That could probably use some edits.
They’re coming over to play board games. Or a game, rather. Bo muttered the title under his breath while busying himself around the kitchen. His boyish smirk told me he was intentionally evasive each time I asked, so I gave up trying and decided to hide out in my room.
It was rather adorable watching him fret about preparing the house for his friends’ arrival. The bowls of snacks on the counter, the foldable table that he’s placed in the middle of the dining room, the black tablecloth overtop that he fixed several times.
The more I get to see Bo in his natural habitat, the more I realise that he cares a lot about other people’s comfort.
And it’s not only in big ways, like preparing his home for guests. It’s the way he speaks with his clients on the phone. He meets every concern they have with gentle assuredness, patience, and confidence. Never with an air of arrogance or superiority because he’s got a skill set not many people have. He truly wants the best for them.
Then, there’s all he does for me. Like knocking on my door every night before bed with a fresh glass of ice water and a new comic book to read. Or the giant body pillow I found in my room after work yesterday with a note that said for the world’s best baby mama.
When I asked him about it, he said his father-to-be book said that at around this stage of pregnancy, I’d start having trouble sleeping. The truth is, since being here, I’ve been sleeping like the dead every night. Still, it was a very sweet gesture.
Bo is clearly the type of guy who takes people under his wing. A natural caretaker type. It makes me glad to know that my kid will have a dad who goes above and beyond for the people he cares about.
“Win?” Bo says from the other side of my door with a soft knock.
“Yep?” I reply, dropping my crochet hook onto the bed beside me.
Bo slowly opens the door, steps inside, and closes it behind him. He looks like he’s about to ask me something when his attention falls to the bed next to me. “Wait. Do you knit?”
“Crochet,” I answer.
“What?” He elongates the word to several syllables. “That’s so cool… I didn’t know that!”
“I’m fairly certain crocheting isn’t considered a cool hobby by most,” I reply dryly.
“What are you making?” he asks, ignoring me.
“Oh, well, I thought I’d make a baby blanket. I’m doing a line of stitching every week of the pregnancy. I caught up with the weeks when I didn’t know about the baby with this nice mauve colour,” I say, holding up what I have so far. “Then, after that, I’m going to add a colour that sort of represents the week I’ve had.”
Bo nods, studying the blanket as I drop it back to the bed. “What was this week’s colour?”
“I chose grey,” I answer.
His face falls.
“A nice grey,” I assure him. “Grey like the stones we threw at the beach. I thought I’d remember our first day living together that way.”
Bo inhales, his shoulder rising back to a normal posture. “That’s going to be a very big blanket.”
“Yeah,” I huff. “I should probably do one of those normal pregnancy books that other people do instead,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders.
“No, the blanket is more original. I could do the typical baby book thing. If you’d like?”
“Yeah, maybe.” I smile up at him. “Did, uh, did you need something?”
“Oh, right.” He laughs just once, rubbing his forehead, his other hand propped on his hip. “Yeah, actually. The guys are all here, and we haven’t started yet, but I thought maybe… Maybe I could introduce you? It’s okay if you’re not up for it. I just know they’d all love to put a face to the name.”
He talks about you! Of course he does—you’re having his baby and living in his house.
“Sure, yeah,” I say, standing.
Bo leads us out into the hall. We’re halfway through the kitchen when he turns around, bends down, and whispers, “And… try to go easy on him.”
“Easy on—” I stop, looking at the makeshift table set up in the dining room, the men around it I’ve yet to meet, and, most shockingly, one familiar face. “Caleb?”
Caleb, looking guilty as all hell and shrunken down to about two feet tall, has the nerve to wave at me. “Hey, Win,” he says, his voice dejected.
“Uh, hey? What… what are you doing here?”
Caleb looks around the table, to Bo, then back to me before jumping out of his seat. “Excuse us, gentlemen.” He charges toward me, grabbing hold of my elbow and using it to pull me back down the hall.
“Listen, Win, I—”
“Caleb.” I choke out his name through a budding laugh. “What are—”
“I will tell you everything, but you need to promise me first that you will not tell my wife.”
I cross my fingers behind my back and nod twice. Puh-lease, as if I’d ever promise such a thing.
“I’m so serious right now. We have been friends for fifteen years, Winnifred McNulty. I have never asked you for anything, but I am now. Please, god, please, do not tell my wife I play Dungeons and Dragons. She will never drop it. I will be ridiculed until my dying day.”
“Caleb!” I shove his shoulder with my small hand. “Where does Sarah think you are right now?”
“The gym.”
“Oh my god! The lying! The deceit!” I gasp. “Did you pretend you’d never been to Bo’s house before when I moved in?” I ask in a breathy whisper-yell. “What else have you lied about?”
“I technically didn’t say I hadn’t been here before. This is the only lie, I swear. I just want this one thing. Let me have peace, Win.”
“Caleb,” I scoff. “Do you seriously expect me to lie to my best friend about her husband’s whereabouts?”
“Not lie. Just… omit the truth.”
“Caleb!”
“Look, I know, okay? I don’t want to lie to her either, but…” Caleb wipes a hand across his brow, then places it on his hip. “Remember when I brought home that Star Wars Lego set last summer? The Death Star one? Which is for adults, by the way…” He sighs, his head hanging between us. “Sarah only referred to me as Darth Loser for a month. A month.”
I snicker. “Okay, but I do think she meant that affectionately. Plus—”
“Or when I suggested we all go to the renaissance fair when we were, what… eighteen? She still sends me advertisements for those with laughing emojis. She’s subscribed me to several newsletters. It’s been ten years.”
Okay, one of those newsletter subscriptions was definitely me, but…
“Or the time—”
“Yes, yes, I get it. I see your point.”
“I love my wife more than anyone. You know that. I also know that mocking is her way of showing love. It’s one of my favourite things about her when I’m not on the receiving end of it. But I’d like to avoid it if I can. I’d like to maintain some level of cool.”
I nod, my lips quivering as I resist a laugh. This is just too much.