Page 10 of Change the Plan
I gasp with mock offence, poking him playfully in the arm, and he barks out a laugh.
“You were just telling me earlier today how tight it is!”
“It is. Usually.” He gets up, grabbing my wrists before I can poke him again. “Iamjoking. And it’s a terrible, misogynistic joke, and I’m sorry.” He leans over me, muzzle pressing to my forehead for a moment in the werewolf version of a kiss. “Go to sleep, little fairy. We’ll sort it all out in the morning.”
“You feeling okay?”
I look up from my breakfast and across the cafe table at Van’s concerned face. We’re sitting outdoors, enjoying the sunshine and our last morning in Arrowtown’s cutesy little tourist precinct before we fly back tonight. “Totally fine.” I’d had a little bit of nausea after taking the morning after pill yesterday, but nothing significant. “Honestly, I was expecting way worse; I hada friend in uni who had bad cramping and a decent amount of spotting after they took it.”
The way Van’s brows draw down into a frown is comical. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, I’m telling you now,” I smile sweetly, teasing him. I spear one of the small sausages on my plate with my fork, holding it out to him like a peace offering. “I didn’t want you to worry more than you already have, okay honey? Don’t think I can’t sense the guilt swirling around in there. Which is silly, when you’ve told me not to feel that way.”
“I…” He pauses, frowning off into the distance. A moment later, a heavily-pregnant orc waddles past our table, and I watch Van’s golden eyes track her movement all the way back to her seat. He sighs heavily, before leaning forward, biting the sausage straight off my fork. I watch him chew, waiting for him to speak. He is, as ever, incredibly handsome, and I never tire of staring at him.
“Since theevent,” he begins, rolling his eyes as he references the other night, “it’s occurred to me that there’s a significantly higher burden on you when it comes to all of this stuff.”
“Having babies? Or not having babies? Or simply existing with a uterus?”
He nods, so sincerely that I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from smiling, though I can’t help but ask, “It’s just occurred to you?”
“No, obviously not, not the basics. I mean the risks toyou. You specifically. Pregnancy, birth, postpartum, all of it.”
I shrug. “Yeah. It sucks. I still want kids in the future. And your mum has quite literally had visions of our future daughter, so… what can you do? It is what it is. Is that what the guilt is about?”
“Partially.”
“What’s the other part?”
There’s a flash of something in his eyes — a look I’ve seen a thousand times, a hunger that lights a fire in every part of me. “The guilt is that I know the risks, but despite that…” He licks his lower lip, and I bite down on mine.
“Despite that?” I prompt.
“I can’t stop thinking about how fucking good you’re going to look pregnant.”
CHAPTER SIX
ELLIE
If I thought I had babies on the brain prior to losing my IUD, it’s increased tenfold now. Given the fact that only last week I took medication to actively prevent my body from ovulating any time soon, it’s ridiculous, but then that’s often how things work. Now that I know I can’t get pregnant — at least notright now— it’s the thing my mind has decided to focus on the most.
I swear that since returning from our holiday, the population of pregnant people on Motuwai has tripled. Van and I pass by five women who are all obviously pregnant and another three with chubby little babies on their hips, all in the span of five minutes as we wander along the main street where tourists and locals alike enjoy the cutesy shops and various cafes. I squeeze his hand, nodding to the next baby we see, strapped in a carrier on the back of her father. She grins a drooling, gummy smile at Van, and I watch his face transform as he smiles back at her.
“Cute kid,” he says, once we’re out of earshot. “Your appointment is tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
He already knows this. I know my husband and his propensity to remember details, and I know he doesn’t need toask when my appointment to discuss birth control options with my GP is taking place. What he’s doing is giving me an opening, right after seeing a slew of fertility on display, to talk about what we’re doing with our future.
Van is my best friend, my favourite person in the whole world, my soulmate, myfated mate. I don’t know why I’m struggling to articulate to him how I’m feeling when it comes to this stuff.
Maybe it’s because I’m so torn over it myself.
“Yeah, it’s at eleven,” I finally say, letting all my other thoughts die on my tongue.I think I actually want to start trying now, but I’m scared of making the wrong decision when it comes to timing, and I know that with our millions we can afford children and all the childcare we could possibly need, but I also know there’s all the scary fae shit going on in the background, and is it really safe to bring a baby into this world right now? Is it ever safe? Is it safer now than it will be in three years’ time? There’s no going back once we have a kid. Do we really want to give up this lifestyle?
“And then we’ve got the charity event in the afternoon — we need to leave by two,” Van reminds me.
“That’s fine, I’ll be back with plenty of time to get ready.” The event is at another vineyard on the island, and is raising funds for an important community resource — an organisation that covers travel and accommodation costs for those with medical needs that require frequent trips to the mainland. I haven’t been to one of these things before, but Van has told me what to expect: Auckland’s rich-listers, lots of people attending as part of a group from their big corporate workplaces, a huge auction, and lots of good food and wine.
