The buzzing of his mobile phone startled him out of a daze, causing him to shift around a mountain of paperwork on his desk yet again. It was the fifth time that afternoon, which only made him even more unnerved at the prospect of checking his messages.
[14:09] Have you checked your email? I sent several links for you to peruse. Xo
[14:53] Darling, can we get takeout from that place on the corner for dinner? The café—I think it's called 'Daisy's'…let me know. It's the one with the apple charlotte. XO
[15:32] Remember the paint chips I showed you this morning? How about 'cream silk' for the room? Also- did you get my text about dinner? Super hungry! Xoxoxo
[16:04] Robert!
[16:05] …did you get my text about dinner?
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, and slipping the phone back into his pocket. If he answered her now it would only mean a string of messages in response; that would mean getting home late, and not finishing the stack of paperwork his mother had so helpfully left littered across his workspace. Looking back to his desk, though, his attention was quickly pulled from his work as he noticed the framed picture of him and his wife resting atop the surface. It was taken at their wedding—the memory enough to pull a smile across his features—and she looked so utterly radiant, the sunset and ocean a perfect backdrop to highlight her delicate features. Picking up the frame to inspect it further, he grinned, shaking his head before setting it back down. One more hour of work and then he could head home to his lovely wife.
He hadn't entirely counted on the paperwork taking slightly more than an hour, and certainly had not expected it to take over two. So when he opened their front door with more than slight trepidation, just past seven, he was rather surprised to hear absolutely nothing in response.
Usually when he worked late, Cora was in the sitting room just off the foyer to meet him, along with raised eyebrows and sharp words to chastise him. Tonight, though, the sitting room was dark and all the blankets on the settee were neatly folded. Frowning, he dropped his briefcase by the door and wandered into the kitchen, which was also dark, save for a few lights they always left on.
"Cora?" He called out, somewhat randomly, now wondering if his wife was even home at all. There was no note on the fridge, however, which she almost definitely would have left had she gone out—even if she were annoyed with him. Swallowing a slight pang of concern, Robert reached up to loosen his tie and then walked quickly to the bedroom, where, to his utter relief, he found his wife fast asleep atop their bed.
The room was an utter mess. Parcels from Zara, Dragons of Walton Street and JoJo Maman were scattered haphazardly around the floor, and the bed was covered in various magazines and paint color samples. Cora was perched in the middle of the bed, wrapped in several throw blankets, with a particularly large magazine unfolded over her stomach.
As quietly as he could manage, Robert crossed the room and sat on his side of the bed, leaning over to kiss his wife's cheek. When she didn't stir, he leaned just a bit more and pressed a soft kiss to her lips as well.
That had the desired effect and just a moment later, Cora stirred. "Hello, darling," she said softly, looking up at him with a gentle smile. Then, as though she suddenly remembered where she was, her brow furrowed. "You're late."
Robert did the only thing possible in such a situation. Grinning sheepishly, he leaned forward and kissed her once more before she could protest. Shrugging off his jacket and kicking off both shoes, he sat beside her, explaining, "Mama left me a mountain of work to get through; I left the office as soon as I possibly could. With the new hotel opening it seems like every day brings even more work my way, no matter how many new employees we hire."
"Robert, I didn't ask for an explanation," she laughed, sitting up and moving the papers strewn around the bed, "I was simply pointing out the fact. But we've been married for two years now and you've only been home before seven a handful of times, so I don't find it particularly upsetting anymore." She grinned again, so he would know she was teasing, and adjusted the pillows behind her back.
He was about to speak again—well, really, he was about to kiss her once more—when she fixed her gaze on him again, this time frowning more deeply.
"Robert?"
He paused. Lately conversations with Cora were more dangerous than navigating a field of landmines. "…Yes, darling?"
"Where is our dinner?"
Her deep frown and raised eyebrow suggested it was more than a slight issue that there were no plates to be seen on any surface in the room. And then, with utter fear clutching his heart, he remembered the text messages. Staring at her blankly, though, he asked dumbly, "our dinner?"
He thought smoke might begin pouring out her ears at his response, and she carefully moved the blankets off herself before standing, and putting both hands on her hips. "Our dinner." She answered simply. "The dinner I instructed you to pick up."
He nodded—dumbly, again—and removed himself from the bed as well, thankful that the large king sized mattress stood between them. "Darling, I don't remember getting any instruction about dinner, and my phone died this afternoon," he lied. "But, I would be glad to go make something—" he began moving toward the door, a hugely false smile plastered across his face as her expression only soured.
"We have no groceries," she replied helpfully.
This time, before catching himself, Robert frowned. "But you were supposed to go shopping while I was at work."
She raised her brow higher than he thought possible. "I was supposed to go shopping? I apologize, Robert. I did not realize I had an assigned list of duties."
"No…no—I only meant—" Robert struggled for words, still backing away in the direction of the door.
"—You only meant what?" Cora cried out, throwing her hands in the air. "Obviously you think I don't take care of the house as well as I should. But I'm sorry, Robert. I had errands to run and by the time I got home it was just too late for me to go out again."
Robert nodded quickly in agreement. "Of course, sweetheart. Of course. I'll just call for take out now," he replied with a smile.
"I thought your phone had died."
He winced, nearly dropping the offending device onto the floor. "Yes, it has. I was just going to plug it in, and then go call from the landline in the kitchen." And, suiting actions to words, he took a few clumsy steps over to the bedside table to plug his phone in before smiling widely once more and practically running out of the room.
