I pull back with a smile that I hope looks relaxed and happy. “Me too. How was the trip?”
“Went well. Surprisingly so.”
I nod. “You were just well prepared for it.” Far better than me right now, because now the PowerPoint presentation and memos and Excel model I made last night seem stupid.
“Do you want—”
My belly growls.
He stops, and my face heats. My stomach’s too knotted for food. Why is it embarrassing me?
“I slept in,” I say as smoothly as I can manage. “Late.”
“Let’s get you fed, then,” he says.
I open my mouth, about to turn him down, then catch myself. Breakfast is going to take at least half an hour. People shouldn’t talk about uncomfortable topics while eating, to avoid indigestion.
“Sure,” I say with a smile, hoping he offers me saltines or dry toast. My gut can’t handle anything more than that, and not because pregnancy-related nausea has started.
“Okay. Let’s go.” He picks up his keys.
We can’t go out because he’s going to want to go someplace fancy, like another champagne brunch. I’m not ready to tell him why I can’t drink. Yet. Especially not in public. “No, we should stay in.”
“We should? Why?”
“I don’t want anything rich.”
He nods slowly. “Okay. No problem. We can do something quick and light, although that doesn’t give us a lot of options. I don’t really cook.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” I wouldn’t be able to eat a bite anyway.
He walks into his pantry and gazes at the shelves, one hand on his chin. “Well… I have bagels.”
“That’d be great.” I sit at the counter and paste an expectant expression on my face. Yum. Bagels.
“Pla
in or egg?” he calls out.
“Plain, please.” Nothing that reminds me of eggs, fertilized or otherwise.
Emmett brings out a couple of toasted bagels and cream cheese. “Coffee?”
I squelch a sense of resignation. “Just some orange juice, thanks.” Vitamin C is supposed to be good for you, so it’s probably good for fetuses, too.
I nibble on the bagel, sans cream cheese. When should I broach the subject of the baby? And how am I supposed to smoothly pull out my laptop, boot it and start in with PowerPoint? Or Excel?
Instead of sitting and worrying last night, I should’ve dropped by the office and printed everything out. That way, I could take it out of my purse, all slick and ready.
Maybe we should talk about it tomorrow. It isn’t like I have to tell him now.
“… Amy?”
I start. “Huh?”
“I asked you what you think about the plan.”
“The, uh, plan?”