Page 59 of Tides That Bind

It seems a silly question to ask. After all, I’m Nate’s wife. And Riley is his friend. As far as I’m concerned, the only ones who should have priority contact are me and Claire.

Not Riley.

But I wouldn’t be mad if Riley tells me he did hear from him, that all is well, or at least, as well as it can be in the middle of a war zone in Afghanistan.

Riley picks at the hem of his t-shirt. “No.”

I feel better and worse at the same time.

“I’m not having this baby without him,” I swear to Riley.

He nods. “I don’t think you’re having the baby tonight at least. You seem fine. If you were in labor you’d be huffing and puffing and biting on a wooden spoon or something. I think you’re just being a little dramatic.”

“Are you an OB?”

“No.”

“A woman?”

“Last time anyone checked, no.”

“Have you been to a delivery before?”

Riley tilts his head to the side. “You know, it’s not something I just drop in on every now and then.”

“Then keep your non-medical, mansplaining to yourself, please,” I snap.

He steps over to me. “What do you need from me exactly, Harper? You called me here and now it seems like I’m stressing you out.”

Everything is stressing me out at the moment, but no more than the possibility of moving up the deadline for my mile-long to-do list of stuff to do before the baby arrives. Suddenly, I’m panicked I don’t have that mattress cover. I’m panicked that the car seat hasn’t been installed, or that the crib is still in a soggy box downstairs. I’m struck by this need to do everything at once.

“Can you put together the crib?” I ask.

Riley raises his dark eyebrows. “Why? Nate wants to do that. It should be him.”

“Please.”

“No, Harper. You’re fine and the baby isn’t coming. You’re freaked out by the storm and I get it. But…everything is going to be fine. The baby will keep cooking and Nate will be home when you actually do go into labor.” Riley picks up one of my candles to guide himself through the door and downstairs. “Call me if anything changes,” he says over his shoulder.

I see red. Anger drives me forward, following him downstairs. But I don’t go into the kitchen where Riley went. I stop in the entry and look at the box.

And then I reach down, lifting it and tilting it on its side and begin to push it upstairs.

“What are you doing? You can’t be carrying that.”

“I’m not,” I huff out. “I’m pushing it.”

“Harper, will you stop it.” Riley comes up behind me, but when I don’t listen he takes one step forward, because I haven’t made it very far, and grabs onto the box with his free hand before shoving the candle at me. “Fine! Fine. God, I get that you’re pregnant, but you’re acting kind of crazy. I’ll put together the crib. Just go lie down or something.”

I straighten, cocking my tongue against my cheek. “Did you just call me crazy?”

“Sorry.” Riley grunts, lifting up the box and pushing past me. “Is hormonal the medical term?”

Following, I stay on his tail. I want the crib together more than I want to rip Riley’s head off, so I decide I’ll do that after. When he gets up the stairs, Riley waits for me because it’s still nearly pitch black.

“Can you open it in the hallway?”

He turns. “And lug all the pieces in?”

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