Page 58 of Theirs to Treasure
“Everything is fine,” Zev comments, responding to a question I haven’t asked yet.
“The doctor says exercise, vitamins, taking care of myself, rest if I need to. And she wrote me a prescription for prenatal vitamins.”
“I’ll pick those up for you.”
“Got it covered.”
“Look…”
I’m aggravated, confounded that I can’t reach her. Why can’t she see that I’m trying to be helpful?
“I’ll let you know if I need something. But if you don’t mind taking me back home, the doctor suggests I eat regular meals. And I was in such a hurry to get to my appointment this morning that I forgot to eat breakfast.”
“Do you have a favorite restaurant?” I ask.
She blinks, seemingly surprised I’m being even the least bit accommodating.
Then she names a popular soup, salad, and sandwich place that’s not my favorite, but taking some advice from Zev, I instantly agree.
Over lunch, she fills us in on a few more details. “She’d like me to go to her office for a more thorough exam.”
“I’m happy to take you,” Zev offers. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to go through this alone.”
Like maybe our mother had?
Where has that unwelcome thought come from? Every time she’s entered my mind in the last twenty-something years, I’ve reacted with condemnation. But my father was obsessed with his work and was never home. Her life couldn’t have been easy. Not that that excused her for the unforgivable act of abandoning us. But already I am finding out that there’s a lot to this baby business.
As we’re taking Harper back to her apartment, Zev asks which area of town she’d like to live in. Frowning a little, she turns in his direction.
“We want you to be happy.” He reaches for her hand. “And your apartment’s a little small for all of us.”
She gives a wry smile.
“And you have ideas about where to bring up kids. A backyard, parks, a good education, a place with neighbors.”
This is one time where painting a rosy picture of the future is a talent I wish I had.
Quietly, he adds, “A place you can look at the stars?”
“Zev…”
“Can’t hurt to look,” he tempts. “If you want to send us a list of homes that you like, we’ll get appointments.”
“I—”
“Just don’t say no.”
We arrive at her apartment, and even though she protests, we walk her to the door. Zev pulls her close and kisses her forehead. “Reach out anytime. I’ll come over, bring you food, anything you like.”
“Maybe decaf mochas. Or hot chocolates,” she says.
“Calcium is good for pregnancies.”
She laughs.
The sound is music to my soul. We haven’t heard her joy often, but now that I have, I want to hear it again and again.
“I like the way you think,” she tells Zev. “Hot chocolate is good for me.”