Page 43 of The Curveball
Yes, you can.
She just doesn't get it. My apartment was too big, too quiet, and too lonely before she moved in. I've never lived by myself, and I didn't think I would miss having other people around quite as much as I have since the twins moved out. Having Sage there feels right in so many ways, even if it’s only been a handful of days.
There's one more apartment for us to look at, a furnished suite in someone's house. It’s clean, and in a decent neighbourhood, and the landlords seem okay.
“Damn it, that place was great, but it's so far from the hospital, and not on a bus route,” Sage complains as we get back in my car. I hate hearing her sound so defeated, but I can’t deny my relief that none of the three places seem to be something she’s seriously considering.
I finally unclench my jaw, which was starting to ache. It’s been a constant battle trying not to say anything that might push her in the opposite direction, away from me and out of my apartment. But as I start to drive us home, I can't hold it in any longer.
“You don’t have to settle for some place that feels unsafe or uncomfortable.” I clear my throat, my voicefeeling rough. “You know you can stay with me as long as needed.”
A soft hand lands on my leg. “Thanks Brady, I appreciate that. But I’m sure something will come up, hopefully soon.”
I don’t respond. I can’t, not without telling her how I really feel.
By the time we get home, Sage seems to be in a better mood. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m sinking deeper into a panicked slump, trying to figure out how to convince her to just stay here.
“How do tacos sound for dinner?” she asks in a chipper voice as we enter my apartment.
“Sounds good, do you need to sit down or take a nap? I can cook,” I reply, already moving to the kitchen.
Sage catches up with me quickly and gently shoves me to the side. “No, silly. I'm going to cook, you sit down and relax. It's the least I can do after making you drive me all over town today, and dealing with my wet clothes last night.” She blushes lightly. “Have to say, it was a first, having a guy do my laundry.”
“It was no trouble. I'm glad I was able to help.”
The bright smile she gives me simultaneously cracks my heart in two and fills me with so much warmth. I duck my head into the fridge and rummage around for a sports drink. Pulling out two bottles, I hold one out to her. “Want a drink?”
She shakes her head. “No thanks, I’ll just have water.”
But as I move to the cabinet to get a glass, she stopsme, her hands landing on my chest. “Brady, stop. I can get it myself.”
“Sorry,” I say gruffly, taking a step to the side at the same time she moves in the same direction, and her small yet rounded stomach brushes against me.
“Whoops. I’m still not used to how much this thing sticks out,” she says with a smile. “My whole centre of gravity is off and it’s only going to get worse.” She laughs at herself as she starts pulling things out of the fridge.
I count to five in my head as I move away from her and take a seat on one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen island.
This is killing me. I want to feel her stomach. I want to be free to touch it, to touch her, to hold her and our baby in my arms. I want to keep them here, with me.
I want to take care of her.
But that's the last thing on earth she wants.
We end up eating dinner on the couch, in front of the TV. Sage puts on some comedy movie that she insists is a classic but I've never seen.
Not that I pay any attention to it.
My entire being is focused on the woman sitting next to me. On the little noises she makes as she eats the tacos she made, and the way she gradually relaxes into the couch, shifting until her feet are tucked to the side and her shoulder is leaning into mine.
“Is this okay?” she asks quietly, and all I can do is nod, not trusting myself to speak without confessing just how right it feels.
Eventually, I feel her body grow heavier against me. By the time the credits are rolling on the movie, she'ssnoring softly, her head on my shoulder. I stay perfectly still, savouring the weight of her against me. She fits here, with me, against me, in my arms. She belongs here. I just don't know how to get her to see that.
I stare down at her, trying to commit the image of her, peaceful in my arms, to memory. Before I can stop myself, my head ducks down and my lips brush against the soft silk of her hair. She stirs slightly, and I stiffen quickly, lifting my head.
With a tightly controlled exhale, I pick up my phone. My email inbox has a reminder from one of the job search websites I've been looking at. My stomach drops. How can I even envision a future with Sage when I don't have the means to support her and our baby?
I click over to the website and start scrolling the postings. There are a few short-term construction jobs, but those are for the summer months when I'm busy playing baseball.
