Page 79 of Baby Maker

Chapter Sixteen

Calliope

Simon leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he considers my declaration.

"I'm not sure whether that face means you approve or think I've lost my damn mind."

"Actually, I'm hurt that you destroyed the snow globe," he jests, giving me a light jab in the arm. "It's not for me to say, Calliope. This is your life. Are you happy with your decision?"

"I am."

"It's a tremendous risk that you're taking. On all fronts. Are you prepared for what might happen if one or more of your plans falls through?"

"Then I make a new plan. That's life—a series of constantly evolving plans. I've tried to cling to some semblance of control, but all it led to was disappointment. I'm ready to move on."

This time, I mean it. After finding Nigel's video, I spent the next week embroiled in a deep, spiritual soul searching. I've also made a decision. Three, in fact.

I'm selling the house in Providence. Keegan was right. I never did like the damn thing. Aside from a few personal effects, the furniture is going with the residence, further upping the value. I am taking Nigel's leather side chair, although he rarely sat in it since I usually snatched his spot as I curled up to read. I've packed up all the trinkets and photo albums, placing them in storage.

Where am I headed? Not entirely sure, although I will be making a trip to Long Island. I can't be certain how Keegan feels about me now, but I'm going to demand to know. After I spill my heart out to him, of course.

And then, I will mention my final plan. I'm going to have a baby. I'd like to have one with Keegan, but if that isn't an option, I'll move forward with my decision. Solo.

"You said that Keegan doesn't want a family, Calliope. Aren't you setting yourself up for disappointment?"

My best friend is the salt of the earth. He's terrified of me falling apart again. The poor man has spent the last two years collecting shards of my soul that kept shattering with each new wound.

"I might be," I shrug, sipping my wine. Hey, I'm taking full advantage now. Hopefully, I'll need to abstain in the near future. "Before he left, Keegan asked me what I needed from my life. He doubted that I'd ever considered the question. I now know that I hadn't given it a thought. Not in years. I finally figured it out. He also mentioned that this wasn't how he wanted things to go, either. I'm willing to test that theory."

"I believe he loved you, if that's any consolation. He took you to meet his family, which according to his mother, he doesn't do. That speaks volumes."

"He also had unprotected sex with me. While I was ovulating."

Simon's eyes grow large, and I'm not sure if it's because of this conversation's intimate nature or my actual statement. "Too much information, Calli."

Chuckling, I grab the bill as the server leaves it. "Had to leave you with a winner."

We stroll out of the cafe, the sun warming my face. For the first time in a long time, I'm excited about my future. Even if I've no idea what that future holds.

After our lunch date, I head for the cemetery, a brilliant bouquet of irises by my side. Even though I know Nigel will always be with me, cheering me on—or shaking his head in disbelief—I still want to tell him my news at his last official resting place. Well, where his stone lies, anyway. A visit to his grave in England will have to wait a few more months, but I'm fairly certain my husband will understand.

I've got a lot of living to do.

Climbing the gentle incline, I inhale the summer air, the fragrance of a thousand blooms softening the rough edges of such a melancholy place. Kneeling by his stone, I brush away the bits of dirt and pollen that have settled on the marble, offering up several sneezes of thanks.

"Hey, handsome. It's been a while." There's already a bouquet in his vase or the remains of one. Funny. I wonder if Simon and Bridget stopped by here, or perhaps a friend from work. I pull out the dead stalks, starting as a plastic bag drops by my side.

Placing the dead flowers in the garbage bin, I return and sit cross-legged in the sunshine, pulling open the plastic bag as my curiosity piques.

It's a letter. Who in the world would write Nigel a letter? Unfolding the paper fully, my heart stops.

Keegan.

I glance at the stone, waving the letter. "You knew about this and didn't tell me? Do I want to read it?"

The truth? I've no damned idea. But I've always been more curious than cautious, so here goes nothing.

Nigel,

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