Page 19 of Through the Storm

Katy pretends she doesn’t think it’s funny, but she’s smiling and giggling. Once I feel she’s truly relaxed, I go wash my face.

And then I get to work. I move box after box. I untangle lamp cords. I fold clothes and put them into drawers. I line her shoes by the door. Set her books on the dresser.

She doesn’t look at me. Not directly. But every time I pass through the room, I feel her eyes on me.

Wyatt and Leo help me assemble the crib, and I triple-check every screw like this is the most important thing I’ve ever built. But it still doesn’t feel like enough.

When everything that can be fixed has been fixed, I grab the thing I’ve been carrying around in my car for days, the stupid little gift bag I haven’t had the guts to give her yet.

I join everyone in the living room just as Katy speaks again.

“Thanks for today,” she says. “Especially you guys.” She nods at Tyler and Wyatt. “You didn’t even know me and you just spent the day packing and moving my things. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tyler says.

“Anytime,” Wyatt adds easily.

Rebecca, Ella’s best friend and Tyler’s girlfriend, grins. “Wow. Chopped liver, I guess.”

Katy exhales something like a laugh. “Fine. I don’t hate you asmuchanymore.”

“I’ll take it.”

We eat. We talk. The heaviness lifts. It’s not completely gone, but it’s bearable.

Then Ella asks gently, “So, Katy. Anything else we can do?”

Katy hesitates.

“I’m good.” She fiddles with her bracelet. “It’s just the normal couple stuff that I’m too embarrassed to do alone. But I guess I’ll get used to it.”

“Like what?” Declan asks. “I’ve been to all your appointments. What am I missing?”

“You’ve been the best. I just mean, like, a prenatal yoga class or birthing classes. I don’t want to show up with my brother like some loser.”

“You’re not a loser for going with me,” Declan answers immediately.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’ll go with you.”

The room goes still.

I clear my throat. “I’m awesome at Pilates. I went with Ellie a bunch of times, when she was trying to regain her core str?—”

Ella’s glare could cut glass.

I stop talking. Immediately.

“Uh, anyway,” I mutter. “I got you a present.”

I hand her the bag. My palms are slick.

She eyes it warily, then reaches inside.

When she pulls out the onesie, her mouth trembles.

“I call you Katy Cat,” I rush to explain. “So… the baby’s the kitten.”

For one awful second, I think I got it all wrong.