Page 140 of Clinically Bewitched
I’m not going to survive this pregnancy.
She is going to kill me. Death by cosmic intervention and pregnancy hormones.
But as I walked to the conference room, I couldn’t quite suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.
Worth it.
Completely, utterly worth it.
The universe, I was beginning to suspect, knew exactly what it was doing.
Even if it was trying to kill me.
Week Sixteen:
“I think we should paint the nursery,” Athena said.
We were lying in bed, her head on my chest, my hand resting on her slightly rounded stomach.
“Okay,” I said. “What color?”
“I don’t know yet. We should wait and see what feels right.”
What feels right?
What FEELS right?!
I had seventeen paint samples already organized by a color family in my desk drawer. I had the measurements for the spare bedroom. I had calculated optimal lighting conditions and researched non-toxic paint brands and created a timeline for completion that accounted for proper ventilation and drying time.
But I wastrying.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll wait.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The universe is testing me.
The universe is absolutely testing me.
Three days later, I cracked and bought the paint. Soft sage green. Calming. Gender-neutral. Perfectly reasonable.
Athena found the cans in the closet.
“Julien.”
“I was just... preparing. In case we decided on green.”
“You bought four gallons.”
“I calculated the square footage. We’ll need three and a half gallons for two coats, plus extra for touch-ups.”
She stared at me.
“I’m trying,” I said weakly.
“I know you are.” She kissed me. “And I love you for it. But maybe... try a little less hard?”
