Page 58 of Henhouse
“With my work, with friends. You know Neil’s family—that man I told you about—lives near here. I used to be quite close with his sister, but over the years . . . it became too taxing to hold myself authentically in a world that disdains otherness.”
“I know what you mean,” Effie muttered, and did she ever. It was a challenge to brave the world in the vivid truth of your identity. But Effie always thought Aunt Bea had emulated that to perfection, never daring to be anyone but who she was. “Though I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. As you’ve told me before.”
“That is the risk we old ladies run in doling out advice. Sometimes it comes back to bite us.”
Effie shrugged innocently but it was true. She wouldn’t let Aunt Beatrice off the hook, because if the roles were reversed she would do anything to help Effie get out of her own way. “It’s not too late. To showcase your artwork or reach out to old friends. You’d tell me to get my butt out there, so you should too. I’ll help if you’d like.”
“Yes, you’re right. Maybe you could start by helping me find a place?”
“I’d be happy to!”
“But let’s wait until after the ball to say anything. Wouldn’t want Louisa thinking I’m trying to steal focus from her event.”
Effie had to laugh at that. Louisa was all kinds of wound up over this year’s ball. So much so that she’d accused Hope of planning her book launch exactly two weeks before the ball just to torture Louisa.
“Why do you think she’s so nutty about it this year?”
“I think she’s hoping for a little magic and forcing it into existence,” Aunt Bea proclaimed.
Issa flitted to Effie’s extended arm, perching lightly on her wrist. Effie nuzzled her before looking back to Aunt Bea. “You could reach out to Neil’s family in the meantime,” Effie suggested. “It’s nice to find new friends that make you leave these four walls.”
“You would know,” Aunt Bea teased. “Maybe.”
“Good,” Effie encouraged with a decisive nod. She turned her gaze back to Issa who tilted her head with an appraising look before lifting off Effie’s arm and swooping to her perch by the window.
Effie always wondered if Issa yearned to feel freedom beyond the Thatcher walls too, or if she was content in the place that nurtured her.
29
The room was smaller than he remembered. Not that he’d spent a lot of time within its walls, and the nights he had he certainly wasn’t noticing the square footage. Thoughts of hushed but passionate nights beneath the fluffy purple duvet painted a vivid picture as he looked at it now. One such night was responsible for his current task—assembling a crib.
Hope watched from her perch on the bed. “I can help, you know.”
“I’m good. You rest.” He had insisted that he could handle this for her. After all, he wanted things to be easy when she brought the baby home, and that meant having a space that felt safe and inviting. He was the father, he could assemble a damn crib. He wanted to do and be so much more than this. He’d done his best to demonstrate his excitement and dedication that week despite the awkward tension that lingered after their conversation and the pressure of Hope’s book launch in a couple of days.
He drove her to her appointment yesterday and paid theco-pay at the office. He held her hand through the ultrasound and made sure she had a well-balanced lunch before he brought her home. He’d also taken both their cars in turn with two separate car seats to the fire station to have them inspected for proper installation. He knew they were still eight weeks out, but he was nothing if not prepared. He liked to think it eased something between them that he’d been so adamant about getting the safety measures in place and the cribs ready in case Bug decided to make an early appearance.
It had saddened him though to remove Hope’s well-loved desk from the corner of the room to make space for the crib. She’d also insisted on downsizing from her queen-sized bed to a twin, so there was more room for the changing table he would assemble next. It had quickly gone from the moody cave of a witchy-minded author to a mash-up nursery bunk room.
Her bed hid behind the door, the headboard parallel to the hallway wall that was no more than six feet wide. Her nightstand piled with her current reads on the low shelf stood beside it with a reading lamp on top. On the other side of the door stood the armoire that Brayden muscled across the room from where it used to reside in the center of the long wall leading to the window seat. The corner that shared a wall with the window seat was cordoned off for the crib, and the changing table would take the place of the armoire. It was tight, but it worked.
“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Brayden asked as he finished assembling one of the side rails of the wooden crib that Hope had picked out, its warm walnut finish matching the twin-sized bed she’d swapped her cousin’s daughter for. “You wouldn’t rather get your own place?”
Brayden cringed at how Hope deflated. Like she thought he’d beenasking something else.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of having them live together, even if they weren’ttogether, but that seemed like a bad idea. Still, he should be more careful with how he worded things.
“It will be nice to have support here,” Hope said in a measured tone. Still, the space made him sad. He had four thousand square feet, a separate nursery, guest rooms, and a primary suite with tile, stain, and wallpaper that Hope had picked out, and here she was in a single bedroom making it work, because he didn’t know how to.
He wanted to take that pained look from her face, but he couldn’t and uphold the plan he’d set forth. This was how things needed to be. This was how he could be certain he’d do right by Bug and not get left behind. Brayden gritted his teeth but nodded in acknowledgment. He got to work attaching the four sides of the crib.
“You picked some nice things,” he complimented. Baby products seemed a safe topic of conversation.
“Your email with links to the highest rated in every category was helpful. As were the safety scores and notes about hidden toxins.” Hope leveled him with a teasing glare.
“Too much?”
“Nooo,” she drawled. “It’s comforting knowing all the ways my baby can suffocate overnight if I buy the wrong mattress.”
