Ben laughed, and there it was. That warmth in my stomach. His face went from stoic to . . . to . . . to dead sexy. Delighted and mischievous and yep, dead sexy. “You know he means it if he’s pulling the old man card,” he said to me, and I couldn’t help smiling.
Not a housemate. Sort of a . . . property mate. The thought of coming home to the studio lights on, or smoke coming out of the woodstove we had in there . . . it might be kind of nice.
“We’ll give it a week and see how it goes,” I said.
“See? I told you she’d love the idea,” Dad said, then ducked as I threw my napkin at his head.
CHAPTER 20
Melissa
If Melissa kept the baby, she’d be just another look at my baby bump person on Instagram. Boring! Plus, she already had Ophelia （who wasn’t great about letting her take pictures that showed them having fun together, since they rarely if ever had fun together, though Ophelia’s room had gotten a whole heap of comments and likes）。
Plus, she’d been feeling abysmal （word of the day!）。 Seriously. She could not keep the gas in. The other night, it had surprised her while she was cooking, and Bradley laughed and said even her farts were adorable. （She hated the word fart, and she nearly stabbed Bradley—hello, mood swing.） The acid stomach. She’d vomited a couple more times, too. And the exhaustion!
Then again, she didn’t mind taking a nap. It helped pass the day.
A baby. Ugh. Diapers and screaming and sleepless nights.
But she was in charge of the money now. She’d hire a nanny or a night nurse and get right back into shape. Maybe she’d be one of those Kate Middleton types who looked like she’d never given birth. Even if pregnancy did ruin her body, she’d get it back into shape with yoga and Pilates, just as she did now. If her lady garden got a bit droopy, there was surgery for that. Ditto breasts, but gosh golly, they were looking amazing these days. Rounder. Perkier. Bradley couldn’t stop touching them.
And then there was the image of that little creature inside her. Its tiny, mysterious hand, so small but already a hand. A plum, the pamphlet had said （currently hidden in a pair of boots in her vast closet）。 A plum wasn’t nothing.
Bradley was a good father, more or less. He had been until the divorce, from all accounts （well, from his account）。 He’d been a good husband to Lillie. It had been one of the things that attracted her, his ability to commit and be a loving husband; he’d told her he’d never cheated on Lillie before. Dylan would have to be nice to her if she was having his half sibling. It would be a sister-or brother-cousin to Ophelia.
Oh! And Melissa could name it! Wasn’t she fantastic at picking out names! Granted, she would’ve chosen something other than Melissa for herself, but the memory of Kaitlyn calling her Missy—Kaitlyn’s first word—had been too strong back then.
Melissa hoped it was a girl, because those names were much more fun. Addison? Emery? Fairchild was such a great last name, much better than Finch （or Cumbo, for heaven’s sake . . . Kaitlyn had wanted to keep Cumbo as Ophelia’s last name, but when she changed Harminee’s name to Ophelia, Melissa also changed the girl’s last name to Spencer）。 Hang on a sec! She could ask for names on Instagram and TikTok! And the baby’s room would be so beautiful. The clothes for little girls . . . they were almost too adorable!
The nanny would watch the baby when Melissa got bored or needed her facials or a nap or yoga classes or shopping trips （she still wanted to go to New York with Ophelia, especially for Christmastime）。 What fun it would be to see some of the old crowd and put her hand on her adorable tummy and modestly acknowledge that yes, she was expecting. She’d have to look up some designer maternity clothes.
But she was getting ahead of herself. Did she really want to give the rest of her life over to some tiny, unreasonable tyrant? She could go down to Hyannis and get an abortion, and only Lillie would know.
How was that for irony? The first wife being the confidante of the second! It was kind of delicious, if Melissa was the malicious type. She had to admit, though, that Lillie had been very . . . kind . . . in the office. Melissa could see why people wanted her to deliver their babies. She’d asked all the personal questions without making Melissa feel stupid, and during the ultrasound, she’d seemed a little . . . tender.
That tiny head. The profile. Her little plum had a profile. A beating heart.
Yes. She’d keep it. It would only add to her influencer status. Melissa Fairchild, decorator, fitness expert, adoptive mother and now child-rearing expert, someone who’d show off her beautiful home, children and body but still be realistic and relatable （without being too real, of course . . . she wasn’t going to talk about vomiting or gas, for gosh sake!）。