Jamie Sobrato - Baby Under The Mistletoe

But he continued on his own. “I guess I’ve never thought about it before, but I must have been desperate to prove something.”

“Prove what?”

He frowned. “I’ve always been proud that I made the Special Forces team after the General told me there was no way I could do it.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Seeing the way my father is now-not himself anymore…I wish I could let go of those petty feelings.”

Thinking of her own mother, Soleil said, “Family relationships rarely bring out the best in us.”

Understatement of the year.

He lapsed into silence as he ate a spring roll, and Soleil wondered if she’d ever have the courage to broach the subject that was hanging in the air between them like a deadweight-the baby, their future, what they were going to do…

“So,” she said, her throat suddenly tight, “you’re happy with your career?”

His gaze searched hers. He wanted to know why she was asking, and she wasn’t sure she even knew. “Sure,” he said. “I mean, it’s my life.”

“That’s how I feel about the farm,” she said, a weird mix of regret and satisfaction plaguing her.

They had such opposite paths in life: he traveled around the world performing covert military operations, while she was rooted firmly to one sacred spot, doing work that affirmed life and encouraged growth. She didn’t see how they could ever make raising a child together work.

“We’ve got the baby to consider,” he said.

Whoa, he’d come right out and said it.

“Right,” she croaked.

“I have to admit, I never thought about how a family would fit into my career life. After seeing my parents’ marriage fall apart, I wasn’t in any hurry to get married, or have kids, for that matter.”

“Yeah,” she said, a film of sweat breaking out on her upper lip. “Me, neither.”

“There’s no way I can have my own flesh and blood walking around in the world, and not take part in raising her.”

“West-” The cold sweat spread to the back of her neck, her chest, her underarms…

“Just listen. You’ve had five and a half months to figure out how a baby will fit into your life, and I’ve had a couple of days. But the way I felt in that doctor’s office, and the look I saw on your face, you’ve got to admit we have some common ground here. We both want the best for our baby.”

Tears, treacherous tears, sprang to her eyes. Soleil was not the kind of woman who burst into tears over lunch. It had to be the pregnancy hormones. They were making her nuttier and nuttier. She blinked away the dampness and looked out the window.

“Of course,” she said.

“I don’t know how our parenting her together will look yet, but we owe it to the baby to make whatever compromises it takes to give her a good life with both of her parents.”

Soleil forced herself to nod. She couldn’t argue with him, but she also couldn’t imagine what compromises would get them to a place of harmony. And yet, she wanted to recapture that moment of sheer joy they’d shared while viewing the ultrasound. She wanted to feel that hopeful and happy all the time, not only for a few minutes.

“Maybe you could have someone else run the farm while you move to Colorado-”

A humorless laugh burst from Soleil’s throat. She contemplated hurling the last spring roll at his forehead, but no. Happy and hopeful-that’s how she was wanted to feel right now.

“Why do you assume I’ll be the one making the compromises?” she said as evenly as she could.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his thickly muscled arms over his chest. Something sparked in his blue eyes. “I’d say we’re both compromising there. I’m the one who’d have to put up with you.”

He was toying with her temper because starting an argument was easier than working through their differences.

With a Herculean effort, she ignored the bait. “Let’s don’t go there.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Go where?”

“I don’t want to argue with you right now. Let’s just, for today, try to get along. Cool?”

“Cool,” he said quietly.

His gaze lingered too long on her. He had a way of looking at her, the way he did now, that turned her into a fool, made her a quivering mass of hormones that wanted nothing more than to be in his presence. And she hated-absolutely hated-that he wielded such power over her.

She turned her attention to her tea, stirring it even though the drink no longer needed it.

“So,” he said, “I get to meet your mother soon.”

She forced a smile. Meeting the parents was a particularly horrifying idea when it would involve admitting at the same time that they were accidentally knocked up.

She, the social worker, the one who lectured teen girls about taking charge of their reproduction, using birth control and making smart choices, should have known better.

“Um, yeah.”

“Do you worry about turning out too much like your mother?”

