her about LA, she’ll never admit it now. I stand, piling up dishes in my hands and head into the kitchen where my father is clearing space near the sink.

“I did tell her,” I say, sounding like a sulking child.

My father laughs. “Boy, in case you’ve forgotten, that girl is pregnant. Which means nothing you say or do is going to be right unless she says so. She believes you didn’t tell her, you didn’t. She believes you forgot what she told you, you did.”

I shake my head. “That hardly seems fair.”

He rests one hand on his hip, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “You just get hit in the head? Fair walked out the door the minute that girl’s hormones took off. You best remember that! It will make these next few months a hell of a lot easier. Fair,” he scoffs. “Of course it isn’t
fair
. But That’s. How. It. Is.” He enunciates each word slowly, carefully, so I understand his meaning.

For the next few months, I’m at Leah’s mercy.

“Now, on to something we can fix,” he says opening the dishwasher. “You can start work after this last trip of yours. We’ll start you off easy, some smaller accounts, but if all goes well, it won’t be long before—”

I hold up my hands, stopping him. “Whoa, whoa. What are you talking about?”

He casually continues to fill the dishwasher one plate at a time. “Starting at the firm,” he says. I must have missed something because he sees the confusion written all over my face.

“You can’t think you’ll still be able to go on living this photographer lifestyle, do you? You’ll need a stable job closer to home. Not one that has you traveling all over the world all the time. I’ll get you started in the office—”

“I can’t believe you,” I interrupt him, anger boiling under my skin. “After all this time, you still don’t believe I have a career. You think I won’t be able to provide for them.”

My father turns and takes one very dominant step towards me, drying his hands with a dish towel before pointing a finger at me. “You’ve got some serious growing up to do.”

I lean my hands against the counter, gripping its edges tightly. I feel my father’s presence as he leans in, his familiar scent of old wood and spice getting stronger with every inch he comes closer.

“The minute you and Leah decided to keep this baby, you
decided
to put that child before anyone or anything else. Before your own wants, your own needs,” he says sharply. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret you seem not to have figured out yet.” He takes a step back, giving me space to turn and face him. “Soon enough, before you even realize it’s happened, leaving your child behind for any amount of time will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. It will crush you. And that girl,” he says pointing upstairs where Leah and my mother are online shopping. “I doubt she’s on board with being a single parent, left alone for days at a time while you travel the world.”

He covers his hands over the sides of my face, just like he used to when I was a boy and was about to tell me something important. His voice softens a bit. “Being a father will give you a sense of pride you never knew existed. A love so strong, you’d gladly lay down your life if it meant keeping your child safe and happy. You’d sacrifice anything without even blinking.”

He releases my face and I swallow the giant lump that’s formed in my throat. I watch my father go back to the sink and begin to rinse more dishes. “This offer has nothing to do with my thoughts on your career.” He stills, looking down into the sink. “You’ve already proven yourself there.”

Not once has my father ever said anything out loud about being proud of what I’ve accomplished as a photographer. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see it. It’s there, in the framed photos I took hanging in his office. But hearing the words…

“I’ll figure it out, Dad. I’ll be able to do this my way,” I say, trying to reassure him and maybe even myself that I’ll be able to handle my job and the lifestyle that comes along with it as well as my responsibilities to both Leah and my child. Traveling will just become a part of our lives and we’ll figure out the best way to work around it.

He looks over at me with a small, pitying smile. “Shane, it’s not that I don’t think you can do it. It’s that I know you won’t want to.”

“WHAT A DAY,” Cal’s tired words make their way past my pounding headache. I look up from where I’ve been massaging my temples for the last ten minutes to see him take a seat right next to me. “That could have gone better,” he adds.

“No kidding,” I answer sarcastically, closing my eyes.

The day started off awful and didn’t get any better as it wore on. In actuality, everything started to go to shit before I even left for LA.

After our little
misunderstanding
at my parent’s house, Leah’s mood took a major swan dive. Gone was the girl who couldn’t keep her hands off me. In her place was a girl with a major chip on her shoulder. I’ve heard what they say about women holding grudges. It’s child’s play compared to a pregnant woman holding a grudge. We’ve barely spoken these last few days. The silent treatment started on the car ride home and continued right throughout the week. Any time I’d call or text her, I’d get short, clipped responses. When I called to say goodbye before my flight, she let it go to voicemail.

Voicemail. Not even a goodbye.

Leah being this irrational and stubborn is…new. Staying this mad over a scheduling conflict? How do men go through this over and over? One pregnancy should be enough to scare them off having any others. I’m beyond trying to understand Leah now. The only thing I can think of is that this pregnancy has actually made her crazy, no longer able to think rationally or clearly. But even with this new insanity, I have never missed her as much as I have during this trip.

After the crappy few days I had leading up to this trip, it really shouldn’t have surprised me that everything after would also take a turn for the worse. Our scheduled rooftop photo shoot had to be postponed due to rain. Rain! In Los Angeles! Then, one of the models showed up hung-over, needing to take mini breaks every fifteen minutes to go puke in a bucket. And when a gust of wind from the overly obnoxious fan we were using blew over one of the flash umbrellas causing a large tear, I didn’t account for the two hours it would take Cal to drive in LA traffic to get a new one.

But none of that compares to the struggle of knowing today is Comb’s ultrasound and I’m missing it. A few days ago when I told her it wasn’t a big deal I wouldn’t be there, I meant it. I didn’t think it
would
be that big of a deal. I didn’t think it would bother me that much. It’s just a doctor’s appointment. There are bound to be many more. But when I caught myself checking my watch every twenty minutes, calculating the time difference, wondering if she’s seen the doctor yet, what the doctor might have said, whether she got to see our baby on the monitor, I knew I was wrong. This
was
a big deal. Knowing she was going to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl without me hit me harder than a punch to the gut.

The non-stop clicking from my keys on my laptop shifts my attention to where Cal is sifting through the shots we took today. “Not bad, all things considered,” he says.

I lean back in my chair, glancing at the images as they flash across the screen. “I couldn’t care less right now,” I answer.

Cal looks over and I know he can see the stress and exhaustion on my face. Not to mention the misery. “Do we know yet? Boy or girl?”

I glance at my phone. No new notifications. No missed calls. No texts. “Nope.”

Cal continues to scroll through the images. “She’ll call. Probably just got caught up in that case she’s working on. Didn’t you say she’s been working like crazy these last few weeks?”

“Yeah.” I nod, but Cal’s attempt at trying to reassure me does nothing. He knows about Leah’s less than enthusiastic reaction to this trip. I think he started to see the same in me before we even took off, but he’s kept his mouth shut about it.

He swings his chair away from the desk and faces me, leaning back into it just as I am. “Then don’t sweat it. She’ll call.”

HOURS LATER I’M back at my hotel room plugging in my phone, the battery dangerously close to empty. I jump in the shower, hoping the hot water will in some way relax me. All I want to do is lie down and eat the burger I ordered through room service while I wait for Leah to contact me.

I walk out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around my waist. I look for some fresh boxers in my suitcase and turn on the TV. I flip through channels, stopping when I see familiar faces. I don’t know why I can never change the channel when it falls on a
Friends
episode. I’ve seen every one several times over. But every time I watch Monica do something neurotic or hear Joey use the same lame come on, I smile. Because this show always makes me think of one person. From the desk, I hear my phone notifying me of a new text message. Swiping over the screen, I see Leah sent me a text with an audio attachment.

.