Page 112 of Good as Gold
“Sure,” he says.
“You don’t have to—”
“Too late,” she says, rising from her chair. “We’re putting the damn crib together. If Matteo were less of an idiot, he’d be here to do it for you.”
I gulp, because I can’t believe she went there.
“Come on,” she says. “The crib won’t assemble itself.”
* * *
Five minutes later, we’re heading across the parking lot. The UPS man beats us to my door. “Hey, Leila! Got another delivery for you.” He hands me a box from Target.
“Thanks, Mickey!” He and I are quite close, seeing as he brings me boxes practically every day.
“Ooh! What’s this?” Zara asks, taking it from my hands. “Looks like a bottle sterilizer. And it’s from Matteo!”
I sigh and open the outer door.
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s bought everything on the registry. Like, literally everything.”
Zara laughs. “That idiot.”
“I didn’t evenwanta baby registry. It felt crass to make a list of things people could buy me, but my mother insisted. And then it backfired, because Matteo keeps buying all the stuff on it.”
Still laughing, Zara bounces up the stairs at a pace that I haven’t matched since December. Not with this belly. “That’s hilarious. He probably doesn’t even know what half the stuffis.”
* * *
It isn’t even fifteen minutes later when the crib is fully assembled. I can’t resist unwrapping the mattress and hoisting it inside. The sheets have already been washed, so I put those on, too.
The result is adorable. My nursery is really coming together.
“What a lovely room,” Zara says. “Turn around for a second? Look at me.”
The moment I turn, I hear the sound of a photo being taken. “Hey! What was that for?”
“For my stupid brother.” She squints at the screen. “You look super cute with your big belly. But I caught you looking confused. Smile for me?” She holds up the phone again.
“Zara,” I protest. “I haven’t been sending him photos of me. It would seem like I’m pressuring him.”
“Did he say that?” she asks.
“No, but…”
“Cheese!” she demands.
I smile as a reflex, and she takes a photo. “Hey! If I’m making an awkward face, do NOT send that.”
I hear the whoosh of an outgoing text.
“Zara!”
“He needs to see what he’s missing,” she says.
“No! That’s emotional blackmail. He hasn’t even decided yet if he wants to be involved. And I told him he could take his time.”
