Page 55 of Love is Grand
“Are you happy, Shell?” my dad asked me as he wound his way up front behind me.
Untying my apron, taking a look at the bulge in my stomach, I said, “Yes. I’m doing something cool for me, and Cal is a good man. He may not be my husband, but he won’t desert this baby.”
I believed it, and for some reason, I was at peace with it.
When I arrived at the airport, I saw Cal standing outside, shades protecting his eyes from the punishing Caribbean sun, wearing khakis and a golf shirt, his suitcase next to him. I pulled up next to him, and he walked over and opened the driver’s door. Without a word, he waited for me to get out so he could drive.
“Good to see you too,” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“It will be better by my pool with you relaxing.”
“I have to work some. My dad can’t take all my shifts.”
“The ultrasound is still tomorrow? At two?”
I nodded. The big day was finally here. The plan had been for Cal to come today and be here through next Tuesday. He’d asked for some time with me, a date night—he always won that battle—and a night for only Weezie and me. Then there was the family dinner and the ultrasound.
It was a nice break from the monotony of my life, and probably a big difference from the pace he kept in the city.
“Can’t wait to christen the house,” Cal said with a wink as he pulled out of the airport.
I almost made a comment on my larger appearance, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was just about halfway on this adventure.
“Open my messenger bag,” Cal said while driving toward the West Bay.
“Me?”
“Who else is in the car?”
I did as I was told and found a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. This sent me into a fit of laughter.
“You think that’s funny?” Cal said with a big smile. “I’m learning all about this shit.”
“I can see that. You’re going to be an expert,” I teased.
“Maybe not an expert, but a heck of a dad.”
There was no fitting answer to that comment. I knew he’d be a heck of a part-time dad, but not a full-time one, let alone a partner.
“How’s your latest client?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Happy. He got to keep his house in Barbados, and she got the place in the Hamptons.”
He hadn’t used names, but I knew this was a celebrity chef. The client was mostly concerned with his properties, and I guessed Cal went to war for him, despite rumors of a girlfriend on the side. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the chef was. Internet, duh.
We rode a while longer, listening to music and Cal asking about Weezie, until we pulled up at the house. I’d seen it when he first looked at it, but its enormity still shocked me. It was a giant white Tudor in the middle of a beach neighborhood. Gaudy, out-of-place columns stood in front of a red door.
“Come on.” Cal jumped out of the car and rounded the hood. Leading me up the steps by my hand and unlocking the door, he smiled. “Welcome to my new pad.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What?”
“You couldn’t get less beachy than this,” I said, taking in the marble floor and dramatic staircase for the second time. “It’s an American mansion.”
“I know, but it has a lot of amenities and more space than the villa at the Grand. I do miss those open-air pathways and the windows there, though.”
Here, the air conditioning was blowing throughout the house. You could feel the cool breeze from the vents.