Baby by Design

that for several minutes, absorbing the misery of the day.

“Ah, screw it,” Angie finally said, straightening and sniffing like she wanted to vacuum up and seal away the emotional mess. “Just, ya know, be careful. And remember…I’m here if you need me.”

A small smile tilted Trish’s lips. “I always need you. And if things get complicated and I need you to take charge, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Angie eyed her suspiciously, but then propped her elbow on her knee and lifted her hand, pinky finger crooked and extended. “You swear?”

Trish’s smile broadened, and her laugh wrapped in sniffles from lingering tears. “I swear,” she said, locking her pinkie finger with Angie’s.

And just like that Trish’s world was right again. Except for the part that included Tony. That part was going to take a bit more time to settle. Whether she was pregnant or not, she was going to have to face the fact that this plan was more complicated than she ever imagined, starting with her feelings for him and the feelings he seemed to have for her. Those feelings were going to be part of everything they did together from work to parenting—if she was carrying his child. Could they suppress those feelings, even if they didn’t want to? And if they couldn’t, what happened then?

She had the sinking feeling there was only one way to find out.

* * *

Shitty day, Tony thought as he opened a beer and settled on the couch. He’d been seeing Nonna’s face in his tired brain since he left her house, trying to outrun Angie and all her questions about Trish. “You be good, Antonio,” Nonna had said as she weakly pinched his cheeks. “Be happy.” It was like a damn conspiracy between her and Vin, only Vin wanted Tony to become some alter-version of himself so he could be happy and win Trish. Win Trish? What kind of game was this? All he ever wanted was to make Nonna happy.

He leaned his head on the back of the sofa and balanced the bottle of beer on his thigh. After leaving Nonna’s house, he rode miles with nothing but the wind in his face and pressure on his brain. He did a pretty good job of keeping coherent thoughts to a minimum, until he cut the engine and climbed these stairs, eager to be home.

But this didn’t feel like home with its water-damaged plaster and flimsy single-pane windows, doing nothing to keep the cold wind and street noise out. Certainly it wasn’t a home where he could bring a baby when it wasn’t home enough for him.

Since when wasn’t it home enough for him? He raised the bottle and chugged. Since Trish was the reply. Her house had him spoiled, what with all the master upholstery. He smiled, thinking of all the pieces he’d perfected for her, but then the expression faded. Lifting his head from the couch, he looked around the room, realizing not a piece of furniture was designed or modified by him. The uncomfortable couch he sat upon was a hand-me-down from Vin, a casualty of his doomed marriage. The piece was well-made and expensive, and Tony never felt the urge to make a change. From the bed to the dining table to a couple armchairs, the story was the same, all stuff given to him to take up space. Not a damn piece meant a damn thing.

If he could tell a lot about a person from their furniture, then what did his say about him?

He took a longer drink, draining the bottle on a single breath. How was it possible Trish owned more “Tony Corcarelli Originals” than he did? And what did that say about her?

He didn’t care, couldn’t care. Questions like that put him right back in the middle of senior year, and his high school philosophy elective, which he failed. No. Thank. You. So he stood, stretched and headed back to the kitchen for another beer. With any luck he’d get good and drunk, and forget everything.

Two steps from the fridge, the intercom buzzed.

Tony blinked at the clock above the stove, and then he glanced as his father’s wristwatch, double-checking the time. Nobody would stop by this late. Must be a mistake, or an attempt to get in by somebody who shouldn’t be getting in, so he ignored it, hoping they would move on to another sucker.

The intercom buzzed again.

Maybe it was the beer he’d guzzled while bone tired, but curiosity won out. He crossed the room and hit the button as the buzzer sounded a third time.

“Who is this?” he asked, sounding gruffer than he should, but hey, it was late, and it could still be someone up to no good.

Two heavy breaths echoed over the crackling line. “It’s me, Trish.”

Shit. All he could think about was her standing alone on his dark and dumpy street.

He hit the button extra hard. “Come on. Third floor.” And then he met her on the stairs.

She was wrapped in a bright green raincoat, one that reminded him of the dress she wore to the wedding. Only the raincoat—and boots—covered every inch of flesh, especially when she clutched the collar tight at her neck.

Was it too much to hope for fishnets?

With her eyes wide and lips straight, she glanced up at him. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

He shrugged, still captured by the vision of her sweeping up his filthy stairs. “I’d say I’m surprised you didn’t call first, but hey, that seems to be the norm around you.” He grinned, and automatically slipped a hand beneath her elbow as she reached the landing. “Is everything okay?”

She blinked, nodded and then exhaled. “I think so.”

An odd reply, odd enough for him to bite his tongue and lead her into his apartment before he asked any more questions. He closed the door behind them, and watched her walk into the center of the living area. She loosened her hold around her coat collar, letting it fall open at her throat. For some reason he stared at the pastel skin, like a man starving for a taste.

She touched a finger there, traced it back and forth along the faint line of bone. “This is…nice,” she said.

“Don’t lie.” He didn’t take his eyes off her finger, toying nervously, slipping in and out of the cover of her collar’s hem. “It’s shit. Certainly not a place for a woman like you.” His voice faltered, scratching over the last few words. He wished he’d time to grab that second bottle of beer.

She flattened her palm against her chest, the tips of three fingers hidden beneath her collar and resting overtop her heart. “Me? Please. I’ve seen worse. And everything has potential. It’s just a matter of seeing beyond the roughness.”

Why did he feel like she was talking about him? His skin tightened and his mouth dried. He rubbed his fingers across the stubble on his jaw, desperate for something to say. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I, uh, probably won’t be staying long. I just wanted you to know that I told Angie I think I’m pregnant.”

He didn’t know which one of her statements bothered him more. One, that she wasn’t planning on staying. Two, that Angie knew. Or three, that Trish thought she was pregnant. He rubbed his hand along his jaw again and then up over his face to his forehead. After a few more rubs, he said the first thing that came to mind. “What did Ange say?”

Trish laughed. “Let’s just say she’s promised to stay out of our business unless I ask for her help.”

Tony didn’t like the idea of Trish asking anyone but him for help, not when it came to their baby, their family, and he would’ve said so if he didn’t realize he was getting way ahead of himself. “Are you pregnant?” He almost couldn’t say the word, not because he didn’t want her to be, but because the idea of her saying no had him breathing with his chest clamped.

“Technically it’s still too soon to tell, but I’m feeling like I am. I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.” She looked at the sofa behind her, and then sat.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall. Nonna wanted him to be happy. Tony wanted Nonna to be happy. Who’d have thought Trish having his baby could be the answer to both?

“If I am pregnant, Angie says you should marry me.” Trish looked at him, those big eyes blazing. “I’m telling you right now that is not what I expect from you. I never expected that. I will go to bat for you with your family, because I know how traditional they can be. So no pressure, ya hear?” She blinked a few times, and then forced a smile.