“Sure. Especially now that I’ll be a single mother, too.”

West’s expression hardened, and she realized too late that she’d ventured into controversial territory again. He didn’t intend for her to be a single mother.

“How about you?” she asked, to smooth over the awkwardness. “Afraid of turning into your father?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s a valid fear,” she said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem.” She grinned. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not any more like him than I am like my mother…except that in some ways, I’m very much like her, and it scares the hell out of me.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s crazy.”

“Crazy how?”

“You’ll see when she gets here.”

He didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

“Let’s just say it sounds like you experienced the opposite of my upbringing. And unlike your dad, my mom hasn’t mellowed out at all in her old age.”

West made a face, and Soleil turned her attention to the curry that was arriving at the table.

It was true, she recognized too much of her mother in herself. When she had to spend actual time with Anne their likenesses, as well as their differences, became all too painfully clear.

The very thought of her mother’s arrival nearly made her lose her appetite. Nearly, but not quite.

AS THEY WALKED FROM the Thai restaurant to the baby store, West checked the messages on his cell phone, relieved to see there weren’t any urgent calls from his mother about the General. There was a call from his assignment officer, but he didn’t want to know yet what that one was about. He slipped the phone into his pocket, struck by how quickly his life had transformed into one he barely recognized.

A week ago, he’d been in Colorado, puzzling over how he’d get his father’s caregiver situation squared away so that he could go off to Afghanistan or wherever his next assignment sent him. He’d been thinking he’d pressure his two brothers over the holidays to step in and take some responsibility for the situation-not his mother-and he’d had no idea how profoundly his life was about to change.

He’d even been stupid enough to wonder if he might hook up with Soleil again, spend some more time with her. If he’d only known.

He surveyed the store, aisle after aisle of cutesy baby paraphernalia, and he again had the urge to go hunt a wild boar. Soleil, for her part, looked just as bewildered. She stepped tentatively forward, then stopped, frowning at a display of how-to books, each cover cutesier than the last.

“God,” she muttered, picking up a book with a picture of a pregnant woman in a rocking chair on the cover. “How lame do they think women are?”

West picked up a hefty tome entitled The Breast-feeding Book, half wondering what it had to say in all those pages that he hadn’t already learned in that three-page article. Soleil eyed his selection but said nothing.

“So we’re here for a crib, right?” he asked as he returned the book to the shelf.

“Right,” she said, fumbling in her purse and pulling out a list. “And a few other things.”

“What are these things?” West picked up a U-shaped pillow decorated with pictures of daisies and put it up to his face. “For sleeping facedown?”

Soleil laughed. “It’s a nursing pillow. Didn’t you learn all about them in that breast-feeding article?”

“Wait a sec. How does this thing work?” He held it down at his waist, then squeezed it on like a life preserver.

“You wear it like that while you’re sitting down, and it supports the baby and your arms. It’s a comfort thing, I guess.”

“For someone who reads the New Yorker, you sure know a lot about weird-looking baby equipment.”

She rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to the cribs. “We didn’t come here to buy that,” she said.

“So…are you planning to breast-feed?”

“Sure, why not. I’ll finally get to put these inconvenient things to use,” she said, motioning at her chest.

“Trust me, those are anything but inconvenient.”

“You’ve never gone jogging with them.”

“I would if I could,” he joked, and she finally cracked a smile.

Watching her in profile as she studied the selection of cribs, he felt overcome with a feeling he’d never had for her before. He’d always found her attractive and exciting, but now, the way they’d settled into this sort of companionable day, even with the momentous stuff that had happened, she felt like…like a friend.

She felt like not only someone he wanted to sleep with, but someone he wanted to hang out with, talk to and solicit opinions from.

He appreciated that she was making an effort to get along. And he, for his part, was trying his best not to goad her into any arguments for the fireworks value. Besides, he was in no mood for games lately.

“What do you think of this one?” she said, indicating a mahogany bed with simple lines and a sweeping sort of sleighlike headboard and footboard.