The kitchen was still dark when he returned, so Robert switched a light before reaching for the phonebook in the drawer closest to the phone. Flipping through, he settled on pizza before making the quick call.
After replacing the phone, he leaned back on the counter, exhaling deeply. It had been another long day. Since Bates had taken a temporary leave of absence to work on a project in New York, development on some television show—Prison Break—or something, the work that passed directly to him was overwhelming. And his mother rarely let up, even given the circumstances. But he didn't blame Cora; he couldn't blame her. It had been his idea, after all. Not that she had not been utterly excited by the idea as well. Their lives just needed to shift a bit, he kept telling himself. They would make it work; they could make anything work.
And, then, as though she could hear his thoughts all the way from the bedroom, Cora wandered bashfully into the kitchen, wearing a contrite expression. Her hair was down now, leaving the thick chestnut curls to cascade down her back, and she wore his pajama set—the only thing she seemed comfortable in lately. Padding over to him, she wrapped her arms around his middle, from behind, and stood up on her toes to kiss his neck, murmuring, "I'm sorry," as she held him close.
Robert grinned despite himself and moved to turn her around until they faced one another. No matter how they argued, he found there was nothing of greater comfort than having his wife securely in his arms. It made the trials of the day seem the furthest things from his mind. And moments like these made him utterly grateful for the life they shared. "It's alright, my darling," he answered. Then, with a boyish grin, added, "and the pizza is on its way."
"Pizza?" Her eyes lit up with excitement and she kissed his cheek enthusiastically. "I am sorry, though, for the way I spoke to you, darling," she averted her gaze. "Lately I don't realize it. And—" she pressed both hands to her swollen stomach "—Baby Crawley was very hungry."
Robert chuckled, smiling so wide his mouth actually hurt with the effort. "You and Baby Crawley are forgiven, sweetheart." Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and cupped her face tenderly, before kneeling down much lower and mimicking the actions, cupping both hands to her stomach and pressing several kisses to the protruding bump. "Baby Crawley can have whatever it wants," he replied, his voice muffled against the fabric of her nightshirt.
Cora only hummed in agreement and reached down one hand to run lazily through her husband's hair. He looked so sweet, and so terribly pleased. She hated herself for getting so cross with him; he worked all day and then often came home to find her in the middle of another mood swing. Sometimes she felt crazy, as though she could no longer control her own body.
Just the other day she had told him to leave after he left a pile of laundry on top of the machine and then—less than an hour later—finished off the pint of Ben and Jerry's that she had specifically marked "for Baby Crawley." Admittedly, she had shouted a bit extremely. And she had felt terribly that time, too. Particularly so after he returned from exile that afternoon with five pints of ice cream and a bunch of half-deflated balloons from the corner store.
Several times, very late at night, he'd hold her close and ask if she was happy, as though he needed confirmation. She worried that he felt responsible for the changes in her mood and her body, though it was a laughable responsibility to take hold of. Yes, perhaps Robert had been the one to ask about children first, but she would have been lying through her teeth to say she'd not already spent a year dreaming about toddlers with her eyes and Robert's strong chin.
And now, as she looked down at him still talking to her bump, she thought her chest might explode with happiness.
After letting him go on for another few minutes, telling the baby about his day with complete sincerity, she carefully removed his hands and bent down as well, kissing him sweetly. "Darling, perhaps we can regale the baby with your riveting stories in the sitting room? My feet are starting to hurt and the pizza will be here soon."
Nodding in agreement, Robert set about getting some plates, napkins, and the pitcher of filtered water before following his wife back down the hall to the front room. Cora wasted no time getting comfortable; she was reclined on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her before Robert so much as set the plates down.
Chuckling lightly, he sat beside her and asked, "darling, what ever will you do when the baby is born in a few months and I won't be playing servant anymore?"
Cora only rolled her eyes playfully, settling one hand on her stomach. "That's true. You won't be my servant; you'll be our servant." And then, her laugh interrupted by a surprised gasp, she reached to grab his hand, pressing it right to her belly. "Apparently the baby agrees," she explained, watching raptly as his face lit up at the movement.
"Well, if the baby agrees, who am I to complain?" Robert asked, his large palm still resting over her stomach.
He could still remember the exact moment he felt the baby for the first time. They were in the kitchen, as Cora often was these days, arguing over which tea to brew that morning. When Cora shrieked—seemingly out of nowhere—it had nearly given him a heart attack. But the look on her face in that moment, the look of utter joy, of utter excitement for the future, would be etched in his memory forever. As would the gentle thump-thump against his palm that morning.
Now the feeling was even stronger. It sometimes frightened him, in an exhilarating sort of way, to realize that he would be a parent in less than four months, and that come the same time next year there would be a baby crawling around the house. In those moments of realization he usually hopped up, running to make a note to "call about baby-proofing the house" or some such matter. But this particular night he was content to cuddle with his wife on the sofa and enjoy their pizza.
And later that night, as they lay in bed and Robert held Cora close, dancing his fingers over her abdomen and kissing her neck gently, he thought he might be the absolute luckiest man in the entire world.
In those quiet moments everything else melted away; work, his mother, every little stressor that poked into their lives seemed insignificant in those moments. When it was only he, Cora, and their Baby Crawley, gentle whispers and soft touches as they spooned lazily in bed were more than enough. He was grateful, so very grateful, for his wife, their little family, and each and every day and night to come.
